Monday, February 28, 2011

Tutorial

I was asked to let everybody know how to subscribe, but I went a little overboard.

...Because I think I'm awesome for knowing how to take a screen shot :)

You can click on the photo directly to see it stand-alone, then click on it again to zoom in.  Sorry 'bout that, I thought the text font was gigantic when I was working with it!



My Life Part III: Courage In A Bottle

Selling coke has its advantages.  The people you meet are characters.  I recall one guy in particular that I called The Meat Man.  The Meat Man paid for his dope with meat. 

He worked in a three-person team.  Just like in any robbery, there is a getaway driver.  They usually send a male and female who look like a couple into the store.  This group targets Publix and Super Wal-Mart grocery stores.  They push a cart into the meat department and start loading up.  They look for prime cuts: Prime rib, filet mignon, slabs of ribs, big-priced cuts.  They will grab lobster, both alive and frozen – you really have to see this to believe it!  …I know because I watched the whole operation.  I wanted to know where my meat came from.  They push this cart toward the front of the store.  Note: If you have bought choice cuts of meat, you know this adds up pretty fast.  One cart of meat is easily worth $500.
Their driver has parked out the front door on the crosswalk, usually in a small pick-up truck.  When they feel the coast is clear, they bolt through the door.  Bringing the cart next to the truck, they throw the whole cart into the back.  The driver takes off as the two-person team jumps into the truck.  If this wasn’t illegal, I would have YouTubed it.  I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.  Especially when some fat store clerk is trying to be a hero and stop them.  They then call me and I get all the meat in trade for dope, usually at about $0.20 on the dollar.  That’s the Meat Man’s hustle. 
I try to combine them all.  Like the guy who is an opportunist.  He comes by with one of those $3,000 stainless steel grills from Home Depot.  Now I can cook my meat.
Next week he comes by with a trailer full of lawnmowers and yard equipment.  Now I can cut my grass.
I’ll be damned if one week he doesn’t come by with a full-blooded, red-nosed pitbull.  You guessed it!  Now I have a dog.
…And a big-screen TV, Maytag industrial side-by-side washer and drier, his and hers matching Trek mountain bikes.
Terrible, I know.
There are some major down-falls too.  Very quickly it began to affect my friendships.  Until this point, I had a fairly good group of friends.  Most of my friends knew what I did, but it’s only weed, right?
Of course there is family and certain friends you don’t want to know.  You definitely don’t want them to know how much you sell.  People can ignore it if they think it’s just a little, once in a while.  It was fairly easy for me to fool everyone.  Not many knew the size of things.
Coke is way different.
I remember the looks I got when certain friends found out I was selling powder.  Some people eased right out of the scene.  A couple wives forbade their husbands to be around me.  Slowly a new group of people began to come around.  Slowly I began to change as a person.  I don’t think I even realized it then.  Looking back now, I see it all.  That ‘hindsight is 20/20’ is very accurate.
When people opposed me, I began to push them away.  Unfortunately, those were also the people who loved me.  I spent a lot less time in a 4X4 and began to spend more time in the strip-club.  The time came when I wondered why I even had a day job.  Who wants to get up and go to work when you have a night job that pays more and the hours are better?  So I began to go to work later and later.
I mean, between you and me, it was kind of funny.
Have you ever seen that movie, “Groundhog Day?”  Once the guy finds out that - no matter what - he’ll wake up the next day, he starts doing whatever he wants.  That’s exactly what I did.  At first I just showed up late - an hour or two late – so far so good.  The company I worked for insisted we fire up and work at 7 a.m.  However, they messed up when they made me foreman.  Suckers!  You see, I ran my crew.  I was the boss on the jobsite.  My boss was a supervisor who didn’t really come around.  He was also one of my best customers.  So I made a corporate decision to start work at 8 or 8:30 a.m.  The rest of the company started at 7 a.m. and we started between 8 or 9.  Many of my workers were doing coke they bought from me.  Really, I had the whole thing on lock.  Once I realized I could get away so easy, things got worse.
As foremen, we drove big service trucks the company supplied.  We had coolers and water kegs on the back for the guys.  By noon we would head to the store and fill the coolers with beer.  For the rest of the day we would drink beer and do lines of coke.  Whenever someone wanted to hook-up and make a buy, I would meet them on the job site.  The job site became my own personal playground.  There was very little work being done for my boss, but a lot of work being done for me.  My job became a big party.
Shit began to hit the fan.  A couple people didn’t like what we were doing.  …Guess he felt like he was the only one working.  He probably was.  So he went to the company office and tried to tell them what was going on.  The funny part?  They didn’t believe him.  He tried to tell them we drank beer all day, had a grill set up and had a B.B.Q. every afternoon, and that we sold drugs.
We cleaned things up a little.  I remember the owner came out to talk to me.  I’m denying all these accusations.  All is going well, we’re leaning on the back of my truck having a heart-to-heart.  Not sure why, but all of the sudden he reaches over and pulls the top off my water cooler.  Budweiser stacked to the top.  He looks at me, looks back at the beer, then tells me to clean out the truck and turn it in to the office.  Best part – I didn’t give a fuck.  Not in the least. 
After that, things got even worse.  I was bored.  Bad things happen when I’m bored.  All my buddies have stuff to do all day.  I don’t know what to do.
The strip-club opens at noon.  Now there’s something to do.  That’s when date-a-stripper began.  Actually, it was more like screw a stripper, hence, “The Stripper Diaries.”
My life began a downward spiral.  The woman I was with was pushed to the limit, at which time I moved in with a buddy of mine.  The things I worked so hard to have in the beginning lost their value to me.  Selling drugs and chasing women became my full-time job.
Until my buddy decided to marry a hoe, we were off the chain.  We were running a bachelor pad.  He had the big house with a pool.  I had the drugs and was able to bring women around. 
I remember at times wishing I could slow down.  This usually happened early in the morning.  I would go out and sit by the pool.  My body hurt.  I was abusing it.  Sometimes my ex would call.  At times I just wanted to go back to the life I had before ‘this.’ 


