“Sir, you look intoxicated, won’t you back that ass up? Your narc-ass neighbors called us, won’t you back that ass up? Now put your hands behind your back and back that ass up. You have the right to remain silent and shut that ass up.”
How many times do I have to type “legalize all drugs” while sitting at the desk of my air-conditioned office in Beverly Hills before it actually happens? I sure hope there’s an actual number, because I’m not marching or writing a letter to my Senator or any of that. That’s how they get you. Juvenile, the Cash Money artist who has done nothing in his life other than spread joy, has been arrested in New Orleans. His neighbors smelled pot and called the cops. How unlucky is Juvenile, to have the only neighbors in New Orleans that aren’t also drug users or dead? Juve, you gotta move to L.A., man! Not only do we have legal bomb chron, but our city’s above sea level! Here, if you look out your window and see homeless people foraging for food by the water, you live in Venice!
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