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Ask any parent and they’ll tell you: There’s nothing, and I mean nothing a father wouldn’t do for his children. And if it comes down to it, and I’ve gotta slang a little dope to make sure my daughter gets the education she deserves at Pepperdine, well that’s pretty much a no-brainer. Bring on the ganja! I’m not going to feel guilty about it. Most of my customers had glaucoma or restless legs syndrome anyway. They needed it!
People love to be critical. They’ll say, “What sort of example are you setting for your children, getting what you want by dishonest and illegal means? Shame on you!” And then I tell them to fuck right off, because it’s not about what I want, it’s about the things my children need, a modest list if there ever was one. And if the items on that list include an Xbox 360 or a Segway, by God, I’m going to provide for them—even if it means I have to move a little cocaine on the side to supplement the weed sales.
I didn’t ask for all this hardship! I didn’t ask to lose my job back in 2003. Say you lost your job! Say a buddy of yours had a great line on some killer Humboldt Green and was just begging you—begging you—to take it off his hands for practically nothing! What would you do? It’s either that, or you’re living unemployment check to unemployment check in a modest three-bedroom condo, eating beanie weenies and maybe downgrading to the store-brand Oreo knock-offs, hardly going out to dinner at all except on weekends, birthdays, and holidays. Hey, you got a better idea, Einstein? That’s what I thought! I suppose you’d have passed on the cheap Colombian blow, too, seeing as how all you care about is yourself.
You really think I would be doing this sort of thing if I could find equally lucrative gainful employment? That I’m some kind of deviant lowlife criminal because I sold a few people some harmless buds and potentially less harmless ketamine last week? It’s not as though I particularly enjoy selling horse tranquilizers! Nor am I gonna just dole them out to any Joe Schmoe I happen across. You want horse tranquilizers, pal? You better prove to me you’re the owner of a horse by showing me a picture of it! Otherwise, no deal, you degenerate junkie!
Let me ask you something: You ever experience what it’s like to have your eight-year-old son tug gently at your belt loop, tears running down his apple cheeks, asking why he can’t have a detachable robotic arm like the rest of his friends? No? Then you’ve not known the true definition of impotence, my friend. When it happens to you—and it will, trust me—you pretty much know you’ve got to make shit work, come hell or high water! And if that means moving to Chula Vista for a couple months to smuggle illegals over the border just to get your child the bare necessities, so be it. You don’t really have a choice in the matter! You’re doing it, period.
Big frickin’ deal! So I sold some weed and cocaine and horse tranquilizers and smuggled some illegal immigrants into the country for a year or so just to stay afloat! It’s not like I’m Pablo fucking Escobar! You know how hard it is raising kids? You want your daughter’s teeth to be all crooked and yellow, so that she’ll never get a boyfriend and her friends will all laugh at her and her self-esteem will be shot to hell? You want your son to never experience what it’s like to own a street-legal go-kart? No self-respecting parent could ever answer yes to such questions! But tooth-whitening and go-karts aren’t cheap, and sometimes, like when you lose your job and have access to extremely inexpensive illegal drugs, you have to improvise and take a few chances to make ends meet. But then what would you know about sacrifice?
Also, just for the record, there is a huge difference, legally and morally, between selling an unregistered snub-nosed revolver and using it to blow someone’s brains out, even though the person probably deserved it. Night and day, people!
I’m not entirely proud of what I did to ensure a better future for my children, but do I have any regrets? Hell no, I don’t! I’m not gonna glamorize it or anything, but at the end of the day, I’m the guy who can say he did everything in his power to raise his kids in the best manner possible. Now I’m through defending my actions for you people! If you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go meet my sister down at the Super 8 to collect some money she owes me so my kids can go to Magic Mountain this weekend.