…But then another call would come in.  Duty calls and I’m off and running again.
I was torn, pulled in two directions at once.  Unfortunately, I always went the wrong way.
At this point I used occasionally.  If everyone was up all night, I would do some coke to keep running.  Drinking and smoking weed is what I liked.  I wanted to be alert and aware of my surroundings.  I didn’t like hovering over a pile of coke.  I did that for almost a year when I was a late teenager.  Up all night, sick for three days after, week-long binges.  Having the coke around this time was different.  I sold it, I didn’t do it.
Then I was introduced to G.H.B.
This drug is a clear liquid.  It has been referred to as the date-rape drug.  This liquid in very small doses has the same effect as slamming a six-pack of beer.  You take too big a dose, and you will pass out.  Users call this a G-hole.  This is similar to being in a coma.
Yes, I know it doesn’t sound like fun.  There are some advantages.  At that time in my life, those advantages outweighed everything else.  One of my favorite things was the way it made me feel indestructible.  Liquid courage in a bottle.  Once I figured this drug out, my life changed.  I really think I grew horns that day. 
I made friends with the guy who introduced me to ‘G,’ as we called it.  He wasn’t an attractive guy, but he had a different woman with him every time I saw him.  Once I got to know him, I asked him how he pulled that off.  This is how he explained it to me – he said, “I’m not afraid of rejection.”
Guys go out and wait for chicks to talk to them.  Not Tony.  Instead, he would walk around talking to every chick in the place.  The more women he talked to, the more he raised his chances of picking one up.  And it worked.  This guy could work a room and walk with a girl every time.  Together we teamed up and did stuff that even sounds crazy.
I began to use G.H.B. every day.  My friend sold it, so it was around all the time.  I think that it was about this time that I just gave up on my old life.  G.H.B. had me living in the moment.  Everywhere I went I had G. with me.  I was using so much that I went into a G-hole nearly every day.  Your body just shuts down, like a very deep sleep.  Many people die during a G-hole.  You can choke on your own tongue, choke on puke, or just stop breathing altogether.  I did this every day, sometimes more than once.  I was 25 years old. 

