Loosley directed anger, served up hot
drugs and etiquette.
c'mon... do it. do it with me
YOU! Yeah, you! In the boxers with his hand on the pump thinking this was a porno site...
"...but Slap," you ask, "why would YOU of all people need scream therapy?"
'Cause I freakin' do that's why.
Life is still good, don't get me wrong. It could just be going a little smoother.
Like you care - my audience of "when's he gonna say fuck? who's he gonna tell to kiss his ass?"
Nobody this week, gentle reader. I do have a story for you, But after a few mad Props:
Saturday night I wind up in the bar later that I had planned, as usual. I'm sitting there with the normal batch of the kids, when one of the staff from the Burnsley next door (The burnsley, BTW, is an old hotel on Cap Hill in Denver. Nice little place to stay) walks by our table...
...and bends over...
...stands up, holds a little brown thing over his head, and announces...
"OKAY! WHO LOST THE HITTER!?!?"
For those of you even more clueless than I, a "hitter" - as it's known - is this little box just smaller than a pack of smokes. It holds a little pot and a tiny little pipe that will hold enough doob for one pull.
We make a little joke about it belonging to Carol (she's been there for like forty years and we all love her pain in the ass - 'nuff said) and laughed for a minute... Waiter-boy is still holding this thing over his head yelling "I SAID 'who dropped the hitter?'!"
I notice the guys sitting at the table behind him, and they're trying to look all cool and chuckle about it, when one of them non-smoothly says "...uh, uhm, i'll buy that from you..."
Now, I enjoy drugs about as much as I enjoy having an old rusty drill bit worked into my testicles by a ninety-year-old emphasimatic with a hand drill, but I do know this:
there's nothing more embarassing than losing your hitter at the bar....and when straightass Slap knows better drug etiquette then you, you better think twice about your vices...
7 Sep 99
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