phone rings;
bug; hey!
me; wassup
him; dude, c'mon over. we gotta mission, and i need a specific cigar. you got 1?
me; yep, got 1 or 2 left. ok. be over inna couple hrs
figure i can't show up empty handed, so i throw that specific gar and some other gars into a bag, fill up my cigar caddy, and cruise on over, and walk into a headshot.
there were gars all over the joint! on the dresser, on the bed, on the floor, tables, i mean everywhere! dam good gars, too.
"lets build some bombs", he says with an evil grin.
oh yeah, bomb buildin. i can do this. couldn't build a garage to save my ass, but bombs i'm not so bad at. so a buildin we will go.
5 bombs/trades later, that project was done. oh, some people are gonna get smacked. i'm talkin bone bruises! LOL.
"now we gotta re-arrange my stash"! he says.
uh, ok. (i'm talkin major amounts of cigars). so arrangin we go. 2 big humis,and countless tupperware. top shelf, middle of the road, third shelf, daily smokers, and troops bags. every cigar was sorted, and put in its proper place.
man, i need a cigar!
here, have 1 he says as he hands me a gallon ziploc with a lb of cigars in it. for you, dude, he says. another friggin bomb!
so don't feel bad you 4 or 5 botl's, cause i got nailed, too.
he's a maniac.
blacky
