Pimps n' Powder     

A telling by Taylor

So, one day, Andrew and I were sitting around: bored as usual. After playing a long and intense game of "rock paper scissors", Andrew suddenly had a brilliant idea.

"I know what we can do!" squealed Andrew, "We can get fucked up on Cocaine!"

I looked at him, pondered for a moment, and figured, "what the hell". So I shrugged, and asked,

"You got a dealer?"

"Yea, for sure - here, have his number." At this point, Andrew gives me a filthy crumpled postit note with a phone number haphazardly scrawled on the back. I picked up the phone, and began to dial.

Bored Are Us.

Andrew has an idea!

Dial nine for Coke.

The phone rang twice, and then it was answered. The individual on the other line had a harsh and scruffy voice. I knew immediately that he was the dealer - I'd heard someone talk like this before: on an episode of Cops.

Ring-a-ding-ding.

"Hello, homeslice - how may I help you?"

"Er, hi, um, like, I was wondering if --"

"CRACK! You crack want some CRACK?"

"Er, um, yea sure - some crack would be lovely."

"Yea, lovely crack is lovely crack. You got tha bling? You crack got tha blang?"

"CRACK! I got the bling. CRACK!"

"Yee-ah, see crack you soon - homeslice."

I was able to barter with the dealer. It didn't take me long to crack pick up the lingo crack. The dealer and I made plans to meet outside, in a dark and shady part of town. We put away our Barbie laundromat play set, grabbed some bling, and put on our shoes. In no time, Andrew and I were out the door.

It didn't take long to reach the designated shady part of town. When we arrived, we could see the dealer chillin' like a villin'. We knew it was him, because he said he'd be wearing shoes. I cautiously approached him, trying hard to remain anonymous. I asked him about the crack, and he insisted I give him the bling. In a few short adrenaline filled moments (this was my first cocaine purchase - I got a little excited), I had attained what I set out to get. With pride, I strutted my way over to Andrew (hiding behind a fire hydrant), and we took off for his place.

"That must be him, he's wearing shoes!"

"Yo yo yo, how's it goin' homeslice, welcome to my dealership."

"Yea, hey. So, you uhh, got the crack?"

"Yea, I got the crack - you got the bling blang?"

"Yea man, I got the bling. Just a second"

"Gimme my bling, bling brotha bling grip slice."

"Let me see the shit, first."

"Ok brotha, here be tha shit yo bling. Gimme my shit now, and this shit be yours. We be tradin' shit."

"Yea, sure - for you buddy: ANYTHING."

"Here ya go. Enjoy the crack, cracka."

Taylor is victorious.

The walk home was an excited one. Both Andrew and I skipped like schoolgirls, we were excited to get fucked up. As soon as we got inside, we sat down, and started a cocaine freak-fest. Warning, what you see below may disturb you.

You'd be excited, too.

Andrew cuts it with a coaster.

Ohhh, the nectar is sweet.

"Hahahah. Heh. Heheheh. HAHAH. Huh?"

Andrew does a little pick me up.

"This is good shit!"

A little music. Wise choice, Andrew.

GUMMAR!

"I'm freakin' out man."

"Heh, me too. Man."

*Snort*

"TEE HEEE HEHE HEE!"

*SNOOOOORT*

Crack baby.

Ok. Maybe this is pushing it.

After about ten minutes, the freak-fest began to wind down. In this moment, I decided to taste the product. To my surprise - it didn't taste like crack cocaine at all! Why, it tasted like some sort of wheat product... maybe, why. It was FLOUR! Andrew and I were furious, and immediately we stormed out the door to retrieve our bling.

A little taste never hurt anybody.

"Wheat product!!!"

Andrew and I are furious.

It didn't take us long to find the dealer. He was standing right where we left him. In our rage, we approached the well dressed individual. We meant business. After a few cuss words had been exchanged, the armed conflict began.

Andrew and I, armed with a baseball bat and a gardening shovel.

Andrew moves in for the kill.

The dealer considers.

"Andrew, look out! He's got a gat!"

Pimp Powa'.

"NOOOOOO!!!!"

"YOU BASTARD! I SHALL AVENGE ANDREW!"

How did he know my only weakness? Bullets.

Sadness will be felt throughout the land.

So yea, here we are - lying on the ground. We're out ten grand, we have flour all over our faces and in our nasal cavities, and we're fucking DEAD! GREAT IDEA, ANDREW!

*Yoink*

"Home cookin'."

Taylor was right: some sort of wheat product.

Keepin' it real, that's f'sho.

Now, I understand that both Andrew and I are "dead", but you need to remember - that blood (despite how convincingly real it looked) was just pig's blood! We'll be fine, once we get out of the ER. The moral of the story, kids? Why - it's simple: when you're bored, call a dealer.