Loser Goes To A Movie Premiere- Conclusion

Scene: After the movie and intermission, Basehead and I claim a set of seats near the front of the room for the Q & A with Tucker. While sitting there, Bill walks up through our side aisle. He glances down, notices me and stops, offering a handshake. This normally wouldn't seem like a big deal to most people, but to me, it made my night. Not only did I get to spend some time talking to the guy before the movie, but he was nice enough to take time to once again recognize my existence. I turn and smile proudly at Basehead, who for his part, looks suprised and confused.

Scene: Tucker and company are introduced. They spend about half an hour answering questions about the movie, the book, and insulting just about everyone that asks anything. (Note: If you have never read Tuckers storys, he openly promotes himself as a narcissist and asshole. So this is kinda like giving everyone what they want anyway)

Scene: The best line of the night comes when Tucker talks about the bridesmaids. After answering a question about them, he then goes on to say "Also, I fucked three out of those five bridesgrooms." Predictably, everyone there cracks up. He realizes his mistake and goes "Fuck you! Bridesmaids! If any of you people say this happened, I'll call you all liars!"

Scene: Q & A is over, and the line forms for pictures and autographs with Tucker, Nils, and Kari. Being near the front, Basehead and I find ourselves near the front with not long to wait.

Scene: Bill is back. With the camera man. Asking about the movie. He is maybe three people away.

Scene: Basehead, distracted with a handful of shit, somehow drops his mug from the swag bag. It lands on the girls foot in front of us. Thankfully, she isnt hurt, or pissed.

Scene: Basehead picks his stuff up, and upon returning to eye level, finds himself staring right into the face of the camera lens. (He later tells me dropping the glass completely fucked him up, with the TKO coming at the first sight of Bill and the Cam man. He also noted that while glancing over my way, he sees my literally light up at seeing Bill. He is right. At this point, I was no longer in pieces, but actually looking forward to talking to Bill one last minute.)

Bill: Oh hey, its you guys!
Me: Look Bill, I already told you I'm not squealing like a fucking pig.
Bill: Aw man, you still upset about that?
Me: Yes. It hurt my feelings and makes me uneasy.
*reaching out, he grabs one of my shoulders and starts squeezing*
Bill: Well, you are pretty tense.
Me: Ah shit that feels good...

*By the way, I have no clue why our interactions kept winding up with hints of homoeroticism sprinkled throughout, but I didnt care. Loser was in the limelight, and was suprisingly happy.*

Bill then concludes by asking us our thoughts on the movie. He looks at Basehead first. Basehead is staring back like a deer in the headlights.

Basehead: Uh......Fuck the Hangover!
Me: Yeah, this movie was better.

There was a little more brief talk, and we were once again thanked for our time. We are now at the table with Tucker. We get our posters signed by Nils, Kari and Tucker, and I also get my book signed by him as well. I then get a picture taken with Tucker, and before I know it, the flash goes off and he is on to the next person. It kind of sucked because there were a million different things I'd originally intended on telling or asking him when I got up there, but I sort of wound up star struck again. The only words exchanged were "good to meet you", but whatever, there was a huge line and I got everything I could reasonably want anyway.


Photo with Tucker.





All said and done, my only regrets about the premiere was that none of my video footage with Bill made it on the tour website. In fairness though, they shot hours of film and only uploaded about a minute and a half total so I can't feel too discriminated against. But damn would I kill to see that. Oh, and I really wish my glasses werent so nerdy and bent looking in that picture. I need contacts. Oh well. If nothing else, this is just another rare example of how every loser has his day.

Loser Goes To A Movie Premiere Part 1

Preface: The movie "I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell" is based off the true story from Tucker Maxs' book of the same title, which has sold over one million copies. Also, just to get this out of the way, I think the movie is one of the best comedies ever done. Ever. So see it.

Here also are links to Tucker's website

www.tuckermax.com

And the Rated R trailer

http://www.break.com/usercontent/2009/9/i-hope-they-serve-beer-in-hell-uncensored-red-band-trailer-1318387.html

Finally, heres www.billdawes.net since he plays into this story too.


