Here’s Pooh, the heroin junky, stumbling down the stairs after a good nod. He falls, busts his cranium and thinks to himself when rising … gotta find a new drug. Something that will give me energy and not make me so damn stupid. I think I’ll hang out with Christopher Robin today. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. After all, he is a professor of organic science and surely he can whip up something in his lab that’ll change my entire outlook on the day. But first, I must somehow recover from this downed out stupor I’m in. Time to take a stroll through the eight-mile ‘hood and get a little fresh air. Stop by Rabbit’s crib and get a bump of speed and a fresh ten-pack of syringes. Maybe he, or my little biker bro’ Piglet, will have something good. A big old 45 unit blast of meth that’ll knock my dick in the dirt. One that’ll give me a rush and rock my fuckin’ world! Yeah, it’s going to be a good day! A good day indeed!

Approaching Rabbit’s condo, Pooh hears his friend banging the hell out of one of the young neighborhood forest bunnies. One of those promiscuous young bunnies that trade their ass for dope. “Rabbit! Come to the door man! I brought some carrots to trade for speed!” announced Pooh. Sticking his head through a hole at the base of the hollow tree, Rabbit quietly whispers, “Shhh! Go away Pooh! Can’t you see I’m trying to get laid?” “But dude!” insisted Pooh. “I’m jonesin’ like a mother fucker and I really need a fix! Hook a road dog up, will ya?” “Fuck you! Kick rocks! Go see your best friend the swine. He’ll get you loaded. I’m busy. It’s not every day that I get one this young and pretty. Now don’t go away mad, just go away!” Sad but suddenly realizing his furry friend was only doing what rabbit’s do, and that’s fuck like one, Pooh decided to cruise on over to Pig’s. Rabbit was cool and all, but he wasn’t the true blue friend Piglet was. Piglet wouldn’t ignore him, kicking him to the curb just because he had a piece of ass on the line. Piglet was a righteous bro’ through and through. Or … so he thought.

Working on his Harley in front of the Pig’s M.C. Clubhouse, Piglet looked up through his mirrored Raybans and said, “What up Bear? You look like you just lost your best friend or something.” “Nah. I’m straight.” replied Pooh. “I just need a good shot to get me going. Got any go-fast dude?” Handing Pooh a lukewarm beer from a nearby workbench, Piglet said, “Ain’t got shit right now bro’. But I hear ol’ Chris is cooking a batch off down at his house. Let me change this last spark plug and we’ll ride on over to see if the shit’s ready. Dig?” “Cool bro’. I just feel like shit today and need some speed.” Finishing his brew, Pooh noticed Pig making a last minute phone call on his cell. Couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but for some reason, Pooh felt uneasy. He’d heard rumor Piglet may have turned snitch for the feds. But having known the greasy little slop sucking bastard since he was a kid, Pooh just couldn’t believe it was true. Surely Piglet hadn’t turned rat. Nah, no way. The Pig was a righteous, hardcore stand up dude.

On the way to C.R.’s, Piglet hit a pothole on his Dyna Wide Glide splashing mud and water all over a nearby Eeyore sending him into gloomy despair. “Hey you fuckin’ Pig!” yelled the panhandling jackass. “Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going!” Flipping Eeyore the bird, Piglet twisted the throttle, Pooh on back hanging on for dear life, making his way to the lab. Even though it was Eeyore’s birthday and all he was trying to do was scrounge up a few bucks for a beer, Pig could have gave a shit less. A huge storm was coming and he wanted to make it over to Chris Robin’s before he and Pooh got caught in the rain. Eeyore was the last fucker he needed to worry about knowing if he didn’t get a bust for the feds, he was going to be sent to the big house for at least a hot twenty piece. You see, Piglet had recently got busted in a sting operation over at Owl’s house the week before. And he’d cut a deal to set Christopher Robin up on a meth buy in ex­change for a suspended sentence. Piglet was wearing a wire and the DEA, ATF and 7th Judicial Drug Task Force were set up in a vacant house across from C.R.’s waiting for the deal to go down.

The unsuspecting bear, Pooh had no idea what was about to go down. All he knew was Piglet sure was acting awfully skitzy and his gut feeling told him some­thing may be wrong. Passing Kanga and Roo standing on the corner selling crack, Pooh gave them both a friendly wave. Looking in Piglet’s mirror as they passed, Pooh noticed Roo run toward the middle of the street waving his paws mouthing the words, “No! He’s a rat! No!” Now thoroughly paranoid and in no way wanting his old pal Christopher to get busted, Pooh casually reached behind his back releasing the safety switch on his Army issue .45 cal. “This fuckin’ pig ain’t setting my friend up,” he mumbled to himself quietly. “I’ll fix his hot ass!” Arriving at the lab, Piglet parked his scooter next to C.R.’s Pantera, dismounted, and walked up to the door. Scanning the area before knocking on the door, Pooh attempted to spot any narcs or unusual activity that might tip him off to what might be going on. Entering the living room Piglet announced loud and clear, “What up Chris? Got that speed powdered up yet? I need a pound to take back to the sty with me.”

