My two closest black friends are both cops. Guess who my two passengers were the only time in my life my car was shredded by border customs? You're not racist. Customs is.
This. Sort of. I went at least six months before seeing an 'African American' after I moved here. Muslims? Forget about it. Never forget, though, that time a party with some Mexicans when I overheard one them say to another, "Dude, they 're just like us!" Can't prove it, but I think this song may be about those 80 miles between Freer and 'Boys Town' in Nuevo Laredo.
Maybe they're only pretending to be your friends in an attempt to bust your grow up. You never can trust those people. (I mean cops, you racists.)
My wife and this board are the only people in this galaxy who know I grow. Never ever ever ever tell even your closest friend about such a thing. All it takes is one person blah blahing it to who knows who and next thing you know my neighbour steals it and I have to dump a 100 pound bag of primus cement into his backyard hot tub to give the message not to steal from me. He hasn't tried (or spoken to me) since.
Just told the roommates I'm moving out. I could not feel better about this. I thought each would freak out but both took the news extremely well.
My cousin's from up north grow. They rent two story houses. Downstairs? Everything looks normal. Upstairs, it's all about operations. They use the closets for incubating and the bedrooms for business. Those big CO2 tanks and tubes feeding the roots were everywhere with timed lights turning on and off. They sent me a pic message on harvest day that I couldn't figure out which I handed to my friend, who's ICE, and said; "what's that"? He looked at my phone and replied, "Looks like manufacturing to me." We both cracked up laughing. Here's some old weed music........
What's going on idiots? I made this account a long time ago and was recently thinking it was a dumb name, so thanks for the compliment. And no I'm not Dixie in disguise.
At 3am after your 2nd divorce, when the 3 inches of cheap bourbon on your nightstand and the memory of that once-noble profession are all that stand between you and the drop to the street 4 stories below. Or, the first time you make a profit from a blog.
Those memories are the same things that keep lawyers from throwing a $700 office chair through their 50 story window and following it out.