... Waiting to hear my sentence. A year in juvenile prison? Probation? Or a glorified spanking with a cane pole?
The tip of the scales of justice was going to be weighed with my two cents. He bellowed out in his judicious tone... sentence of one...
Hey, I had to sit there and almost soil myself, you can wait another minute... Tick. Tock. Tick Tock. A year probation! The balloons were released from the ceiling. The dancing clowns rolled around on their tricycles. Well, in my head at least. It was a somber win. I gave up crime and started a professional career of burger flipping.
Sounds good. But I had just begun my life of crime
I wasn't out of diapers yet. I headed back to the hillbillie's house and was sure the whip was going to be cracked now. I played role playing games with my brother. Talked about tipping cows and humping sheep -- sorry, ISIS, didn't mean for them to steal any of your Saturday night fun.
Then I ran into one-eyed Willie, the androgynous she-man, the sister of Jamal. She of course had a message from her brother to let him call. I knew when that happened that I'd be opening Pandora's Box. And what a glorious box of bloody mayhem that would be. I allowed him to call.
It was a call to a truce
There's two ways to handle this... be Mafia Insane that were used like toilet paper and flushed, or Cicero Insanes that had rank and connections with the city. I told Jamal I'd continue to run his squad and the decision to be one branch or the other would come later.
Me and She-Ra smoked weed and we were one happy gang-banging family.
Any good gang needs drugs to fuel the enterprise
I lived next door to a white trash dumpster that called himself a biker. But due to his inordinate odor of garbage cologne he wore from not showering for months, we hadn't talked before. He thought alligators lived in the sewers and that was somehow connected to the bathtub. He knew my reputation from my hillbillies adopted parents. He gets me a quarter ounce for 350.00 -- yes, he was robbing my keister of it's stretch marks.
So I gave him a hundred bucks off every quarter ounce I bought. Plus, the 100.00 he was getting off top because he was only getting it for 250.00
And wouldn't you guess what's happening? He was making a profit two ways off of us.
She-Ra man and the crew were now on the way to make some money. She hooked me up with a piranha tooth, Mafia Insane turd broccoli that was her cousin. The apple fell right next to the tree...
WE WENT TO A CONDEMED HOUSE
And beyond dumpster throat -- I was heading to get the dumbest criminal award. I put all the different bags like 8ths, dimes, nickels, etc., in one big bag. So this toilet throat wanted to see the bag. Then he looked in the bag and said... "Ya'll setting me up," as he quickly ran out of the house. The three of his had no clue what was going on. As soon as we got out the door to put the foo-flops on him, he was jumping in a car.
If we were setting him up, or were the police -- why would he run out with the weed bag? If we were the police -- he would have dropped the bag.
She-Ra didn't do anything with her man-beater arms. She could have thrown a breast at him or something because she didn't carry a purse.
Now, Trailer Trash was thinking we ripped him off
I would have too. So the only way we were going to fix this was go for retribution. We got a truck full of Vice Lords, two guns, and decided to hunt for Turd Broccoli that stole the weed.
So we found the morons that took the weed. We all got out, ready to run up on them from all sides with guns...
And that's another story.
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