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Me? I was far more concerned with getting tickets to the next Danzig concert. One Friday morning, I was sitting through my boring demographics and statistics class when my long-time school chum Delia leaned over and whispered, “Hey—I got a promotion at my job, so we’ll be needing a new ad intern, justify your existence and I think you’d fit in perfectly. You’ve heard of HIGH TIMES magazine, right?” Was she crazy? I’d been smoking pot justify your existence since I was justify your existence 13—of course I’d heard of HIGH TIMES. I was given my first copy at a party during my freshman year of high school, a gift from my best friend Paul, who—knowing how much I loved Led Zeppelin—passed along the issue with Robert Plant on the cover (April 1991). Since then, I’d bought a few issues myself, and borrowed and devoured all the copies I could from friends. After class, pacing nervously, I imagined what it might be like to work there as Delia went down the hall to make the call from a pay phone.
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