So me and my buddy (Basehead) recently attended the promotional tour screening at the Midtown Art Cinema in Atlanta. Now first of all, the tour not only allowed for everyone attending to see it an entire month in advance, but also gave you the opportunity to meet Tucker Max (the real one, not the actor in the movie), along with cowriter Nils Parker and actress Kari Pratt- plus a question and answer session with a free swag bag including a tee shirt, glass, movie poster, wristband, and keychain. My favorite blog writer (who also does stand up and broadway) Bill Dawes was on hand as well to MC the event. All for the price of ten fucking dollars. (I mention all this not only because it plays into the rest of the evening, but because everyone involved on that tour gave fans ten times their moneys worth, and deserve to be recognized for going the extra mile to make everyone happy.)

On arrival, we already find ourselves at the back of a huge line even though the movie is not slated to start for another hour. I also notice Bill Dawes interviewing random people on camera at the start of the line. Being that my mind contains more anxiety and paranoia than an entire wing of schizophrenics at any given mental hospital combined, I notify Basehead that we need to bail the area. Now normally, I would have walked straight up to him (or any other such semi to full on famous person) no matter what to get an autograph or picture, but I was not at all interested in being filmed. We leave the line, grab a beer at a bar located next door, and return a few minutes later. Bill is unfortunately continuing to work the line and begins getting closer to the end, as I spend the next few minutes muttering nervously to Basehead about how I hope he doesn't come near us with that camera.

He comes. But only to interview a small group of people directly in front of us. I am now on camera, but in the background, so that is alright. I laugh along to the discussion from the safety of the two or three people taking up most of the shot, thinking that although it would be cool, at least in theory, to be on camera with Bill, that it would probably be a disaster if I were directly on it. And hey, I might even be seen in the background on some video. The interview ends, Bill briefly looks past us to the rest of the crowd, and I overhear the camera man saying he'll be right back and starts a pan of the line behind us, which has now grown to match the size of the one in front of us. In this moment, I see my chance to sneak an autograph and quick meet, summon all my courage and yell out.

Me: Hey Bill. Hey, can I get your autograph?

Bill walks over. I have my paper print out of the tickets, and a sharpie in hand.
(Anytime I go some place having to do with famous people or performers, I carry that type of shit. I come prepared.)

Bill: Sure, whats your name?
Me: Brent.

Regretfully, my nervousness cues up at the same time as my answer, effectively three waying in my sometimes heavy southern accent. My reply is utterly unintelligible.

Bill: Whats that?
Me: Brent. I'm a big fan, I read your blog all the time. And sorry, I get a speech impediment when Im nervous.
Bill: *laughs* Thats alright dude. *signing paper*
Me: Yeah, my accent is a bitch. Can you believe I actually work in radio?
Bill: Oh really?
Me: Yeah *pointing at my work shirt I am still wearing*
Me: I do news part time for a local station. I actually interviewed a Senator earlier this afternoon. (Senator Republican Johnny Isakson was the guest speaker at a Chamber of Commerce banquet I attended)
Bill: Oh yeah?! Thats awesome, what was the interview about?

Right when he asks this, the camera man comes over. I mentally shit myself and immediately go back into "shaky, oh fuck what do I do" mode. I also begin sweating profusely.

Me: Um, health care reform. He was against it, obviously, since he's a Republican.
Bill: Well what about you? Whats your take on the debate?

*My mind reels while I sumultaneously use all of my remaining mental resources in being somewhat cognative on film, and in front of a few hundred bystanders. The spotlight is indeed on me. I almost start to relish it in a masochistic sort of standpoint, and a seemingly detached second part of me appears in the background of my conscious, clearly amused at my conundrum*

Me: Well, I'm for it if it is shown that the system would work effectively and give people a chance to get health care that currently can't afford it.... I'm pro-Obama.

