Reefers

I am marijuana that has been ground, destemmed, and deseeded and then rolled into tubes for smoking. The tube itself is generally made of thin rice or hemp paper, though transparent cellulose is increasingly popular. You will find me just about anywhere you find people.
I am enjoyed by placing one of me in the mouth, igniting one of my ends, inhaling deeply, holding the smoke, and then exhaling. You should mix air with my smoke to ensure that tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC, enters your bloodstream through capillaries in the lungs from whence it is delivered to your brain, where I cause a thousand technicolor flowers to bloom.
I make just about every recreational activity more fun: music, sex, food, movies, theatre, dance, walking, hiking, drawing, painting, playing games, and so on. I can also transform drudgery into something not just tolerable but satisfying, even sensual. At other times I can make you worrisome or even paranoid, though you have to believe me when I tell you that I am just reminding you gently that the world is a dangerous place so that you take care while you are stoned. You might not want to smoke me if you're about to drive a car, perform surgery, solve a calculus problem, or start your busy day as an air-traffic controller.
I can play tricks with time; hang around with me and a half-hour can pass in a few minutes, or a ten-second orgasm can stretch into infinity, reaching for a cataclysmic finale that hurls you into the blazing heart of a pleasure supernova. I knew that would get your attention.
Did I mention music? Smoke me, put on your favorite song, close your eyes, and you will realize that you are only now hearing it for the first time, with every note a jungle of nuance, every beat a planet-sized reverberation, every word soaked in meaning, every harmony sweeter than a thousand honeycombs.
I am fairly harmless as recreational drugs go; to die from me, you would have to eat a pound or so of me, which would be just about impossible to do; most other drugs (like alcohol, nicotine, or caffeine) are fatal at much more feasible amounts. However, smoking anything is bad for your lungs. Using a waterpipe or bong is best because much of the harmful substances in my smoke is filtered that way. I will introduce you to my friends Brownies, Cookies, and Pineapple Upside-Dope Cake if you decide you want to give your lungs a break. Smoking too many of me can make you hungry, which can lead to weight problems if you are not careful. While you are under my influence, your short-term memory may be compromised, though this only lasts as long as the high I give you. I am not physically addictive in the classical sense of the word, though if you make a career of smoking me, you might have problems getting to sleep for a few days when you quit. You may also want to be careful if you are schizophrenic or have some other mental illness, because I may exacerbate your symptoms; however, those who suffer from depression often find me far superior to prescription medication. Most people find my benefits to far outweigh my negative repercussions.
Many countries outlaw my possession, sale, and use, though some either tolerate my presence or have established that personal possession is not a prosecutable offense. I hope that more countries realize how much I have to offer. Until then you must remember that my smoke smells quite distinctive and lingers on your person and your belongings. Stay out of trouble.
I am an abstract concept, a Platonic absolute, if you will, masquerading as a plural noun.