Totally spun out after having been awake for days, pure crystal meth leaking from his pores, Christopher Robin turned to face Piglet holding two .40 caliber Glocks—one in each hand. “I got a call Pig. They say you’re no good. That you’re a rat for the feds. Now get out of that leather so I can check you for a wire!” “Yeah, you filthy fuckin’ pig,” added Pooh. “I knew you weren’t right the minute I saw you using your cell phone earlier in the day. You’d better not be snitchin’. Because if you are, you got a bad day coming mother fucker. Now get out of ‘em!” he too pointing his pistolo at Piglet’s gonads. Reluctantly yet not having a choice, Piglet shucked his clothes and sure enough, he was wired for sound. “Why you dirty little pig bastard! I oughta …” About that time, the S.W.A.T. team wearing ninja suits and full riot gear knocked the front door down with a batter­ing ram. “Police! Hold it right there! You’re under arrest!” Gunshots went off and a firefight ensued. Flasks full of crystal meth oil burst everywhere. Pooh fired off a few rounds, then dove out a nearby window. C.R., now shot twice in his left shoulder, also managed to escape but not before putting two slugs in Piglet’s brain.

When all was said and done, Chris was caught a few blocks away at the 7-11 shot full of holes. Pooh was captured two weeks later trying to cross the Mexican border at Reynosa and Piglet was sent to the graveyard. Christopher Robin and Pooh were indicted. Chris for first degree murder of a government informant and manu­facturing meth, Pooh for conspiracy to manufacture and obstruction of justice for refusing to testify in open court against his old friend Chris. Later, Kanga and Roo both showed up at the pen for selling rock. And Rabbit too for raping under­age bunnies and making child porn videos. The only Hundred Aker Wood residents to remain free were Eeyore and Owl whose duty it was to send money orders and care packages to Chris and Winnie in the pen. Thus another day in American subculture of make believe animals. Hope this blog hasn’t destroyed any of your fond, child­hood memories of Winnie-the-Pooh. It was simply meant to amuse and entertain. By the way, any of you tweekers out there seen any heffalumps or woozels lately? I’m Tripper! Better Days!

When I was a drug dealer out there, one of the worst things you could ever do to me was try to rip me off or shine me on when it was time to pay for your dope. After all, the way I always looked at it was … friends were friends, business was business. Supply and demand were the name of the game. If I supplied you with drugs, then I demanded to be paid. If you told me you were going to do something, then I thoroughly expected you to do keep your word. All you had to do was stick to the original agreement and all would be okay. But if you didn’t, you were subject to run into someone you really didn’t want to meet. And that someone was known as “Captain Madness!” To this day, many have yet to forget his name.

Captain Madness was one of my alter-egos. Not to say I particular liked him per say. Yet sometimes he was a necessary evil in that line of work. In the dope game you can’t let anyone run over you. You can’t let people burn you and you damn sure can’t show any signs of weakness, because if you do’ and word gets around you’re easy, assholes will literally come out of the woodwork to try and fuck you over. Fueled by greed, sheer ignorance and sometimes cocaine, Captain Madness had a look in his eye that let even the bravest, most arrogant rip-off know it was time to pay the Devil his due. If you owed money and you were just trying to be slick and not pay? Uh-uh. That didn’t work. If you played you paid. Give up what you owe or be on the business end of Captain Madness’ fists or pistol. Pretty easy to understand really. Do the right thing and there wouldn’t be any problem.

One fine day in America’s subculture, Captain Madness was all coked up and for some reason or another, he kept brooding on one certain individual who thought he could act stupid. Owing thirty-five hundred for three ounces of speed, the Wild Wild West knew he had to pay. At first, he said he would. Then, for reasons unknown to the rational thinking person, West decided he was not going to pay no matter what. Apparently he’d grown nuts and said to himself, “Fuck Captain Mad­ness! What was he going to do?” “Got my money West?” came the Cap’ straight and to the point. “No! And you ain’t mad!” replied West, who thought because he had a little pocketknife in his hand he could do so. That’s when Captain Madness calmly but quickly reached out grabbing West’s throat with his right hand and his nuts with his left, squeezing both just hard enough to let him know.

