So a Brit feller texts his buddy to see if he “wanted to buy some reefer.” Guess the dealer hadn’t made the cut to new phone. See, the buddy had changed numbers. The old number now belongs to a police officer. Like any good copper, he responded that, yeah, sure, he’d love some. Arranged to meet the guy and busted him. Wah-wah-wah-wah-waaaaaaaaah.
You know, though, it’s probably the best thing that could happen to him. If he’s that retarded in his business and discretion skills, he probably wasn’t going to get the branch manager promotion anyway. Or maybe he just enjoyed dipping into his inventory.
I feel especially bad for the guy because I have a family member (extended) who accidentally texted me a series of oddly (and poorly) coded messages about “playing basketball at midnight.” He also talked about “bringing the girls.” It had long been rumored in our family that he was pimping and dealing on a very small scale. Like so many of his “startups” this one fell by the wayside. Hard to figure out why. I, of course, being the evil bitch that I am, texted him back repeatedly, altering the plan and changing the time. Then I stopped responding altogether. I had to go to bed.
Now, I grew up in the 70’s and 80’s and really, really, truly people, there aren’t any euphemisms left that are subtle enough to escape detection, yet still be understandable. So I kind of laud the guy for just saying, “Dude, want some reefer?” and not beating around the bush.
And I also must confess that I hate texting and culture around it. So I’m secretly glad that he got busted that way.
Someone should develop a national PSA campaign around the slogan, “Stupid People Shouldn’t Deal Drugs.” We could get Ann Coulter to be the spokesperson. That’d scare a stoner.