*I have no idea why I plugged that in at the end, but I did, and came close to sounding like all those other arm chair political analyst dipshits cornered in rally's by news cameras and questioned, that try acting like they know what they're talking about, but don't, so they start randomly spouting out campaign catch phrases and blind support for their candidate of choice, when it becomes to painfully evident they're not well informed on the topic they're being asked about. The difference is that I do, I was just busy with struggling to bury signs of my panic attack, as I also wrestled with keeping both a steady voice and a somewhat collected poker face for the million or so eyes I feel watching from every side*

Bill now notices Basehead for the first time, who I also now notice has been standing totally out of the camera view and to my far right. I find this odd, but not as odd as the instant burst of inner confidence I feel when I realize Basehead, who is usually a very social person, has turned into his own alter ego, Manny the Mannequin. He stares, does a baseball umpires emphatic "SAFE" arm signal as the camera turns toward him.

Basehead: I have no position.
Bill: Oh, so hey, (points at me) are you with this guy?
Basehead: Uh... yeah.
Bill: Guys, its okay! It's 2009. You can come out now!

*At this point, two conflicting thoughts cross my mind at once. "Oh shit now he's gonna fuck with us hardcore on camera" and "Well yeah, but this is fucking awesome. You're on camera with Bill, he's one of your favorite writers for Christs sakes, and hes actually taking time to screw around with you". Thought number two then takes complete precedent in my mind, and I feel mentally loose, and warmed up. If I'm going to be on camera, I'm going to make the most of it and have fun. I've already been accused of being gay, why not fool around and play along?*

Me: Well, you know, I've been contemplating it, but I'm just not sure if people will accept me.
Bill: Of course they will. And that deliverance voice is kinda sexy too, so you're in good shape.

Bill then apparently comes up with something he would find really funny.

Bill: Hey! Squeal like a pig for the camera!
Me: What? No. No fucking way.

*The request makes me waiver for a moment, but I quickly regain the upper hand and adopt a firm attitude*

Bill: Aw c'mon! Do it man!
Me: Look Bill, I'm not squealing like a fucking pig, I don't care how much it'll turn you on.
Bill: Oh alright..well, so you're here for the movie anyway. You guys ready for it?
Me: Hell Yeah!
Basehead: ...
Bill: Okay guys, thanks.
Me: Good to meet you man.
Bill: You too dude.

A few minutes later, the line moves and we finally get into our seats. Bill is up front, microphone in hand, fucking with the crowd and bantering back and forth. The movie starts five minutes later, and predictably kicks ass. We are told there is a fifteen minute intermission, and then the question and answer session will follow with Tucker, Nils and a special guest, who turns out to be, as I mentioned, actress Kari Pratt.


Part Two coming later. I'm tired of typing.

Updates

They are coming. Unlike any of the three billion plus people on earth not visiting this blog.

Loser Goes To Strip Club For The First Time

So I was sitting at the station last night, with my brother and a buddy of ours when Doug, another friend of ours, came by to hang out with us while we finished our shift. He was talking about going to a bar and drinking. Now, I rarely get out but for some reason I still can't comprehend, I decided to talk Doug into taking me to Diamonds & Laces in Chattanooga, Tennessee. So we go.

We arrive, and I'm nervous as shit. I begin to believe this is a bad idea before we even go in. I soldier on, however, on the sole reason that I might have a funny story to tell, even though it would surely be at my expense. And, it was.

We go in, sit down at the bar. A thick black chick is furiously shaking her ass two feet from the face of a dude that looked like he came straight out of a rap video. He was bobbing his head, almost in rhythm with her ass. We order a pitcher of beer. It is now important to remember in this story that Im not normally a beer drinker- I'm a mixed drink and liquor fanatic. I hate beer. I down half my glass, when another black stripper comes over, and starts talking to my friend. Thirty seconds later, she turns to me, and squeezes in between me and Doug. He scoots down. I begin assuming I've been set up.

*Stripper rubs my leg, my arm, runs hand up my shirt sleeve*

Stripper: Hey baby, how you doin'?

Me: I'm ok. I'm trying to get drunk. You might wanna talk to my buddy though. Im cool for now.

Stripper: Why? Whats the matter honey? You don't like me?

Me: You're ok. Id just rather drink.

*At this point, Im fucking tripping balls. I'm nervous, out of my element, and her face is staring right into mine. Her arm is still snaking up and down my arm. I decide that my low self esteem may come in handy for once, so I start trying to insult my self into her leaving me alone.*

Stripper: So what do you do for fun?