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Ta2'd Hooligan

This one is on the house: No Copyright, no restrictions - Our gift to our friends.  We ask that everyone who wants to, take a copy and please use it to help promote Judicious Jailbird.blogspot.com.  Upload it to Facebook, e-mail it to your friends... do what you do! 

Thank you for stopping by, thank you for your support, thank you for reading.  Thank you for being part of our extended family.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

H.A. Turns 34

Yesterday was a friend’s birthday and we had a party for him.  Please, join us for a birthday party.
First, meet the birthday boy.
We call him H.A., which stands for Hell’s Angels.  If you don’t know, the Hell’s Angels are a nation-wide biker gang.  H.A. is an enforcer for the Angels, part of the heavy-duty task force.  The Enforcers are to the Angels what the Marines are to the U.S. military.
H.A. Turns 34.
Obviously we can’t run out and buy a cake with candles.  We improvise.  I personally drew him an awesome piece of art.  He is also an artist, and appreciated my picture.  That’s the “normal” part.
Then the blanket party. 
(Pig in a Blanket -- not a blanket party).
Prison is different from being on the outside.  You don’t hug, you bump fists.  You don’t cry; you get angry.  You don’t talk things out.  You fight. 
So when it’s a birthday, or someone is about to go home, you throw a blanket party.  You wait until the person is asleep, then throw a blanket over them, hold them down, and beat the shit out of them.  No head shots, no groin shots.  Body shots only.  I know this sounds terrible.  This is how we show love.
It’s not intended to hurt the person.  This is another level.  When it’s over, the ‘victim’ stands and smiles.  You look around and see your homeboys.  These are the guys who have your back.  In prison, it’s all about who has your back.  A man who stands alone is vulnerable.
Sometimes we make a goulash.  This time we ate Philly cheese-steaks, sweet and sour chips, and drank soda.  We have a canteen and these items are purchased with the money we are sent by family.  Scottie picked up the tab on the food items.  He said to thank his wife Laura.  Thank you Laura!!!
I made a cake.  Well, what it is: three honey-buns stacked on top of each other.  A layer of peanut butter is spread in between each bun.  Then I whip 2 cocoa packs with peanut butter and spread this icing on the top and sides of cake.  Then spread crunched Vanilla Wafers on top and sides.  It’s a big freaking mess, but tastes heavenly.  We chop it all up and eat like finger-food.
Traditionally, I think of women preparing the food.  My Mom always cooked for us growing up.  Here in prison, it’s just us guys.  Preparing our food is nearly as fun as eating it.  One guy is mixing a sauce while another cuts and dices something.  It’s a joint effort.  One I can’t help but look at sometimes and smile.  Here we are, the rejects of society, felons, killers, drug-dealers, yet we are still people.  We are men who have wives, children, brothers and sisters.  We have feelings.  I’m a writer.  I look at all of us sometimes and see a greater picture than meets the eye.  Everyone in prison is hard.  Take a closer look and you’ll see what we are is people.  We love, we feel, we hurt, we’re not that much different from you.
We sing “Happy Birthday,” then eat.  Our scary Hells Angels friend has a smile from ear to ear.  We tell him we hired a stripper that will stop by later.  His smile disappears.  The only strippers in here are men who dress like women.
Earlier I mentioned we throw parties when it’s a birthday, or someone is going home.  A dear friend of mine is very close to going home.  I met Scottie a few months ago.  He is an awesome guy, and has been supportive of Jailbird in many ways.  His sense of humor is a lot like mine and we have many laughs together.  I am happy to see him go, but he will also be missed.  Scottie is married and can’t wait to be home with his wife.  Both Scott’s wife and mother visit Jailbird.
I feel honored to have met Scott, but we will be returning him to his mother and wife very soon.  If he comes home with a few bruises, that’s because we love him so much.
Thank you both for braving Jailbird.    

