If I were you, Jimmy said, I'd get ready for a trip. Got your bags packed, Mr. Cousteau? We're going deep. Deep. Jimmy had come over after lunch with a bag of edibles. He wore stripes, unusual for him. I wondered if he had a date. He told me the edibles were fresh, and to be careful with them. He touched his purple nose. I didn't know what he meant by that, but I assumed it meant something. He asked me how my pot plants were doing. I showed him the grow-closet. The indica buds looked fat and sticky. The sativa plant had yet to fill in. Jimmy said to make sure I kept them properly hydrated, especially the indica. For the trichomes, he said. This is a critical moment, he said. Have you tried the edibles? I asked. I smashed 200 mg this morning, he replied. Look at my eyes. His bloodshot eyes stared at a spot on my forehead while I examined them. I wondered about the dose. Just take 100 at first, he said. Or you'll be talking Hungarian. If 100 don't mess you up, take another 100, but I think you'll be swinging after the first 100. My head spun. Jimmy talked too fast. You want I stay while you dose? he asked. Sure, I said.

Believe it or not I came here to be a standup comic, Jimmy said. No guff, I said, since I didn't find him particularly funny, just fast-talking and a little shady. Seriously, he said. And after doing open mics for a year, I started getting spots in small clubs and Chinese restaurants. But I couldn't get beyond that and wasn't making enough money to survive. At first I started selling weed to fellow comics, you know, eighths and quarters. Then I got into the edibles because a buddy of mine in British Columbia makes really good ones and sells them to me cheap enough to turn a nice profit. Selling the edibles took up so much time and made me so much money I kind of let standup slide, you know. I love comedy but I like to eat, too. I still might go back and try it again, but it's been two years since my last gig, and who knows how awful I'll be without some serious practice. Standup is like any performance art. You need to be sharp and get your timing down or you'll have people throwing rotten fruit at you. Believe me, it's a thing. 

After an hour, I started feeling thick. Jimmy stared at the television: an episode of Bonanza flickered on an oldies station. He said he'd never watched Bonanza, not even growing up. He said everyone in the show wore toupees, something I'd never noticed. My eyes burned; I figured the edibles were working. I stood up and experienced a wave of extreme vertigo that forced me to sit again. Yeah, Jimmy said, take it slow. I tried again, and this time managed to reach the bathroom. As I peed, my penis felt like a mouse in my hand, autonomous, small and soft. I pushed it back into my pants and stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. It struck me that I bore an uncanny striking resemblance to Tony Robbins, the author and life-coach, a man whom I didn't particularly like. I'd never noticed the resemblance before, but it disturbed me. I leaned against the sink, opening and closing my mouth. I'd never discerned that hint of gigantism in my skull, though my thick facial features should have long ago set off alarm bells. I stared at my hands. Huge. At least they looked huge now. I'd never thought them huge before, but perhaps I'd been in denial.

The edibles had seemingly lifted the veil of reality and offered me a glimpse of what was actually real. Or did the edibles merely distort what was real? At this moment I experienced the first pangs of what I can only describe as existential terror. I had floated off the foundations of my being, and saw a side of myself that I did not know existed. How awful it all was. How bloody awful. 

Hoss is a funny character, Jimmy chirped when I returned. Big doofus. Looks like a football player. All those men living together. You'd think one of them would have a lady, eh? You okay, man? I nodded and sat down again. I felt shell shocked and disillusioned. I glanced at my hands again and they filled me with dread. It didn't seem possible that I'd never perceived them as being huge. Does an elephant perceive the hugeness of its ears? I thought, chiding myself for being so ridiculous. How could an elephant see but a part of its ears? Do I remind you of someone? I asked Jimmy. He furrowed his brow and after a moment said I resembled Tony Robbins, that guy. I must admit that as much as I had identified my doppelgänger, I had hoped Jimmy would've suggested someone else, I don't know who, but someone else. You really think so? I said. Jimmy squinted. Well, sort of, he said. Shape of the face. And you have a deep voice like him. Maybe due to the enlarged vocal cords caused by gigantism, I thought. But you're not as tall, Jimmy said. He's a giant.

I deduced from the remaining half of Bonanza, and the ensuing episode of the Honeymooners, which had just ended, that an hour had elapsed. Jimmy kept shooting me sidelong glares. What's the matter? I said. You really do look like him, he said. Stop it, I said, my neck hair bristling. Just stop it. You don't like the guy? Jimmy asked. When I told him I had no feelings for him one way or the other, but found him creepy, Jimmy furled his brow. But I felt no need to explain that I didn't mean Tony Robbins frightened me, but rather, that I his appearance and demeanor made my skin crawl. And to think that for my entire adult life I had strutted around like a dude when really all I was some kind of weirdo with a big head and a voice like Lurch. 

Unexpectedly, Jimmy's eyes closed and he began snoring like a hog. Jimmy, I said, wake up. Wake up. But then I thought I might as well let him sleep off the edible, he probably needed a few winks. Meanwhile, I had developed severe anxiety, bursting into a cold sweat and gasping for air. My legs grew so rubbery I had to lie down on the floor. The entire room spun around and I feared I'd puke.  Don't know how long this went on for, but I didn't puke and the anxiety eventually passed. Exhausted, I shut my eyes. As I began to nod off, I heard Jimmy quietly singing, Tony Robbins, Tony Robbins dormez vous, dormez vous . . .