Rodeo burlap
assless chaps and rose petals
I'm a macho man
So anyway, one afternoon, we were not in school, and LJ, one of the local hoodlums, came over and asked if I could give him a ride to the store. My little brother and one of his little loser friends agreed that since I had a car, keys in my pocket and 5 dollars that we should all make haste to the store. Being flat out retarded, I acquiesed.
We all pile into my fly ride, and I take off. Yes I only had a permit, but I was also cool for those brief golden-tinted seconds, driving my cream colored Buick through the fly streets of North Kansas City....until I saw the lights.
Apparently the local constable did not find the humor in my fun, and decided since I had a temporary tag that he would stop me and verify it's legality. I was worried, as I only had a permit and was the oldest person in the car at the tender age of 15, but was less worried about the temp tag. Smeagol would never forge a temporary tag, would he? I admit until that point I had never looked at said temporary tagification, but I just assumed it was legal.
The officer did as officers usually do when they stop someone who is not white: He walked past my door and looked at the VIN number, as if he could tell from the numbers whether or not I was a criminal. He then took my tag out of the back window, and then asked me to exit the car.
Showing me the temporary tag, with the word August misspelled, he informed me that he could tell this was a fake tag, as the 1 was a modified 7 and the 2 before it was poorly drawn, as it was evident there was not space for said 2 before. He also noted that the tag belonged to a 1990 Pontiac Sunbird, not the 1982 Buick Regal it was ensconced in. He informed me that I must get back into my car while he ran some things to see if I had any warrants, and I got back into the car.
During this whole exchange, LJ had the strangest look on his face, as if he had to take a shit or he was scared shitless, either way feces was involved and that aint good.
"Steve, I got weed on me, I got weed on me...." he whispered seductively into my ear, while, unbeknownst to me, shoving approximately 5 ounces of marijuana under my seat along with some crack rocks and pills. Thankfully the officer never found those, and informed me that I needed to take the car home and never drive it again.
I found out about the weed later, when my dad got home and yelled at me for what I had done and had gone out to put another temp tag in the window. I informed him it was LJ's, and he told me that he was going to sell it and split the profits. Apparently "sell it" translated to "smoke it all with some skank that evening", because that's what he did. I am still waiting for my share of the drug money.
Smeagol came by a few days later, after hearing the story, and told my dad, while I was at school, as punishment he was going to take the car to hold onto until I got a license, and ended up selling it to buy more hot wheels, kim chi and failure inducing instruments of raptordom. Buttfucking assblaster. His answer to my query as to the veracity of the temporary tag? "Look niggie it is legal as long as no one looks at it, you shouldn't have been driving it, bitch muhfugger!" At this point I was at least 5 inches taller and 100 pounds heavier, but it still never occured to me to hand this ruffian his comeuppance in a bout of fisticuffs.
Mystery snorted angrilly and they drove off, and that, my friends and Benson Hunter, was what I like to call the Epoch: it was the first time I believe my dad smoked crack, and also the first time I realized how much of a complete douche Smeagol was. As a sidenote, my dad made me give him 100 dollars out of my savings account, that he used to pay LJ for the drugs he had smoked. Awesome, huh?
Monday: Lilian Ray returns!
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