“Trump is a scumbag that no one I know would trust to watch the dog,” Thorsten said.

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“Yeah, so when the whole piss thing came out, I said to my mother, ‘the question is not whether he did it; the question is whether anyone would believe that he could do it, and the answer is yes.’”

“Your mother?”

“Yeah, she’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“You wanna smoke Chem Dawg?” I said.

“You got anything else?” he said. “That Chem wasn’t so strong last time.”

“You’re right. I have to talk to my man.”

“You have anything stronger?”

“Wine. Gewürtztraminer.”

“Okay. And Chem.”

Anyway, we both went home an hour later.

That night I had a horrible dream. It was about some squirrel I kept in a wooden box. I felt so sorry for the squirrel because in the dream, I had been the captor. You can take a lot of shit in life, and you have to put up with a lot of shit, but when you’re a captive squirrel in a wooden box, it’s totally fucked up.

 

Forum Comments:Fucked up
Image Credit:Kurt Bauschardt
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Lance is a certified Bad Influence. He divides his time between Amsterdam and Denver, Colorado, whichever is closest.

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