West paid the money. Escorted to the bank with a .380 Beretta jammed into his balls, he gladly withdrew cashola from his savings account. Years later, when running into West in the county jail, he admitted to seeing the Devil that day. Said there was something in the Captain’s eyes that let him know he would have been a eunuch if he didn’t come off the money he owed. And, he’d had a pretty mean grip. “No hard feelings,” he made sure to say. “I don’t want no trouble. I liked my gonads then and I still like ‘em now. No need for violence.” “It’s all good West. Come see me when we both get out of jail. I’ll be glad to front you a couple more ounces of speed,” chuckled Captain Madness kicking back on his steel bunk reading a Louis Lamour but carefully watching West out of the corner of one eye.

Then there was the unfortunate case of Brett and Cindy.(See previous blog titled the same). They got a taste of Captain Madness’ medicine one night. That was one time when the Captain didn’t get his money, but both husband and wife got what they deserved via brass knuckles and a baseball bat. An incident involving treachery and deception. Cindy thought she could get away with lifting a man’s wallet containing quite a bit of cash. But in the end, suffered the consequences and now has four little knotched-out scars on her once pretty little face. All due to blatant disrespect and thievery. She probably wouldn’t have got punched. But she lashed out FIRST on top of stealing the money and betraying once so-called friends who’d been good to her and her old man. Yeah, that night, Brett and Cindy both found out that old Captain Madness just don’t play.

You know, there were others that didn’t purposely mean to rip Captain Madness off. Like a friend who’d been fronted cocaine who thoroughly intended to sell his part and pay the piper what he owed. But, being a smoker, he wound up free-basing too much and in the end couldn’t pay his due. Those kind of people can sometimes be excused. They didn’t purposely mean to do Captain Madness wrong. And too, Captain Madness, being a notorious coke smoker himself, seemed to under­stand. But then there were others. The worst of the worst, those who maliciously premeditatedly planned to burn him from jump. Take dope on the front and never for a single moment intended to pay. A guy or girl who’d lie through their teeth telling Captain Madness anything he wanted to hear just so long as the end result meant leaving with the drugs. Hauling ass to party, never in a million years meaning to pay.

12 pounds of pot, a digi, and cold, hard American Cash

Willy Bones was one of those kind of people. Slick Willy, as they called him, took fifteen pounds of weed from the Captain promising he would be back in one hour to pay. All he had to do was meet the buyer at a motel room across town, all prearranged, and he’d be right back with the cash. Didn’t happen. Willy shot out for Tulsa and wasn’t seen again for a solid year. Thought he’d gotten away with it. Until by accident he got cornered at the Red Carpet Lounge by the Captain and two of his friends. It was a bad, bad weekend for Willy Bones there­after. Before it was all said and done, everything in Willy’s house was hauled off in a Ryder rental, he had two black eyes and a broken nose, and was dropped off butt naked at Riverside Park’s Oktoberfest where he was arrested for indecent exposure. Oh well, shit happens. I’m Tripper, aka “Captain Madness!” Better Days!

There was a particular Chinese restaurant in my area I use to eat at all the time. They had great food and a buffet that was simply out of this world! I loved to have lunch there. And every time I met a new chick, that’s where I’d take her to dine. The owner of the restaurant acknowledged that I came in with numerous pretty girls. Sometimes she’d wink at me letting me know she knew. Never was one to date Asian women. But this old gal was different. She had long, beautiful hair and I swear she must have had breast implants. Because most of the Chinese women I knew didn’t have 38-double D’s like hers. When paying my bill, I always told her to keep the change. Smiling at me, I wondered if it was me she liked or my money clip full of fifty and hundred dollar bills. Sure was a pretty little lady. Never thought of having sex with her, although I couldn’t help but to ogle at her tits from time to time.

One day, Brenda and I had just finished our chicken fried rice and egg rolls (not to be confused with yummy-yummy egg rolls in a previous blog titled the same), when my date announced she was going to the lady’s room. While she was gone, Sushi Sue came and started taking our dishes away. “How are you today?” I smiled and asked the hot little fox as she bent down to wipe my area showing me her less than ample cleavage. “Me fine. You know me mother, she like you. She think you coolest American she ever seen. You should talk to her sometime. Ask her out on date. She single you know.” Surprised at how bold this young geisha girl was in attempting to fix me up with her mama-sahn, but wanting to be nice, I replied, “Oh cool. Tell her I’ll give her a call. My name’s Trip, if you didn’t know.” Smiling, the young Chinese girl, every bit as pretty as her mother, turned and sashayed away.

