I Want to Be a Drug Sniffing Dog

I’ve mentioned this before – I’ve been Xanax dependant for over seven years. This past week my worst nightmare in life had come to fruition -- my entire supply of Xanax was nicked and I wound up having to go cold turkey.

While celebrating my birthday in New Orleans, my girlfriend, who is merely an amateur drinker, got retardedly hammered and wound up doing the Technicolor Yawn on the comforter of our bed at the hotel. The next day we made sweet love in the pile of vomit for most of the afternoon. By the time night had fallen it was time to go back to Decatur Street to do it again. We called “Anything / Anytime” to have a maid clean the puke off the bed.

After several hours of boozing it up, we came back to the room and found that the maid had been there. When I went to take my nightly dose of Xanax and realized:
Houston, we have a problem…

In my drunken stupor the night before, I had unscrewed the Right Guard deodorant where I hide my precious Xanax in the bottom and didn’t screw the top back on to put the stick back in. The maid had mistaken the bottom for trash and disposed of it.

MY PRECIOUS – OH MY PRESH-HUUS!

There was no way I was gonna score more. So I decided, fuck it, it was time I stopped being a slave to those things anyway. I was quitting, done…cold turkey. Such an aberration -- leaving New Orleans more sober than when he’d come. Who woulda thunk it? As I write this editorial, some three days later, I have not slept and anxiety wracks my brain, but it’s good to have put that foul addiction behind me.

It was now time to drive back to Atlanta. If you’ve traveled around the Southland as much as I have then you would know that nothing is scarier than a wide open road, some corn fields, and a couple of rural ass hick cops with nothing to do. Personally, I’m glad they lifted that assault weapons ban so these inbred small town cops can eat hot barrels of red not American Death when they pull over some REAL FELONS to fuck with them!

Finally, there’s a solid reason to vote for Bush.

As we crossed the border into the cosmopolitan Picayune, Mississippi, a cop was parked on the side of the road. I’m not speeding, sober as a Baptist preacher on a Sunday morning, not swerving or anything. I see him pull off the side of the road to get inline with the traffic. I set the cruise control to 5 MPH below the speed limit, make sure to drive straight as a arrow, and try to not look back at the Blue Menace. Still, I was having that sinking feeling again, I knew it -- we were getting pulled.

Some inbred early-twenty-something-looking deputy steps to the side of the car with his gun drawn -- it was Showtime. Of course, when speaking to a cop, it does you absolutely no good getting mouthy with him. As a way to suppress primordial fear, the human brain reverts to speaking an arcane language pigs can’t interpret to maintain some semblance of self dignity while being berated by these inbred redneck hicks with extra chromosomes. I shall translate this phenomenon here:
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“Sir, would you please step out of the car please?”

“Yes, sir.” = “I hope you die in a vicious hail of bullet fire -- you pig asshole.”

“I noticed you were swerving back there. Have you been using any illegal drugs?”

“Absolutely not, sir.” = “I dug you mother up and fucked her skeleton.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“New Orleans, sir.” = “The same place we came from -- necro-gang-raping your mom’s decaying corpse.”

“Where are you guys headed to?”

“Atlanta, sir” = “I would now like to give you the opportunity to suck on my hairy balls -- you fag!”

“Do you mind if I pat you down just to make sure you don’t have any weapons?”

“No, sir.” = “See, I told you that you were a fag.”

“Please don’t make any quick movements; I have my dogs with me. You look a little nervous. What’s the matter?” = “Aren’t people always nervous when some ignorant redneck has them detained on the side of the road with dogs and a gun drawn?”

“Do you mind if I look in the car?”

“No problem, sir.” = “Why are you even phrasing this shit like its fucking questions? You know you are going to do whatever you want -- just get it over with.”

We both get thoroughly frisked and then comes the dog. The dog goes around the car, in the car, the trunk is opened, our belongings are scattered on the side of the road, this very laptop is thrown around like a rag doll, then the same bags are searched over, over and over again because El Piggo swears that the dog is “alerting to something.”

Dude – it’s a fucking DOG!

I tell you what Picayune, Mississippi, the proud home of two (this is no joke) Cretin Mobile Home dealerships. It ain’t a couple of city slickers with tattoos that you need to be worried about – it’s all of the cousins that keep inbreeding for generation after generation that has muddled your gene pool to the sorry quagmire that it is now. Stick to domestic issues and stop these inbreds from fuckin’!

I’ve been through my share of hairy vehicle searches before, but this one definitely took the cake. It’s one thing to get hassled when you are doing something, but there is no feeling quite as indignant and sanctimonious as when you are pulled over for nothing and you aren’t doing anything! If it were any day between 1997 and 9/12/2004 -- you would’ve got me, but now I ain’t doing SHIT and THIS was HARRASSMENT!

Its see said so many times, but this is really how I feel -- FUCK COPS! This Picayune, Mississippi cop was nothing but a piece of shit. I’m sure that I will get all the pissed off emails saying “Oh, cops are heroes…blah, blah” or I’m a cop and if you are even in Wisconsin you’d better watch out.” Fuck you guys! I laugh my ass off every time one of you fucksticks gets whacked. Truth be told, yes some of a cops just if heroic – about 1%. The other 99% of the job is being a dick to somebody. If you are a cop and not so blinded by your megalomania take a look in the read view mirror at your refection – you should see a giant penis head staring back at you because that’s what you are.

I think DDTT said it best way back in the day – ALL COPS ARE DICKS!

Best wishes,

Jay