It Is So Hard to Find Good Help These Days

By help, I mean a decent drug dealer.

All right, let’s go ahead and check this post off the list of pages that will make Freshly Pressed.

I think we all know that I’ve been known to partake in a little illegal activity from time to time. I won’t bother trying to deny it. I need it. It’s medicinal. For what condition? Um, chronic bitch syndrome?

Which can only be treated with chronic.

Anyway, as anyone else who is in my position knows, it can be very hard to find a decent connection, especially if you live in a red state. In Florida, the possession of an amount less than 20 grams (not even enough to make decent brownies) can get you tossed in jail for 1 year and fined $1000.

Thank god they have that law on the books. Its keeps all the dangerous, slightly sleepy, paranoid pot smokers off the streets…so we have room for all the murderers and rapists.

I always run into the same set of problems when looking for a new connection;

My connection is never direct. It’s always a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy. So whenever I call my friend of a friend, he has to make 47 phone calls as well. In the time it takes me using this method, I could drive to California, get a dispensary card, go to the dispensary, pick up and drive home.

My drug dealers always want to screw me…and I don’t mean out of money. I’m not saying I’m a beauty queen or anything, but when you’re dealing weed out of your mom’s basement, generally, you’re not getting a lot of interaction with women. So I show up, money in hand, and have to deal with some pasty drug dealer putting his hands all over my leg. At which point, I have to respond, ‘I’m not going to fuck you for weed. It’s not crack for Christ sakes.’

I can’t go to my friends for help. Why? Because they’re coming to me instead. If you can believe it, I’m the badass in my group. My friends are all closet smokers whose ‘one joint at a time’ purchases would get them laughed out of any decent drug den.

Someday, when my writing career takes off, I’m going to pack up and move to California, where I can pick up without all this hassle. For now, I have to go call my dealer, so he can play 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon with my next stash.

Based on how long it takes, he may actually be getting it from Kevin Bacon.