“She’s cute, huh?” said Brenda when returning from the lady’s room. “Yeah, she’s okay. But you know me. I’m not really into Asian women. I like blondes. Now let’s me and you go do a couple of lines of coke and get naked! What do ya say?” I laughed and teased. I then took a five dollar bill and three ones out of my shirt pocket and left them under the fortune cookie tray as a tip. “Here! Wait!” said Brenda. “Aren’t you going to read your fortune?” “Nah, you know I don’t believe in that kind of stuff. Pick one for both of us and you read it to me.” I said. After paying for lunch and on the way out the door, Brenda snapped the fortune cookie in half and read. “Your love life is about to change for the better.” “Yeah, right” I said. “I believe that like I believe there’s a man in the moon! Now, get in the car. You like candy? Cause I got an all day sucker here with your name written all over it,” I teased.

Two weeks later, I returned to my favorite restaurant. But this time, with a different girl and her two kids. At 9 years old, my girlfriend Kim’s son Cameron was a mean little fucker. He was totally off the chain and out of control, saying words that would make the meanest teenagers blush. “Cameron, I’ll give you five bucks if you eat some of that red hot sauce in that bottle with the rooster and Chinese writing on the side.” I told him. “Is it real hot Uncle Allen?” he inquired. “Nah, even the wimpiest could turn the bottle up and drink that stuff!” I said. “Don’t tell him that Allen!” said his mom knowing that particular hot sauce would light a mother fucker up to no end. Shaking his head “no,” he smiled at me, his four front teeth missing, knowing he wanted that five bucks like crazy. “Ten bucks,” I said. Again, Cameron the terror shook his head “no.” “Okay, fifteen is my final offer. And look!” I said when squirting a little of the sauce on my fried rice. “I’ll even try some of it myself. I’m not a wimp!”

The waitress came and asked if everything was alright—did we need anything. And I asked her to bring us another round of Cokes. When she left, I laid three five-dollar bills on the table and squirted a big bunch of killer red hot sauce on Cameron’s rice. “What’ll it be? Just tell me you’re weak. Just tell me you’re a wimp and it’ll all be okay. I’m sure your little sister Jessie would like to have that fifteen. Let me find out you’re a real wimp.” Challenging this little terror, knowing his mother was going to be pissed, but perhaps even getting a little revenge after the 15 minute sailor mouth session he gave his mother on the ride over where she just took it and did not punish him at all, not even to tell him to be quiet! Grabbing the three Abe Lincolns, Cameron shoved a mouthful of hot saturated rice in his craw and began to chew.”Gotta swallow it all or it’s no deal!” I said. He did Then all of a sudden, his face turned beet red, eyes started bulging out of their sockets and he started gasping for air. “Damnit Tripper!” his mom screamed while hitting me on the shoulder. “Cameron! Take a drink of your soda before you pass the fuck out!” she said. I gave him a glass of milk that the pretty little waitress brought with the cokes, and told him to drink it up, it would go away and next time to think about that burn when he spoke to his momma. Yeah, old Cameron baby’s mouth was literally on fire there for a while. As a souvenir, I bought him a bottle of the Chinese hot sauce to take home with him when we left.

Time now to leave, I tipped my favorite waitress and walked toward the front. “Kim, take the kids and go on out to-the car. I’ll be there in a minute. I want to get a bottle of this hot sauce to go.” “Hi!” I said to the little Asian lady who owned the restaurant and always flirted with me. “That’ll be twenty-dowwa. Everything okay?” she asked. “Just fine,” I said when pulling out a wad of bills from my jacket pocket. Peeling off a twenty and an extra five for the sauce, I didn’t notice it at first, but apparently I’d dropped a quarter paper of cocaine on the counter. “Shit!” I said grabbing for the ziplock baggy full of powder at the same time as the hostess who said, “This my tip? This for me?” “If you say so,” I replied still in shock and really not knowing what to do. Embarrassed and a bit shaken I hurried on out to my Cadillac.

From that day forth, that lady never would leave me alone. She even invited me to the back one time where we shared a couple of lines snorted from a chopping block in the kitchen. She was cute and all. But as I mentioned before. I wasn’t into Asian chicks. I’d only dated one before. And she was a hooker and way, way too skinny for me. “You sure are handsome man. Sure you wouldn’t like to take me out on date some time?” she asked grabbing me by the forearm, running her hands up to my biceps adding, “Ooh! You so big and strong!” “Maybe later,” I said and smiled, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Leaving the back and heading out the front door, I thought to myself … think maybe she’s like one of those chicks in the movies— me love you long time? Who knows. All I know is, I got the hell out of there and after that and stopped eating Chinese buffet. Take it easy everyone. I’m Tripper, Better Days!