My anti-drug is crack cocaine

Today I walked out of a Publix (a grocery store) and ended up in front of a makeshift stand of some sort. There were two guys standing next to a table-one of them was reasonably attractive, and I was wearing my "magic when mixed with food" shirt, so when the cute one asked me to stay and talk awhile I thought, "Ooh, maybe my shirt will strike again." (Shirt: The Movie: The Ride)

Then I looked down at what they were hawking. It was a thing for D.A.R.E. I don't remember what the letters stand for, but it's a gay anti-drug program that we had at my middle school. I got all disappointed and said, "Oh, no can do, I'm pro-drugs." I started to walk away, but these anti-drug FASCIST COMMUNIST AUSTRALIAN NAZIS are tenacious little fuckers. The guy called out, "Are you pro-drugs even for kids?"

I turned around and smiled. "The younger the better."

"Oh yeah? How early do you think kids should start doing drugs?"

"God, I don't know, like seven?"

"Funny, everyone else has said seven." (Hah! Nobody respects them!)

"Great minds think alike. Maybe you should listen to us."

Laugh, exit, End Scene.

After this episode, I started doubting my shirt. Maybe it's not magic. Maybe those other times were nothing more than coincidences. But then I realized that I had walked out of Publix without buying anything. The other two times that my shirt worked, I had actually been in the process of buying food. From this I concluded that it is not enough to be in/near a venue where copious amounts of people are buying food-I need to personally buy foodstuffs in that type of venue for my shirt to do its thang. This knowledge will undoubtedly help me sleep easier tonight.

Back to DARE. Those of you who know me, know that my drug of choice is marijuana, and we all know that weed makes people stupider than they normally would be. This dovetails nicely into my next anecdote, wherein I, The Undersigned, do something stupid. For a change.

So about an hour ago I was driving up to a red light in the right-hand turning lane, and there was a motorcycle next to me. I looked over at it, and the chick on it (I think it was a chick) looked at me and pointed at something. I looked in the direction of her finger, back at her, back at the finger-direction, and couldn't figure out what she was trying to tell me, so I shrugged and made my turn. For a few minutes, I kept wondering what she had been doing, but eventually I just wrote it off as random strangeness. Specifically, strangeness on her part. Benefit of the doubt, my ass.

Anyway, I got home, pulled up to our garage, and realized that I had been driving for almost twenty minutes in the middle of the night with my lights off. Maybe I should've given that guy some of my time...

Oh, and je ne pas preggers. Three cheers for half-cootie-free me!

-G