And this from Ester:

My husband and I watched this movie recently and really enjoyed it.  ...Just passing on the recommendation :)

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Koi

Ester Jean has been slackin' at posting!  ...Looking for a job.  ...And needing to go to Wal-Mart for a photo shoot for one of the next posts.  Yeah, I'm not kidding.  DEFINITELY come back to see that!  In the meantime, enjoy this piece:

Copyright 2011, M.S.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

My Brother Calls Me Out

(Note from Ester: It's always weird to type up stuff Mike says ABOUT me for the general public to see, but this kind of cracked me up.  Enjoy!)
"I phoned home last night and was lucky to catch my little brother.  He logs on to J.J. and tells me what’s up.  Like where people are signing in from, the number of hits, comments, and my sister’s disclaimer… wait – what?  “Hey bro, back that up.  What was that last part?”
He says, “Ester’s piece.”
Hmmm… “Tell me more about this ‘disclaimer’ Ester posted” – a.k.a. Blushing Sister.
We posted a one-page warning – I don’t want anybody trying to sue me.  Seems my sissy felt the need to further cover her ass.  So I had it read to me… three times.  Here is my conclusion concerning “B.S.” – that would be Ester’s B.S.  or a.k.a. “A Blushing Sister.”  Ha ha!
I must say, sis, you did a really good job.  You have a real way with words.  We most definitely fell from the same tree.  I am so proud of you!
If you read Blushing Sister, then you know what it says.  Now let me translate what it really says:
‘To our friends and family who may have a conscience that is offended by this shit – hear ye, hear ye!
We are truly sorry for your sake that you are on here.  However!  You did just click your way through a full one-page warning to get here.  In reality, you opened the door.  Besides… like you never fucked up in your life.  May the most righteous of you throw the first tomato. 
(That’s what I thought.)
Need I tell you where to put that tomato?
Further translated; I love my big brother and if you’re a hater – fuck off!!’
OK, so I added that last part.
That’s why we make such a good team, sis!  You’re sweet and I’m… well, let’s just say I’m not so subtle.
NAH, you guys mean the world to me.  At times I trip out to see how many people listen to me.  You truly are awesome.  Are you all really that bored?  We’ve even got Canada checkin’ in now.  …South Korea?  Saudi Arabia?  You all made Jailbird international!  This is awesome."

Much love,
From the Jailbird himself.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Shout-Outs from J.J.!

To the newbies, and readers in general:  I see many more of you who I will address as time allows.  Leave me a comment or message and I'll holler back.  ...Or remain anonymous.  It might be safer that way :)

...Come on.  You can't be a chicken all your life!!

