Seriously? You work part-time at Uptown Gourmet Hotdog Shoppe and yet I know for a goddamn fact you’re on your third eight ball this month. How the fuck can always afford this much fucking coke?
I mean, I’m not trying to complain here. You always hook me up with a bump when I ask for one you never even ask for a little cash or a quick tug job to call it even. But in a way, that kind of makes it all the more suspect.
I know you think you think you’re fucking Anthony Bourdain or some shit but you do still have rent to pay, right? Are you getting this shit on loan or is it industry connections that are doing this for you?
The other week you were too hungover to even go to work, and yet every night we were both doing full rails off the asses of strippers. By the way, thanks for that. But also, how the fuck did you pull that off? You tipped them all really well too and, while that’s very generous of you, I know for a fact that the service industry is not enough to support that kind of lifestyle.
Do you have a wealthy family member you haven’t introduced me to? Do they know you’re spending all their money on blow? Wait, are they El Chapo?!
Look before you respond with some cheeky “you don’t wanna know,” let me tell you, I’ve thought about it. And I fucking need to know.
I don’t know what’s weirder: that you always have coke or that it’s always really good coke. Like, there’s no way that the shit you get isn’t more expensive than luxury cars and some forms of boat. The last time you gave me a key bump of the stuff I was up for four days and I recorded eleven EDM albums. It was horrible!
Well, however you’re doing it, good luck I guess. Wait, have I been talking this whole time? Let me get another line quick here.