Me: Nothing. I sit at home, and stare at the walls. I don't get out alot.

Stripper: Aw, why not?

Me: Im a loser.

*Im thinking I may just get out of this with that exchange. I am wrong.*

Stripper: I dont think you're a loser. I think you're cute. I like me a nice big man.

*I begin to sense this is going to be harder than I thought*

Me: Trust me, Im boring. But my buddies not getting any attention. Why dont you give him some?

Stripper: I like you..and Id like to get to know you.

*Sidenote, I have been steadily drinking the pitcher by myself the entire time because of my nervousness. I am also chainsmoking. I reach for my cigarettes. Grab my lighter. She takes it from me. I briefly am under the impression she is going to steal it. Instead, she gives me a semi sultry look, and lights it for me.*

Me: Look, to be honest, Im overwhelmed here, and uncomfortable.

Stripper: Well, let me make you comfortable. You wanna go with me? 10 minutes for 2-0. (I assume its 20 dollars for a ten minute dance, but I never intended to find out so truthfully I dont know)

Me: No, Im cool.....hey, what did my friend say to you?

Stripper: He said you were new, and needed attention.

*I now realize my suspicions were correct. He has thrown me to the fucking wolves. Prick.*

Me: Well, look, im really not up for this.

Stripper: Well...ok...but I am being sincere. You really are a nice looking man and dont let anyone tell you different.

*I think, yeah right bitch. You just want my money. She gives me one last smile, then walks off*

I turn to doug.

Me: You're a fucking asshole. I want to go.

Doug: HAHAHAHAHAH! THATS GREAT!

Me: Fuck you.

So, moral of the story: I hate women more than ever now, because it struck me that I have to pay if I want to get a chick naked or to talk to me, and I'm suprisingly resilient enough to not give in to that. I literally felt exploited, oddly enough, as you'd think the ladies were the ones getting the shaft. Not so. They are there to make a living off desperate loners like me. Fuck them.

WWE Tag Champ Solicits Loser For Drugs

Yes, you read right. But lets tell this shit in order.

First off, we had front row seats to the Raw house show. That was awesome as it was.
Featured:

14 man battle royal.

Chris Jericho Vs. Randy Orton World Title Match

Jeff Hardy Vs. Mr. Kennedy Intercontinental Title Match

Paul London & Brian Kendrick vs. Bob Holly and some dude (champs) vs. Terry Murdoch and Lance Cade title match.

Main event, Triple H vs. Umaga Steel Cage Match.

Here are a few photos. All phone pics, but thats all I had to work with.
















After the show, Me and my buddy Anthony were walking back to the car outside the area. We see this really nice caddy pulling out of the bottom ramp, we assume correctly that a wrestler is probably in it.

Thirty Seconds later we look over, and the car has its windows rolled down. A dude is sitting in the passenger seat.

Dude: Hey guys, can we talk to you a minute?

Us: Yeah.

Dude: Ok, we're pulling over.

They stop on the side of the street in a parking spot.

We walk up to the window. We then recognize who it is. Fucking Paul London, two time WWE tag champ, with the longest reigning length of 145 days.

Here is a quick youtube of his highlights in case you still don't know who I'm referring to.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHUP9zZvf4

(He's the dude with black hair, nice teeth and decent tan)

Us: Hey, great match! You did good. *assorted compliments*

Paul: Thanks, hey thanks.

*At this point we ask him about his chest, because Bob Holly, who is documented as one of the roughest guys in the business, had received a chop from him....then grabbed him and hit him back with six chops, at least that echoed through the entire building. Paul actually lifts his tee shirt. There are red hand prints all over his chest, nearly bleeding.*

Paul: Man it still hurts. But Hey, I don't mean nothing by this, but do you guys know where to get some smoke?

Us: Awww...man, no we only got a half joint.

Paul: Oh if thats all you got, keep it man. We got a pinch, we were looking for about two ounces. We're heading to Atlanta tonight. (Side note: I looked it up, they have another house show there).

This whole time, I was standing there mentally kicking my ass for not having a pen and paper for an autograph. Also I know this is a story to tell, and I definitely wanted proof. Then I remember my aformentioned camera phone.

