Will fight cops for food

The other day I tried to recall how many times I've had a run in with Johnny Law and gotten off scott-free. Free of the Scotish. I lost count and interest after the tally got way past three, but decided I need to stop fucking around when cops are in the area. I've literally run from the law THRICE, and talked my way out of two probably chargeable offenses.

I have argued belligerantly with cops. Always a bad idea. I blamed alcohol and fortunately so did the cops because they seemed to know that under better conditions we would have teamed up like right proper chums. So they didn't arrest me or my friend but they did yell at me a whole lot.

And this other time this cop grabbed my balls and asked me if I wanted to go to jail. Somewhere, someone must have answered "Yes" to this question once and I am damned upset to have missed it. The cops took our grass and made us pour beer on it. I wanted to tell him how hard that was going to make smoking the grass. Then he ground it in with his shoe. I spilled a beer on the cop and they STILL let us go.

The next night, I was stoned and sat at the table adjacent to the exact same cops. Talk about paranoia.

I really don't do as many drugs as I might imply around here.  But you'll find the more publish-worthy memory holes stem from the times I've done rather a lot of them all at once.

This still doesn't change the fact that there is no damned food in this house. I've resorted to eating the things I never really considered food. The things in the freezer like corn and chicken strips that I always glaze over when searching for real and proper food. I finally decided that tonight's meal would be Chedder Cheese Biscuits and spiced rum, having no other suitable beverages.

Besides milk maybe. And I hope the Canadian Dairy Farmer gets his in the end.