lifeisgreatagain-blog

[lifeisgreatagain-blog]

The Adventures of Luke, ep. 1

I ran out of dip at work so I walked down the street to the convenience store. The store calls itself a “bodega” but I don’t know what that means. And if I don’t know what something means that means I don’t need it. But I did need some more dip, so I closed my eyes and shouted “this is a convenience store!” as I walked in, so that fixed that.

The guy behind the counter looked at me funny. He was probably a junkie. I told him I didn’t have any money for his drugs, then tried to buy some dip. He said if I didn’t have any money then he couldn’t sell me any dip. I asked him what kind of operation he was running if he couldn’t sell me any dip until I gave him money for his drug habit. That’s no way to keep customers. He looked super confused.

“That too much for your brain to handle, druggie?” I shouted calmly.

“Get the fuck out of my store, asshole,” he screamed at me, his eyes crazy from the drugs.

I felt threatened, so I unholstered my gun and pointed it at him, just like I learned to on the internet. “Not one more move, druggie!” I peacefully protested.

“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy fuck?!” the junkie screamed.

I read online that the drugheads get irritated like that when they’re “jonesing” for a “fix,” so I kept my gun pointed at him, real cool. I made sure he saw me take the safety off.

“Now look, I don’t need any more of your druggie bullshit,” I asserted. “I just came in here for some dip. You’re the one who went and turned this into something neither of us wanted.”

He threw a can of Skoal at me. “Take it and just leave! Please!”

I don’t chew Skoal. That’s the kind of service you can expect when “convenience stores” don’t properly screen who they hire. Your business gets tarnished by junkies like this asshole. I told him what brand I wanted and he threw a whole sleeve at me.

“I don’t want a full sleeve, just one can,” I shouted at him, losing my patience a little. “I don’t have the money to pay for a whole sleeve!”

“Just take it and leave!” he screamed, crying. He must have been in a lot of pain from the lack of drugs. Well it’s not my job to care about his bad decisions.

“Fine, but I’m going to call your manager and tell him about you being high at work and giving away his merchandise, asshole,” I jeered.

I left the store, fingered a big ol’ pile of dip and started chomping. Then I realized I was hungry from all that commotion. Luckily there was a taco truck parked on the corner, and it was open. And it sure smelled good.

I like tacos, and I like trucks, so I walked up to place an order. And wouldn’t you know it, the whole damned truck was packed full of illegal immigrants!

“What on God’s green Earth do we have here?” I asked as I walked up to the order window.

“Welcome to La Niña, sir, can I take your order?” said the dirty little kid working the register.

“Yeah I got an order,” I said to her, slyly. “I order you to show me your immigration papers and your I.D., now!”

“Excuse me?” she said.

“You heard me,” I said, louder. “Prove to me you’re in that truck legally, cuz I ain’t about to buy tacos from an illegal alien!”

“Sir, I’m 14 and I was born here,” she said, mocking me. “I don’t have an I.D. and I don’t have any papers because I’m a citizen. And I really think you should leave, now.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “You don’t have any papers because you’re an illegal. I know your dirty little tricks. I’m going to call the police!”

Lucky for me, a police car came speeding around the corner at that very moment with its lights flashing. I tried to flag it down, but it went straight to the “convenience store” back up the street. “Well at least they’ll put that junkie away for awhile,” I thought. But I needed them at the truck.

I turned back to the immigrant working the taco truck, and she screamed.

“He’s got a gun!” she sounded scared. I had forgotten to put it back in my holster after that incident with the junkie, but I got a right to carry my gun however I want, so I didn’t see what the little coward was bellowing about.

“This would make you feel safe if you weren’t all illegals,” I said, waving my gun through the order window. “You tell me I need to leave? Well you leave and go back where you came from if you’re so scared of freedom!”

Just then, a couple of black cops come running up the street with the junkie from the “convenience store” following behind them, pointing at me and shouting.

“There he is!” the junkie yelled.

One of the black cops had the nerve to pull his gun on me, and here I am trying to be a good citizen.

“Drop the weapon now!” he barked.

“I got just as much a right to carry this gun as you do, officer,” I said with a little annoyance. Now, I ain’t racist, but I just don’t think colored people make for good cops. They tend to break the law more than enforce it, like he was doing to me.

“Drop the weapon now!” he repeated.

“Now officer, why you hastlin’ me?” I asked, calmly inching my thumb to the safety button on my gun. “You should be arresting that junkie you got chasing you. He’s high as a kite. And this truck here’s full of ILLEGAL immigrants.”

“You have to the count of three!” he responded.

“Stop him, Officer Mellon!” the alien girl shouted.

“It’s gonna be alright, Anna,” the officer said to her. “One!”

“Now officer, I know my rights,” I said, inching my gun up.

“Two!” the black cop continued counting.

“And if you’re going to look out for that junkie and these illegals over a God-fearing white man who actually works for a living then--”

At that moment the other black cop tackled me from behind. He knocked my gun away and grinded my face into the sidewalk real bad.

“That’s police brutality!” I screamed at him, but he didn’t care about the law. These black cops always beating up on the wrong people. It’s fine if a cop wants to play a little chin music on some thug or some drug dealer from the ghetto who’s actually breaking the law. But I didn’t do anything wrong.

The black cop started going through my pockets. He pulled out my wallet and my can of dip.

“Hey, you can’t just steal from people because you want to, pig!” I screamed.

“Is this the merchandise this man stole from you?” the pig asked the junkie.

“Yeah, and that’s the gun he pulled on me right there,” said that drugged-up faggot, pointing at my gun.

“You fuckers are in league with each other!” I screamed. “I’m going to call up the police captain tomorrow and tell him what’s really going on here!”

“You can tell her that when you meet her at the station,” Officer Mellon said as he handcuffed me. “We’re gonna go there right now.”

“Well that’s good, because there’s going to be a drug freak, two black so-called cops and a whole truckload of illegals in the pokey by the time I’m done telling my story!” I said, reasonably.

“Shut the fuck up,” said the other officer, then he hit me in the face and things went a little hazy.

-- Taken from a collect call transcript, caller Lucas Voegel, inmate at the Lancaster County Jail

End Episode 1