batter up, kids, coach is in the house. this has been some bullshit and at the moment i'm not sure how much detail i should go into. first of all, i'm no longer in florida. this isn't exactly by choice, more like an unfortunate set of circumstances that pointed to this as the most beneficial outcome for my future. i don't remember whether or not i posted here recently, but i'll give a brief recap of the past eight months' events.

let me begin by saying pablo escobar was very proud of me. so proud, in fact, that he (or rather his goods) was spending some time with me early one morning in april. i had decided to drive over to the wallgreen's on 41 and vanderbilt, whereupon in the pine ridge neighbourhood i came upon a piss ass white japanese car driving slowly. in the pre dawn hours i couldn't see much, other than the windows were fogged over and the inside light was on. logic dictated that i had stumbled upon some little bitch kid driving his shit car through my hood and toking before work. whatever. so i decided to fuck with them. using the lack of street lights and the general darkness to my advantage, i carried out a series of sneak attacks with my lights off and hosed them with my brights when the moment was right as i stalked the motherfucker through pine ridge, heading them off at different intersections and generally acting a damn fool. at one point i passed them and tossed a firecracker out my window. this continued for around fifteen minutes and the sky began to glow its pre dawn grey. as i sulked back toward my house, forgetting all about the wallgreen's deal, i made a fateful decision that i wasn't done with this fucker and that i had something to prove. turning around, i came upon the car pulled off into the grass, with some other vehicles in support. i thought "oh you brought your friends. motherfuckers wanna rumble, let's go." as i blew the stop sign and went right to entice pursuit, four sets of lights and sirens flared up and i had to grab my ankles and take the shaft.

apparently it was a newspaper delivery woman, and she thought i shot at her. the police searched my car and found empty boxes of 8mm Mauser and 7.62 Soviet, and thankfully i didn't have either of my rifles. they invented a story that went something like me trying to run her off the road and throwing bullets at her. anyone that knows jack about centerfire rifle cartriges knows that they wouldn't go off save for an act of god. so i went to jail for a while.

three weeks in the can ended with my anal virginity intact, and a plane ticket to montana for rehab. the attorney worked out a deal wherein i would get treatment for my chemical joys at the wilderness treatment center and then do whatever aftercare they recommended. there's some stories from that place not worth telling, except a few classic instances when people, myself included, would show their balls and a staff member would be present, but i'll leave that for another time. basically i dicked my way through that with no intention of becoming sober, and now i'm in a motherfucking halfway house in la, waiting for this shit to disappear.

it's been good here so far. even without herb, it's a reasonably happy time. whenever i end up getting some shitty job i'll have my car. i was taking some classes at a local community college for a while but with no work ethic or desire to remain in a classroom setting, i flushed that down the toilet and called it quits. there was also a relationship with some promise and some damn good sex but i managed to ruin that whole deal as well. and now i have literally pennies and two and a half packs of cigarettes to live on until i get a paycheck from a still nonexistent job. there's better reasons to commit suicide, so i'll just deal with this until i can go back to being a pothead spending all day in badluck with my sks and an ounce of dank. vote for bush.