1994, in fucking Tampa FL. Got dropped off at The Dealer’s house around 2am with the understanding that I’d meet my ride down the block. Grabbed a pound of Mexican brick, went to meet my ride at the designated spot and he was nowhere to be found. Ended up having to walk two miles back to my apartment with a pound of weed stuffed in my waistline. Luckily, it was cold that night, so I was wearing a jacket, otherwise I would’ve been fucked. In Florida in 1994, if you were walking around (or driving) late at night and you were young, the cops were gonna roll up on you, search you, take you to jail. It happened to me multiple times, for doing nothing. I have no idea how I made it home that night. I dunno if Florida is still the same (probably it is), but that shit sucked. I think I rolled the fattest joint I’ve ever smoked right after I walked in the door of my apartment.
Fucking assholes. I’m sure you would have just given them the cash anyways without the beating. A friend who used to grow back in the day shot his mouth off too much bragging, some guys broke in beat and hog tied him and took all his plants and equipment.
it is the unwritten rules man. Just how it is. Middleman has to get his too lol
I bought a zip from a thug kid, who happened to have his gang member cousins from their hood at his house. I wouldnt smoke them a blunt because I’d lose profit. Dude pointed a loaded 38 at my head. I dropped the zip and walked out, they wouldn’t let me walk out and broke my teeth in with the pistol. There house happened to burn down in the next few days.
Our little spot in the woods would get attention from the cops every few weeks. But there were multiple escape routes so no big deal.
But I do remember coming back the next day trying to find the small baggie I ditched while blasting through the brush.
Holy shit…Talk about war stories…
I feel like a sheltered powder-puff…
All my shit stories were basically my own fault…eating too many edibles before having them properly dosed…grabbing a handful of mushrooms and munching them down when I was already "half in the bag"with Rye
N’ Cokes…around midnight…that was a long morning I must say…chuckle
Perhaps it just happened so long ago for
me…pre Nancy Reagan crap…so no one really cared…
Shitty story, for sure, however… You gotta love those days when a qp cost a thousand dollars haha…
LOL, I paid $150 for a QP! I’m sure your quality was better. I seriously smoked Mexican black market weed until I got my med card 10 years ago. Getting it wasn’t that sketchy unless you were a white boy who can’t speak Spanish
Well, yeah, brick weed was always cheap. I’m talking about the days when a qp of kind got a thousand bucks. Now, people are lucky if they get $1500 for a pound of Fire.
@beacher and that damned dog always stunk! Ya lightly pet them and yer hand stunk. I hated that. In my case it was a pitbull that was as dumb as a box of rocks.
Ya had to pretend to like his dog as to not offend him for fear of losing the connect.
Good times, prohibition was.
Nobody really cares now, either, @MrToast. Everybody’s so fucked up on some kind of drug, whether it be weed or antidepressants or psychedelics or “mood elevators” or Xanax or blow or bourbon… Everybody’s so wrapped up in their own shit that nobody notices somebody totally out of their head, tripping their balls off on pills or weed or mushrooms (or all three), just trying to buy some groceries or beer… They just go,”Man, that dude was weird… Next!”
We all thought “Everybody knows I’m high, maaaannnn…” Turns out, we were just high hahaha!!!
I hear ya…
As I get older…I don’t sweat the little shit…and tend to cut people some slack as you don’t know what a person has been/going through…
Live and let live…
Far too many people acting like rats these days…scratching and clawing over their fellow man/woman to get ahead…
I just want to be happy
Lol so true, all greasy and shit. Now I can totally remember that gross smell
First time I bought a QP, it would have been the quality of what my kids call “mids” now, the cost was $90.
I always hated hanging out for hours with a dealer before getting my weed. I just wanted to get my shit and go home, get stoned, listen to some good music on the radio and watch the ant races.
No doubt. Of course, it kinda depended on which dealer I was getting weed from. A lot of them were friends of mine, so I never minded hanging out and blazing, but the one I mentioned in that story was a full-on junkie. Asking me for a lighter as soon as I walked in the door so he could cook his shit and shoot up in his bedroom before dealing with the task at hand. I dunno if you’ve ever spent much time around addicts, but they’re a bummer haha.
Used to do it the other way, we would go up to bc
Hahaha I got pulled over just south of Tampa with the stinkiest qp I’d ever smelled in my waist. Cop kept trying to get close to me. I was sweating bullets until he gave me a warning for speed and let me go lol
Depends on where you are. I’m sure you’ve heard of Grady Judd. If not Google him. That’s what it’s like now lol
I have not heard of Grady Judd. I moved away from Florida in ‘96, mostly because I got sick of being stopped and frisked (and usually taken to jail) for no reason. And also because Florida’s a shithole. But I’ll google Grady Judd now.
Back then it was, it’s decent to live here now. Hell in the 90s every state was stop and frisk just about. I kinda like it here, no state tax, thousand miles of bikini lined beaches, no snow, bikini lined beaches,
I was just in Tampa in February to visit my mom in the hospital before she died. It was still a shithole haha! First time I’d been there in fifteen years and I could not wait to leave. I mean, I wanted to be with my mom as much as I could be, but every time I left the hospital to go back to my hotel, I was just like,”Get me outta here.”
I googled Grady Judd. Fuck him. Haha!