Me: Hey dude, I know its probably a hassle, but would you take a picture with me?

Paul: Yeah man! Absolutely!

He hops out of the car. Shakes both our hands. Then pounds them. We pose...and heres the shot.





Look at his fingers closely. What does it look like hes holding? A joint. Then look at my thumbs up...almost looks like a bowl I'm holding, but I didnt preplan that, heh.

Us: Thanks, sorry we cant help you man.

Paul: Oh its cool, we were just looking for some for the ride. But i'm sure we'll meet up later sometime...I know that sounds kinda weird haha...

Anthony: Nah, its that weed karma.

All of us laugh.

We go to shake hands one last time. He grabs my arm in what I thought was maybe going to end in a disagreeable fashion like me having a broken bone, but instead was just an indian handshake.

Paul: This is how we do it!

And thats it. What I liked about him was how "real" he seemed- almost more genuine then alot of regular people you run into. I definitely can respect that. But, the other thing I noticed was that this guy had some balls: seriously, he randomly chooses two dudes from the show to ask for weed? I mean, shit, what if one of them wrote a story about it and published it online? That would be fucked up. But then again maybe that fan would give him an out, and cover his tracks by just saying this could all be a made up story by some online blogger looking for attention. Afterall, it's not like Every Loser Had His Day, is it?

The Drugs, Crackheads and Cops Story: Conclusion

Being somewhat smarter than a few minutes ago when we decided to pull some real life Grand Theft Auto, we put up our hands so as to not risk getting shot, pepper sprayed, or tasered; maybe all of the above.

Out of the review I can see an officer on my left approaching the window. It is a fairly young guy, probably mid twenties. By the time he is at my door my stomach is so tight It feels like its about to re-enact the Big Bang Theory and soak the cop in a coating of nervous primordial soup. I don't however because A) thankfully thats not physically possible and B) when it comes go time in these situations I've actually been money in the bank at keeping cool even when an Hiroshima aftermath is blasting inside my head.

Officer 1: I need to see your license and insurance, please.

Me: No problem. Here you go.

Officer 1: Mind stepping out of the car for me?

Me: Sure.

As I get out, I notice that behind the Ford Explorer, there are three (THREE) other cruisers behind them. Apparently, they were thinking they found some escaped cons who might be armed to the teeth and tweaked out on meth. I see a few cops standing around them, but they do not come over. That is when I notice a female officer is at Sean's window. I assume he has been asked to get out as well; either that, or he's gonna try and make a break for it. Admittedly it would have been a cool sight, if not for the down side that I'd probably get slammed face first into the street and possibly killed. And over a fucking pot pipe at that.


So, I'm stand in front of the guy, and he asks me if I have any drugs or weapons on me. I say no. On the other side I vaguely hear the chick Cop following suit, but changing it up a bit with Sean- "Do you have any needles or drugs on you?" (I don't know if the dude just forgot to ask me about needles, or Sean just looks like a heroin junkie, but its fun to think its the latter.)


Officer 1: Do you mind if I search your person?

Me: Not at all.

He asks me to turn around and place my hands on the back of my trunk. At this point, I'm sure I'm going to jail. Not because I have anything on me, but because the other cop is gonna find the pipe on Sean and that would somehow make me guilty as well. The cop searching me finds nothing illegal. But he does find a single page from a porn magazine I had in my back pocket.

(Okay, let me explain the porn before I'm thought of as a fucking pervert: Its a picture of a naked chick, and naked chicks are hot. So yeah, I was probably a pervert. But thats not the point. The point is I had it for a very good reason- Jerry's drunk ass kept insisting for me to take it and I put it in my back pocket. Honest truth, swear to God.)

Officer 1 to nobody in particular: Porn.

Female Officer looking across car with Sean: What?

Officer 1 now holding it up where she can see: Porno.

He then lays it on my trunk like a piece of evidence.

At this point, I'm more embarrassed in this revelation to the female cop than I can recall ever being at any other point in my life. I'm not sure why. Its just porn. And I was just a guy. And its not the crazy fist up some midget girls anus kind either, it was just a classy Playboy spread photo. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. Although, I would have preferred the fist up some midget girls anus photo. I kid. I kid.