Sally F: My update from Ester this week included a couple of comments.  …One was about my first mini-bike.  There was a fire, followed by a small explosion.  Did I learn my lesson?  Hell no!  Instead, that bike gave me dreams of someday being a biker.  My goal back then was to do anything possible to impress the love of my life, Brooke.  Uhhh… can I say that?  I’m still getting used to how this blog stuff works….
Cari:  Hey woman!  Thanks so much for checking in.  You’ve been a friend to me for many years now.  It’s probably safe to say you saw the rise and fall of me.  You offered advice but never pointed fingers.  Glad to see you hung out long enough to see me begin to get my shit together.  Thanks for not giving up.
Candy:  Wow, looks like you started something; I now refer to Jailbird as J.J.  You were right – it’s so much easier.  I’ve been writing and drawing my ass off.  Last month I ran through three full ink pens.  That’s a lot of freakin’ ink!  …Lots of good stuff to come.  Thanks for your question and comments.
Sister Gracie!  Hey sissy!  Since you don’t write anymore, I’ll just give you a shout-out from here.  Seems a lot of my pen-pals find it easier to check up on me here at J.J.  That’s fine.  I’ll talk to you here then.  Just one question – what am I supposed to do when I need to play the big brother role and give you advice?  Yeah, didn’t figure you’d want all these people to read our dirty laundry.  Hmm – guess you’d better lighten up and write.  …Unless you want the Canadians to know you stay out too late and drink too much.  What are your grades these days anyway?  Luuuuuvvvv you!
Paulie:  Nice of you to grace us with your presence.  I know you’re busy, so J.J. should work out nice for you.  You can find out all the stupid shit about me you didn’t already know, then type me two or three sentences in reply.  Honestly, I’ll accept this from you since you’re out there saving our planet from the bad guys.  Maybe you could hire my sister Gracie so she has an excuse not to write too!
Mom, Are you there?  Hello?  Yoo-hoo!  Ok, cool, so you’re not here.  Perhaps you also missed “Prison Sex” while you were out with your boyfriend.  We really need to set you up with some sort of a curfew.  Wouldn’t that be fun?  You sure assed my life up with one.  10 o’ clock?  Come on Mom – how would you feel if I told you, “Be home by 10 p.m.?  OH!  And keep your bedroom door open when your boyfriend is over.”  YES!  This blog shit is great!  I can talk to you and you can’t say a damn thing back!  He he!
(From Ester – I am not 100% sure which of these sisters Michael is talking about, because it’s spelled “Catie” – you know which sisters you are.  Mike hacked both your names and now I don’t know which frickin’ one of you he meant!  Sorry!  However, if this is some weird sexual reference, I say NOT FUNNY!):
Catie McD  Murphy’s window.  Do you remember?  God, it’s been so long ago.  Times were far more simple then.  …At least for me.  Crazy, I was remembering looking down through that window.  Glad to hear you are doing good.  Tons of fun memories from Lakeside.
Justin C!  Three words for you: Immanuel Baptist School.  Playing air hockey, wearing uniforms – hmm… reminds me of here!  Ok, so it wasn’t this bad.  We had Miss Cari to look at.
Emma, I’ll always remember you as the girl from across the street.  I think we got in some trouble one time.  I know that doesn’t sound like me, but….  I hope life is good to you and your family.  Tell Ted I said, “Whazz up?”
Miss Ester:  Thank you for your comment on the hot stripper, or should I say not-so-hot stripper?  Karen had other things goin’ on besides her face.  She was real… flexible.  Her ‘sex appeal’ outweighed her ‘curb appeal.’
Lacey, I was riding the other day, the wind on my face, headed to a beach somewhere.  I thought I saw you there.  Good times.  I’m blessed to have great memories.  They pull me through these hard times.  Thanks for checking this out :)
Sherri, I feel honored to have met your son behind these walls.  Scottie makes me laugh every day.  He will be coming home soon, but I think we have a friendship that will last, and I look forward to having a cold beer together as free men one day.
Laura, Glad to have met your husband.  Hope your schedule is clear for… hmm… about 6 months after he gets home!  Thanks for following my bullshit.
Jennie, thanks for your friendship.  You rock!  Your letters are awesome, and your pictures are the shizzam.  Keep coming by.  I have some really cool art coming soon.  Much Love.
Kristina!  My bro’s girl!  You must be great to be putting up with my brother.  All my sisters like you, so you have passed that test.  And that’s a huge one!  Keep an eye on my brother, ok?  He’s real special to me :)
Phillip, Hey Dude!  Thanks for holdin’ the fort down while I’m gone.  Take good care of Mom ‘til I get home bro.  Give her lots of hugs from both of us – You’re the man right now, so what’s right.  I love you!
Ashleigh, I don’t have any hair for you to cut.  However, when I need one next time, I’m looking you up.  You really should shout out too.  It’s been a while little lady!
Fritzon, Since my mom made me promise no more ink, I’ll need you to finish doing me up.  We’re setting a date homie.  Have your people get with mine, ok?  I’m a hop and a skip to the gate :)

