Can I be honest? Cool, thanks: I would not do well in jail. I know that’s not really an uncommon sentiment but I want go on record as stating, unequivocally, that I am particularly ill-suited for survival in the big house. I have a funny (and not ha, ha, either) feeling that my rapier wit and biting sarcasm would be rewarded with rapier…um, rape and…biting. And my subtle, charming and (unfortunately) irrepressible snobbery? That’s definitely going to get me a good shanking or a shivving or whatever the fuck the kids (the ones doing time for murder and stuff) are calling it these days. The punitive consequences you would face for drug smuggling are themselves reason enough to hesitate on this dare; when you consider the amount — a whole pound! — you can bet you’d be charged with intent to distribute. Plus, there’s no indication of where your international destination is. Imagine you were caught with all that pot in Singapore, a place where it is illegal (I shit you not) to sell gum or not flush the toilet (really!). You can forget about going to the clink — they’d just straight up hang your ass (as they have 400 other people accused of drug trafficking since 1991. Get caught with 17 ounces or more of marijuana and it’s mandatory capital punishment.) DOUBLE. FUCK. THAT. I’m saying no to this one since I’m not into going to jail or being hung and, frankly, even a place in Brooklyn will run you at least a million five.