I wasn't embarrassed for long however, because it was then I realized Sean had been searched as well and that pipe had not been found. Which meant only one thing: It was in the car.

Officer 1: Mind if we search your car?

Fuck. We're screwed. And all because Sean didn't keep that damn thing and put it in my car.

Me: Yeah.

The Cop begins going through my floorboard, looking and feeling up under my seats. As each second that feels like an eternity passes by, I sickeningly wait for him to pull it out and then slap on the cuffs. All of a sudden he stands back up, and walks over to me, hands empty. The search is over, and somehow that pipe had fucking disappeared. I didn't know why, but I sure as shit didn't care.

Officer 1: Alright, mind telling me what you guys are doing out this evening?

I explain to him where we were, and who we were visiting. I also explain my erratic driving as not being familiar with that road (which is true, I rarely go through that way). I finish and he immediately hones in at the previous location.

Officer 1: The Down Towner huh? What room?

Me: 210.

Officer 1: Yeah, theres a known prostitution ring that hangs around room 213. Were you down there getting prostitutes?

The question itself is absurd, and I actually chuckle before answering no. Then I remembered I was the guy that had porn in his back pocket.

(Note: I later, and still wonder why, if it is a KNOWN prostitution ring, it was still going on without police intervention. I now kinda believe he was just fucking with me because of the porn.)

Officer 1: Alright, well stand here and I'll be right back.

He and the female officer (who only interacted with Sean on the other side) walk back to the explorer. I stare at Sean, he stares back. What the hell was going to happen now? Are we gonna get out of this? Or are they just discussing who gets first shot at splitting our melons with mag lites?

Officer 1 walks back up. He has my license and insurance card.

Officer 1: Heres the deal. You basically broke three traffic laws. We saw you making the turn at the Post Office, when you were speeding, and saw your improper lane change. Thats why we came after you. You also ran that stop sign.

Me: Yes sir. I'm really sorry about that, sir.

Officer 1: Mmkay. Well, since you cooperated we're gonna let you go with a warning this time. But you guys need to go straight home, I don't wanna see you out here again. And you should probably stay away from the Down Towner especially this late, okay?

Me: Yes sir.

Officer 1: Alright, drive safely and have a good night.

Sean and I get back in the car.

I sit there for a minute, get my breath, and let out a sigh of relief. Sean and I begin repeating the mantra "oh shit, that scared the shit out of me" ecetera. I crank the car up, and start driving. Once we're out of driving distance, I finally ask:

Me: Dude, where in the fuck did you put that pipe? Did you get rid of it somehow?

Sean: No dude. I put it on my nuts. (In other words, in his underwear.)

Me: ..

ME: I'm not going to hit that pipe until you soak that shit in bleach.

...........................................................



On a side note, I learned a lot of lessons that night. Don't make drug deals with strangers, especially the kind who look like vampires and who's eyes are as large as small cantaloupes. Never speed down town, and break all kinds of traffic laws if you do make a deal that happens to go bad. A dime sack isn't worth a possible case. And lastly, never carry porn.

Seriously though, I was a dumbass. And even though I'm trying to present this in a humorous way, there was a point to this and that is to not try and do stupid shit like I occasionally have. It wasn't cool at all. But it is funny as hell in hindsight.

The Drugs, Crackheads, And Cops Story...

About two years back, I was an unwilling participant in a demonstration on just how neck deep in shit having drugs around can get you.

……………………………………..

My step brother Sean and I were visiting his Uncle Jerry late one night at the Down Towner motel where he had been living for a couple of weeks. The place itself was nice enough- especially if you were somehow able to forget about the fact it was (and still is) the most ghetto, seedy run down crack shack in the entire County. To put this in perspective, if the City Council passed a resolution to immediately fence up the complex without letting anyone out, the crime, drug and prostitution rate in our area would immediately drop by at least seventy percent drop overnight. But it was cheap, and apparently the only thing Jerry could afford at the time.