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Happy Valentine's Day

Guys, you do know what’s coming up, right?
There are three things you better never, ever forget.  You never forget your woman’s birthday, anniversary, or Valentine’s Day.  In case you forgot, Valentine’s Day is just around the corner.
Let’s pretend you forget one….  Ooooohhhhh – you dumb ass!  Some free advice: Memorize these dates.  Tattoo them on your brain, and never forget them.  You will be tested on this.
Driving down the road, your lady will look over at you and ask, “Honey, do you know what tomorrow is?”
Hold it dude!  That’s a loaded question!  DO NOT blurt out one of the days of the week until you are 200% sure you know the correct answer.  You can’t take too long either.  She’ll pick that up too.  Another tip: Women have very accurate bullshit meters. 
So you fuck it up and forget.  She says, “that’s ok.”  Hmmm – when hell freezes over, that's ok.  Depending on how bad you assed it up, you’re about to miss out.  Birthday sex, Valentine’s Day sex, and anniversary sex are awesome.  But that doesn’t matter.  You’re not getting any.  Nope, sorry dude.  At this point, your best bet is make-up sex.  …And that won’t happen until she burns you with the cold shoulder for a while.
Allow me to add ‘drunk-sex’ to this list as well.  …Let me clarify: Not drunk sex where you are wasted with someone you don’t know.  If you even remember that sex the next day, it was probably clumsy and slightly uncomfortable.  No, I’m talking about drunk-sex with your woman.  The lady you are comfortable with.  These are special days.  You get a pass to do extra awesome stuff.  Meaning:
“Just sit back while I do this.” 
“Let’s try this position.”
“Put it in here.”
Sorry dude, the only thing you’re putting it in is your hand.
Guys see things completely differently.  Our answer to a problem is sex.  We think with The Penis. 
A guy walks into a room.  The women scan you.  They assess you.  Are you clean?  Are your nails nicely trimmed?  Is your hair cut and combed?  Do your clothes fit?  And what kind of shape are your shoes in?  Then they measure your air of confidence.  They do this quickly and efficiently.  Within a few seconds they give you a rating.  You probably didn’t even notice, but trust me, you were sized up, buddy.
Men, on the other hand, are very shallow and rarely subtle at all.  We are often caught staring… at one of two places: Tits or ass.  This is because we think short-term (that’s penis talk).  We are not thinking about marriage, babies, careers, or picket fences.  No, we’re thinking about sex, plain and simple.  We have a rating meter as well.  On a scale of 1-10, what would sex be like with you? 
...Of course, I’m not that guy.  I used to be.  Right now I’m just trying to help a dude out and remind you to have a Happy Valentine’s Day!"    

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Got Ink?

"Meet the man on the other side of the fence. The mouth behind the stories you read. The hand behind the art you see."




"I’m not able to remove my shirt for pictures, so I did the next best thing. I made an appointment with a friend who draws portraits. Yes Mom, I have a lot now.

Thank you Waylon for the time you invested in helping me put this together. You made my lips too big you fag

Usually I’m laughing because of my friend Scottie. He’s my go-to guy, and the proof-reader of all my bullshit. He was a fountain of jokes while we put this together. That’s ok - the final joke’s on you, buddy. I’m doing a nude portrait of you.

One of the first tats I got was my scorpion. I am a scorpio and had that done while I was in high school. My right arm is my guardian angels surrounded by clouds and tribal art. My left arm is all memorials. An eagle and American flag represent my grandfather, who served his country in World War II, and who passed away in 2008.

Kimmy’s memorial and Moment of Reflection are for all of those who have lost their lives to addiction. It also serves as a reminder to me of the life I lived, and the daily struggle I had with drugs.

Around my belly-button is a Cadillac sign and the date I was born: 1978. Paradise Road and Cloverleaf Lane were the crossroads where I grew up; simple times in my life.

A1-A and Avenue B became my place of solitude. Listening to the waves crash on the beach and the sun bringing in a new day are natural therapy.

