I thought of a better example of a not-very-secret service, a drug dealer who lets people park in the neighbour's driveway with the engine running and six banditos piled in the back. That’s a way better example. It would have been funnier in the story. But not now. I would have worded it better too, but still, its too late.
I used to live with a 21yr old who sold pot, or liked to think he did. And I didn’t mind because I got free smoke just for living there. His 18yr old girlfriend also lived with us, rent fucking free, but she was perty to look at and a rather nice person too. Bit noisy at times.
But Mr Dealer was an idiot, a ‘fuckin’ goof’ is the correct term in Canada. Ask Illidge, he was there and he seen it all. It was bad enough we had all these high school kids dropping in, I was 26 and if there was any trouble the cops would be looking at me, but I couldn’t tell my house-mates their friends couldn’t come over…every night… to smoke pot, watch Dazed and Confused, play Doom, and wait until donuts went ½ price at midnight. Mr D would then bribe one of his followers into riding 15 blocks on a peddle bike to get a box of doughnuts, on which they survived. The one who went got 2 extra doughnuts.
It went alright for a while, there was a rule that whoever was in my chair when I got home would get out of it and I was paid 4 doughnuts from each box as tribute. Also I owned the TV and stereo so I had veto rights there too.
Then people started coming around, angry people, looking for D. Seems he never paid someone for that Fender guitar he had, and his car, and a few other things. One of them got angry at me simply because I answered the door and I had to get angry back and that sucks. But the final bit of dried grass was when, simultaneously, at 7-o-clock at night, we had two cars in our driveway with the motors running, two more out on the street, one in the neighbour’s drive across the street and one more sort of half pulled in behind him. We lived on a busy street, near an intersection, the neighbours were home, people were running back and forth across the street, the front door was wide open, people were smoking pot in the front window, there was a cooking pot of leaves and stems being reduced into oil on the stove, being minded by a 13 year old friend of theirs. I shit you not, his name was Timmy.
I came home through the back door, was faced with this total fucking heat-score, and kept going straight out the front door.
That’s why I married Mrs Joe, that’s never happened once in the 9 years she’s let me live here. Although I sometimes worry about the meth lab P4 is running. She’s very clever but not particularly street-wise.
I used to live with a 21yr old who sold pot, or liked to think he did. And I didn’t mind because I got free smoke just for living there. His 18yr old girlfriend also lived with us, rent fucking free, but she was perty to look at and a rather nice person too. Bit noisy at times.
But Mr Dealer was an idiot, a ‘fuckin’ goof’ is the correct term in Canada. Ask Illidge, he was there and he seen it all. It was bad enough we had all these high school kids dropping in, I was 26 and if there was any trouble the cops would be looking at me, but I couldn’t tell my house-mates their friends couldn’t come over…every night… to smoke pot, watch Dazed and Confused, play Doom, and wait until donuts went ½ price at midnight. Mr D would then bribe one of his followers into riding 15 blocks on a peddle bike to get a box of doughnuts, on which they survived. The one who went got 2 extra doughnuts.
It went alright for a while, there was a rule that whoever was in my chair when I got home would get out of it and I was paid 4 doughnuts from each box as tribute. Also I owned the TV and stereo so I had veto rights there too.
Then people started coming around, angry people, looking for D. Seems he never paid someone for that Fender guitar he had, and his car, and a few other things. One of them got angry at me simply because I answered the door and I had to get angry back and that sucks. But the final bit of dried grass was when, simultaneously, at 7-o-clock at night, we had two cars in our driveway with the motors running, two more out on the street, one in the neighbour’s drive across the street and one more sort of half pulled in behind him. We lived on a busy street, near an intersection, the neighbours were home, people were running back and forth across the street, the front door was wide open, people were smoking pot in the front window, there was a cooking pot of leaves and stems being reduced into oil on the stove, being minded by a 13 year old friend of theirs. I shit you not, his name was Timmy.
I came home through the back door, was faced with this total fucking heat-score, and kept going straight out the front door.
That’s why I married Mrs Joe, that’s never happened once in the 9 years she’s let me live here. Although I sometimes worry about the meth lab P4 is running. She’s very clever but not particularly street-wise.
3 comments:
Are you teaching her your street-wise ways?
a friend in need is a friend in deed,
but a friend with weed is better
yes H, but then it got ugly. It ended with the gf stepping in one night to ask me very nicely not to hurt him, as D hid behind her calling me a 'clown' - you can imagine my dilemma..he so fucking needed a thumping but I liked the gf and didn't want to upset her.
Exxy I am indeed. We spoke just the other day about ways to spot liars. Nobody ever taught me that, and I reckon it's a handy thing to know.
Exile beware of placebos
Post a Comment