We’d been hanging out for a couple of hours, just talking, and listening to the radio. Jerry per usual had more alcohol in his system than most convenience stores have stocked on shelves. Needless to say, he was (again, still is) an alcoholic, and therefore would drink any liquid (rubbing alcohol, shoe polish if he couldn’t get beer or liquor) that might have the slightest odds at throwing his motor skills into a total nose diving tailspin. Anyway, he was wrecked, and while he continued to break world drinking records Sean and I smoked a blunt of some 420 I had on me. A few minutes after we’d put it out, there was a knock on the door. Jerry, being a habitual idiot with no love lost between his arch nemesis common sense, instantaneously and haphazardly began his stumble toward the door, while I rushed to stuff my stash into my pockets and sweep the seeds into the ashtray.

Not surprisingly, the guy outside turned out to be one of Jerry’s friendly, neighborhood bass head residents. Small talk ensued, as Jerry at this point would’ve attempted to strike up a conversation with a starving Siberian Tiger. Within a minute came the question.

Crackhead: So hey…any of you guys got something to party with? I’m looking for anything.

Jerry: YEEAHH man….oh Yeah….Brent here’s got some really good weed. It’ll fuck you up, HAHA…….

Crackhead: Really? You got some you could sale me?

Me: Uh, well, I don’t have that much. I could probably sell you a dime though? (Note: for future reference, don’t be a dumbass like myself and not only admit to having something but also offer to sale it to someone you’ve just met, I don’t care who it is.)

Crackhead: Hell yeah. Well look, my girlfriends down at our car. We’re fixing to go to the store and she’s got the money. Will you come down and let her see it?

Me: ….I guess….lets go down there Sean.

We both get up, but Crackhead stops us.

Crackhead: Um, she doesn’t like to meet lots of people.

*looks at me*

Crackhead: Can you just go man?

After thinking for a second, I uncharacteristically lower my intelligence level about one hundred points and agree.

We walk down to the car, where a dirty blonde headed chick who looks like she hadn’t had anything in her stomach in over a month but maybe some spunk from a couple of equally desperate guys who might have helped her get a ten spot closer to that next fix. The guy hops in the passenger seat.

Crackhead: This is my girl. She’s got the money, can we see it real quick?

I lean in the car, and drop the cigarette cellophane I’ve got it in on the guys lap.

Crackhead: Yeah, that’s cool man….hey back up…

*To this day I still don’t know why I did, but I did. Weed makes you stupid.*

As soon as I took a couple of steps back, the girl fired up the engine and before I could even process what was happening, threw it in reverse.

Me: Hey, what the fu….

They peel out. Not knowing what to do, I look up and see Sean looking down from the balcony.

Me: DUDE, THEY TOOK OFF WITH MY SHIT!

By the time I get half the sentence out of my mouth, Sean’s running to the car, yelling “lets go, lets go!”

We jump in my car, and even though they are already out of the parking lot and we have no idea which direction they went, we floor it out as well and get onto the main road to do a chase for ten dollars of pot, a little past midnight in the downtown area. As we get on the road, we think we see them turning past the post office up on the left. I gas it even harder, fly into the left lane and then into the turning lane, before cutting it onto the next road. To our left is a little road that goes down through a huge line of houses. To the right is more of downtown. I make a rapid fire decision that they probably didn’t go further into downtown and go left again, and continue my maniac like driving. I barely notice the stop sign ahead at the four way stop we’re cruising through. I ignore it so much that as I’m about there, I also fail to see the Dalton Police Ford Explorer to my left at the adjacent stop sign, also coming through. I stomp the brakes, they stomp there’s and as my heart attempts to thump its way out of my chest I go about twenty feet further. They get behind me, and hit the lights.

As I put it into park and cut off the car, I am momentarily comforted by the fact that I no longer have anything on me since it just got stolen. I say momentarily because Sean says the last thing I want to hear.

Sean: Oh shit…Brent man, I got my pipe in my pocket man!

Brent: You what?! FUCK, are you kidding? Dude. Get rid of it, get rid of it!

Sean: I ca…

I don’t hear the rest of his sentence, because the police get on their speaker.

Officer: Driver, passenger. Raise your hands so I can see them.


To Be Continued….