On my hip is the woman who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, drawn by my baby sister, and a reminder that she is always with me - I love you Gracie.

Since coming to prison I have studied the American Indian and the Aztec Warrior. The way of the warrior has much meaning to me. A warrior fights to the death for what he believes in. Family, friends, and freedom. One of my biggest fights is the fight against addiction. I do that one day at a time.

Where a boy once stood, today stands a man. A man who fights for everything he believes in: A Warrior."

Happy Birthday Baby Sister!

Our family is the singing kind, and by that I mean we make Birthday phone calls and sing a long or short rendition of the Happy Birthday song to our parents and siblings.  I'm not sure if Michael will get a chance to call our baby sister today, but he asked me to make sure we say a public Happy Birthday. 

She's been our Dacey-Dacey-Doodle-Bug for a quarter-century, and she may be #6 in the family, but she's #1 in our hearts!  Happy Birthday Gracie! 



Thursday, February 3, 2011

My Life Part II: The 'Cronic'les

Selling drugs in many ways is just like a regular business.  You have a product people want or need, so they come to get it.  Ironic how the first time I made a run, I was scared shitless.  Then it becomes more normal.  I can’t count how many times I’ve sat at a stop light and had a cop pull up next to me.  I smile and nod – look natural – thinking to myself, ‘Wouldn’t you just love to know I have 20 pounds of hydroponic weed in an igloo cooler not five feet away from you?’  Yes, I got pretty cocky. 
…And the crazy ass shit that would happen to me.
I told you I had a day job.  My day job was land-clearing and site development work – you know all those big machines?  I used to run those.  Well, my cousin starts dating this guy who works in real estate.  They begin buying small wooded lots and having me clear them as an investment.  One of these jobs was a large wooded lot close to a swamp.  I end up using a track-hoe; a very large machine mounted on tank-tracks.  A huge arm reaches out and grabs brush, trees, whatever.  Well, here I sit in this machine clearing brush.  I reach out and begin to gather large clumps of underbrush.  I see a flash of blue.
Huh?  What is this?  I jump out of the machine and investigate.  What I find is a 50-gallon plastic container full of weed.
First I look around.  Is this a setup?  You know, I’ve heard of the back door popping open on the armored car, everyone scrambling to pick up the cash… what to do? 
I know what I would do.
This basically just happened to me.
I sell dope.  Now I’m finding it in the woods in Tupperware containers.  Is this a dream?  I immediately eliminate my cousin – she’s very opposed to illegal substances.  Since my cousin wears the pants, I know her husband isn’t moving this kind of weed.  Hmm?  Or maybe he hides it out here in the woods so she doesn’t find it?  Ha!  Let’s be real – she would kill him!
It gets better.  That day I walked around and found two more of those containers.  The final tally was 120 pounds of marijuana.  Let’s just say that particular job paid very well.
Dope dealers do weird stuff.  Some guy may have had the cops snooping around and had to stash his stuff.  Perhaps an angry ex-girlfriend was threatening to turn him in.  Whatever the case, that was my come-up.  Sorry about your luck dude!
Karma?  Me and that son of a gun have been going around and around for years.  During my illegal sale of drugs, I also sold used cars.  Instead of having the drugs I sold sitting in my house, many times a package was kept in a car that I had for sale.  …And many times a package was lost in a car I had for sale.  Not usually large quantities.  Well, not to me.  That opinion may differ from say, you, and perhaps the cops.
Usually what would happen is the dope gets stashed, some shit comes up, and you forget.  …Like one time I loaned a buddy some tools so he could fix his car.  He calls me a couple hours later to tell me to come get my tools.  Seems there was about 4 ounces of coke in that tool-box.  Imagine that!  At least I got that back.  I hid weed in the spare tire compartment of a Ford Explorer.  I sold the truck and only remembered that I left a brick in there a week later.  That’s when, as a dealer, you freak out and stash your shit in the woods, thinking the cops are gonna come kick your door in.  Then the little Ford Mustang.  I loved that car.  Very fast, very fun to drive.  I sold it with 6 ounces of coke tucked in the shifter boot.  This is the problem when you sell and use drugs.  Pot makes you forget important stuff.  …Like where your dope is.
