Sunday, September 18, 2011
Marty Mc Fly's Nike's or how Buffalo Bill stays lit
I know this guy and we'll call him Samson. Samson sells weed. Not by the boat or truck or bale load but enough to warrant a lengthy stay in any one of our country's fine correctional facilities. I asked Samson if he ever considered the possibility that the law of average would indicate he may very well get arrested one day? Samson didn't like this. Samson told me that "players and hustlers don't think like that. It gets in the way of the game. And just my bringing up the notion was bad enough." The only reason I even mentioned it to Samson was I'd be greatly concerned about Samson's abilities to hold his own in the penitentiary and that all the things you only saw in prison movies and heard mentioned in NWA lyrics would most certainly befall upon Samson within his introductory week of incarceration.
I asked Samson why he doesn't just give up "the hustle" now, while he's felony free and unversed in sodomy? Samson says it comes down to shoes. His shoe fetish is a lavish one that can only be satiated through the procurement of more Nike's and Jordan's. His dream is to buy a pair of the replicas of the shoes Michael J. Fox wore in Back To The Future, but he says he'd have to sell weed for the next decade to be able to afford them. I had to find a picture of these highly coveted shoes, and they are in fact, hideous and reek of geek from a minimum of 10 yards. They tell the onlooker "Yes, I know what a jigawatt is. And yes, I have a gold medal in masturbation." But I can't throw footwear stones cause I wore Doc Martens for the better part of the nineties and Doc's say "Yes I'm edgy and yes my parents bought me these boots. Now hand me my nose ring."
Over the years I have referred some people to Samson. I don't especially care for this at all as I'm the poster boy for squares. I don't smoke anything, don't drink all that much. My only verifiable vice is caffeine and it is a monkey I continue to try to shake yet manages to fling pooh, start working the hand cymbals only then to jump right back on my back and instruct me to order something vaguely Italian sounding with a shit ton of superfluous words that could be boiled down to "coffee, with milk and sugar." So when I refer any future clients to Samson, I do so with the best intentions coupled with zero accountability for how bizarre or text book druggie they might turn out to be.
Take Buffalo Bill. Buffalo Bill is a friend of a friend of a friend who moved to town and needed to be on an altered mental plane to deal with a town that boasts a pyramid, towering clown and a pirate ship as landmarks. I referred Buffalo Bill to Samson who discovered Bill was a cross dresser with a hard cold Star Wars penchant. But he didn't love Lucas' intergalactic money maker in it's entirety. No, his adoration was solely focused on Darth Maul. This love is demonstrated and displayed by Bill's Darth Maul tattoo that spans the better length of his arm. And the cross dressing? Bill routinely opens his front door in panty hose, hastily applied make up and do-rags, which is a weird pile up of hip hop fashion, gender bending and Star Wars geek on the highway of life. Samson's thoughts: Buffalo Bill's a weirdo but his money spends like anyone else's.
Another guy I referred to Samson was a guy we named Dapper Dan for his affinity for slicking his hair back in the same fashion that George Clooney does in "O, Brother Where Art Thou". Clooney used the fictional hair pomade "Dapper Dan", hence the name, "Dapper Dan". I worked with Dapper Dan, and he seemed alright. So I sent him to Samson. Samson said Dapper was an alright guy. That is, till Samson went to Dapper's house recently and the strangest thing I've ever heard transpire in the midst of a drug deal occurred. Samson and Dapper had smoked some of Samson's self-proclaimed heroically potent weed when Samson got up to head for the door. Dapper got up behind him and told Samson to hold up a second. As Samson turned around, Dapper grabbed Samson's butt.
Now, I don't know if it was a pinch, or a full on hands on both cheeks stereo grab of user on dealer sexual harassment, or just a blink and you'd miss it poorly thought out attempt at joking around. But Samson had to inquire as to what the intention of the pinching of his derrière by his client was, which sounded exactly like "Dude, did you just grab my ass?" Dapper could only blame his badly received pass on the potency of Samson's weed. Samson left immediately and called me. I had to ask if this meant Dapper would be cut off? Do dealer's have a code of conduct or policies that are in place as to circumvent the occurrence of such acts? If this was workplace harassment, does that mean Dapper's living room, festooned with black light posters, KFC buckets and X-BOX 360 games is Samson's workplace? Is a 10% fee for contending with future pinches absurd? Samson said he'd still take care of Dapper but he'd no longer go to Dapper's home as he couldn't count out the possibility of anything else happening. I told Samson to keep his back to the wall at all times, then he'd be good. He said that's an idea.
I hope Samson gives up the hustle and bustle of selling weed. I told him to get a job at Footlocker, then he'd get great discounts on shoes and he'd be making an honest dollar. He said you can't buy a Benz with money made selling Keds. Samson offered to put me on "the payroll. I told him I wouldn't make a good dealer. I'd spend my time telling people to eat more fruit and vegetables, less processed meat and to phase out the marijuana. I would however openly encourage them to try angel dust as I've read it's the closest you'll ever come to having super powers.
Love yer high on life pal, LMF