Sometimes I want to be a DEA agent so I can raid and take all that free weed home.
My last interface with jail. Oh, sorry. Not PC enough. My last involvement with the Criminal Justice System.... Highway Patrol. I'm in the cuffs, he is all, "nothing to stick me, right?" "anything in here?" ..... "Oh. silly sauce."
I glanced back to see an 1/8th disappear into his pocket!!! OK, frisk over.
I'm in the back now, on the way the hoose, for another Breath test. I'm not drunk, but I can tell he missed something. I should say I'm not impaired, because my sweet cousin is in her little brown vial, up in my jeans watch pocket. You know the place... and vial. So, this a problem, linked behind the back.
Yet, if there ever was a time and place, to chew off a limb, for this cat, this was it. It can't happen. Well, you know that thing where you dislocate a shoulder? I didn't have to get, quite to there, but almost, seriously. My right hand was weirdly numb for a month, and my left shoulder has never been the same. Ah! Finally, slippery, little Devil...Stay COOL.. But now I only have it in my hand and I can't reach my nose.
Patience, grasshopper. Savor one win at a time. OK, maybe I was pretty tipsy.
We get there and the one cop, thankfully, goes to help me out, and says "Hey, Relax!" Hmmm...for the still clueless, the Ruse is...re-born.
....just s-scared, officer. boo boo. What Ruse?
I swear, I yet, don't know. Still it is something. But, not enough, in handcuffs with a 1/2 gram of blow in my right hand. Got to walk up the drive into the door....hang back a bit and ghost whimper? sure...I got nothing....."relaaaax," he say.
OK, D-Day. Against the wall, spread for cuffs off. Fists in cuffs. That is my only idea.
Not good.
Hey. RELAX.
I can't.
Open your hands!
I can't. (oh shit...I am not struggling, understand, just clinching)
Suit yourself... watching too much TV. It will just hurt. (!!!!!!!!!yow) See?
sorry, sorry, <pant, pant>
OK, now I'm in a Booking full of people with 6 Cops now keyed to the code words, "watching too much TV." I am holdiiiinnnngggg. One last chance.
As I approach the booking desk, I angle toward the wall side. Maybe I can do something with that corner. Thank the Ganja Gods!!!
There is a Snickers wrapper in the corner.....but carefully unfolded and smoothed. Very weird. Probably writing on the other side, I guessed. No time for thinking, now. In a move I can only credit to the grace shed on fools and drunks, I tried to drop the 1 inch long tube on the floor discretely, so I could nudge it under the wrapper with my foot.
But, my SELF, in full control of all time and space, said no. I fumbled it at the last second and dropped the vial on my left foot that was coming forward, instead of the floor. Chaos! I saw in my fear, it smacking the wall and careening into the middle of the room.
No, SELF wants nothing but net. The vial kicked gently forward off the edge of my boot and to the left side. yesssssss???? And spun the 6'' under that candy wrapper without a rustle or a sound. Ruh?? What just happened?
"What's your problem, TV?"
No, Sir. No problems with me now.
The Ganja Gods will never give me pot again, if a word of this is false.....unlike the Portland story.