During my early days of dealing, there was a lot of silly shit that happened.  There were a lot of stoned people around.  We moved a lot of bud and I met a lot of dealers.  Like in other businesses, networking is a big part of drug dealing.  Before long I knew guys who sold coke or heroin as their hustle.  One guy worked with stolen vehicles and insurance jobs and yet another sold guns.  I’ve even met guys who still make moonshine.
Around the age of 18 or 19 I used coke for the first time.  Until then I had only smoked.  I did that line and it was like, ‘Gentlemen start your engines!  Houston, we have liftoff!’  This was a new high for me.
I won’t lie: I did my fair share of coke, and then some.  That was short-lived though.  I met a woman that I began to date.  She hated drugs and I was forced to curb my enthusiasm for cocaine.  I went back to weed.
After selling the weed for some time, I began to peddle small amounts of coke.  This closely resembled my high school dealing days, except that an ounce of coke and an ounce of weed are much different.  …In many ways.  The size, the price, and the legal consequences.  I’ve been pulled over and had a cop search my vehicle, come up with an ounce, and tell me to take off – and he keeps my ounce.  …Of pot.
That’s not happening with coke.  Your car is confiscated and they’re on their way to search your home, and will try to confiscate that too.  Unless you’ve got a kickass lawyer, you are screwed.
Slowly I began the transition of getting customers who used coke.  This brought around a whole new breed of people.  Weed people buy a week’s worth of pot on payday.  They know what will get them through the week and they go ahead and get what they need.  They aren’t going to decide to stay up all night and smoke all their pot in one sitting.  That’s not how stoners work.  They won’t call you at three in the morning because they ran out and need more.  They are sound asleep at 3 a.m.  …But not coke-heads.
Coke heads think they got enough, or maybe they only planned to do ‘this much.’  Their plans change as soon as they start snorting.  I don’t know how many times I’ve told someone, “You better get more than that – you’ll be calling me back in an hour.”  Never fails – they always call.  Coke is addicting.  Once I put together my list of regulars, my switch was complete.  I still moved weed occasionally, but coke was the money.  I was on to new and better stuff.  …Or so I thought.
During the time I sold weed, I never had my house broken into, I could leave my phone on all night, and I never had people follow me.  We had parties.  Lots of people around.  Tons of food and beer.  It was a good crew of people.  Some of the guys had boats.  We would fish together on weekends.  I still went back to my roots.  Sure I liked feeling like a gangster, but I still took a 4X4 and played in the mud.
I had a little extra cash.  We had a mud-truck, four-wheelers – we had fun.

I began collecting guns, just for fun.  We lived in the city.  On week-ends we would head for the hills, a big parcel of hunting land out of town.  I dragged a trailer that carried the mud-truck and four-wheelers and we would meet our friends and be crazy rednecks, shooting at targets, tearing up mud-holes, drinking beer, eating grilled food.  That was the time of my life.  Sure I was selling weed, but it was like a job.  I was still on top.
Many of my friends were bikers.  We rode all the time.  If I wasn’t on a 4X4 in a mud-hole, I was headed to some bike-week.  I fell in love with Harleys.  To me, my life was fairly normal.  I spent time with family.  We went to the beach.  Selling weed back then was a way to make money.  Even at the level I took it, it was still casual.
Perhaps I wasn’t looking for casual.  Always one to push the bill, I kept pressing on.  I think I saw buddies of mine that had more.  Greed is a motherfucker.
I began to see opportunities to make even more money.
The more I thought about it, I decided, ‘Why not?  Why settle for good when maybe you can be better?’
So I made the switch.  Just one decision, but one that forever changed my life.  Goodbye to the little life I knew.  Goodbye to the decent man I could have been.  Goodbye to the good in my life.
Hello cocaine.