> be drunk bastard anon, a drunk bastard
> after a long day of collecting bottles and hauling shopping carts from the lake
> you had a decent chunk of change burning a hole in your pocket
> ergo it was time to go down to the local bar and get shitty with your nightstand
> currently be down at a bar by the shore, on the pier
> it was offseason so the only people down there were bums, trannies, and crackheads
> pretty much your people
> nightstand is in fine form tonight, drinking rotgut wine and bottom shelf whiskey
> shot after shot, round after round
> it becomes clear that you don't have enough money to cover this tab you're racking up
> so you lean over to your nightstand, who happens to actually be a nightstand
> and say, "hey, nightstand, do you know what time it is?"
> her eyes widen with excitement before she blathers out, "COKAINE TIME?!!"
> you nod and flag down the bartender, who makes her way over to you
> "hey," you say, "we're going out to have a cigarette, keep our seats open, will ya?"
> the bartender eyes you learily but obliges
> little does she know your tab will be coming out of her tip jar tonight
> you lift nightstand up off her shitty wooden leggies and haul her outside
> to the back of the bar
> to the dumpster, which is where your illicit activites generally go down at
> be nightstand, a nightstand
> fired up because it's cokaine time
> which was pretty much one of your favourite times
> one bump of the magical white powder bestowed clarity to even the drunkest of nightstands
> could go from seeing triple to single in a single bump
> and it enabled you to drink even moar wicka with your daddeh
> which was your #1, all time favourite thing to do
> just ahead of cokaine and pancake buffets
> your daddeh sets you down after getting to the dumpster, behind the bar
> and he grabs a plastic baggie out of one of the satchels that hangs around your neck
> you asked daddeh one time why he kept the magical cokaine in there, and he told you "fuck the police"
> which you agreed with wholeheartedly
> all true nightstands hated the police, and everything they stood for
> your daddeh opens it up and pours a few rocks on to the mirror on your back
> and using a dollar bill and a lighter he crushes it up
> you hear a loud snort sound, then a long inhale before your daddeh says "pheeeeewww"
> then he puts a bump between the cusp of his hand, in between his thumb and index finger
> and puts it in front of you
> you take the bump in one single bound, and all at once you feel the drunk leave your body
> feel your eyes dialate and heartbeat start speeding up
> "WOOOOOOOOO," you shout
> and after you say that, you see some strange lights flashing out you
> you look behind you, and notice your daddeh has all but disappeared
> and in front of you lies a clear, plastic baggie filled to the brim with lovely cokaine
> then an unfamiliar voice shouts, "FREEZE MOTHERFUCKER!"
> you feel your stomach drop and your butthole clench up immediately
> after a few seconds you can make out the bodies and faces behind the lights
> the boys in blue, the dummy mistuhs
> they sport bad haircuts and their guts droop down to the ground, way below their waistline
> "well, well, well," one of the officers says
> "if it isn't miss nightstand"
> you blow a raspberry at the stoopid powice mistuhs, "PFFFFFTTT!!"
> one of them sighs and flashes the lights on you more closely
> and he picks up a plastic baggie left behind by your daddeh and flashes the light on your back
> "looks to be about an eight ball," he says to the other officer
> "can you explain this, nightstand," he asks you
> you blow a raspberry again and feel yourself poop a little
> "PFFFFTTTT! nightstand pwead da fiff! fuck da powice!!"
> the other officer sighs, "where's your daddy, nightstand? he's going to jail for a long time for this"
> you look at the stoopid powice mistuhs from atop your shitty wodden leggies
> "dun know anythin' bout nu' daddeh," you say
> "an' nightstand dun' know whewe dat siwwy white stuff cum' fwom!"
> both cops look at each other and sigh
> "you know, normally we would cut you loose, nightstand"
> "since this is all your daddy's doing"
> "but it's happened too many times nightstand"
> "we're gonna have to take you downtown"
> "da fwuff," you say, "nightstand nu' do anythin' wong!"
> one of the cops lays a hand on you and tries picking you up
> you flail your body around, and shout, "GET THE FUCK OFFA NIGHTSTAND!!!"
> one of the cops shouts "resisting arrest," then all of a sudden you feel thingies hitting your body
> the powice mistuhs lift their arms up and down and beat you up with stoopid sticks
> feel the blows come down on your body and wince in pain, shouting, "IS DAT AW' YEW GOT PUSSIES?!!"
> feel the blows strike even harder, and eventually you black out
> you come to in a strange, but familiar place
> the back of a police squadcar
> had visited this place a couple times before with your daddeh, and you didn't really like it
> smelled like vomit and hookerspit
> "now, now, nightstand" a cop says after seeing you wake up in his rear-view mirror
> "just calm down, were almost at the station"
> you puff your cheeks out and stare at the stoopid cop mistuh at a weird angle
> they laid you down on your side in the back of the car, so you couldn't stand on your shitty wooden leggies
> "uuuuuuuuugggghhhh," you mumble as you shit in the back of the stoopid powice metal munstah
> "ugh, what the fu-, wait, did you just shit back there?!! SERIOUSLY?!!"
> poop dribbles out of your butt, on to the seat, down to the floor
> "hooooowwwd maaaaah diiiiiiccckk," you shout at the powice officer as a fart works its way out
> the cop slams on his breaks and pulls into a gas station
> he rips the door open, and proceeds to beat the fuck out of you with his stoopid owwie stick thingie
> once again, you black out
> this time you wake up in a completely foreign place
> you rest on your wooden leggies, half of your body is covered with shit
> and in front of you is a bunch of long, iron bars that stretch all in front of you
> outside them, you see two officers talking with some older looking pig
> "sir," an officer says
> "this fucking fluffy shit all over the back of my squad car"
> "i know it's weird to haul in a fluffy, but there was nothing else we can do"
> "you know all about her owner, he's accounted for 33% of the petty crimes in our jurisdiction"
> the older cop sighs, exasperated
> "33%?!! some drunk bastard and a fluffy, responsible for 33%?!!"
> the other cop nods, "just small stuff, soliciation, theft, drunk in public, possession, you know"
> "but it's the frequency, we get a call about him probably like 3 or 4 times a day"
> "i figured if i hauled in his fluffy, we might be able to get a lead on him"
> "he's elusive, we haven't been able to get cuffs on him since '03"
> the older cop pauses
> "maybe," he says
> "but i'm gonna hear a lot of shit for putting a fluffy in jail, this is unheard of"
> your body aches and you're craving a wicka dwink something awful
> and as the cops talk you think to yourself
> what is this fluffy they speak of
> and where the fuck is your daddeh
> one of the powice, the younger ones, walks up to the outside of the bars that surround the front of you
> "where's your daddy, nightstand," he says
> "tell us and we'll let you outta here"
> "don't tell us and you can fucking rot in here for the rest of your miserable life"
> you look at him, at his stoopid cop face and his stoopid cop hat
> try to poop but there's nothing left in the tank
> so all you can do is hock up all the phlegm and cigarette tar that you can
> and fire it directly at his cheek
> it lands and slides down his face slowly
> and as the officer realizes what you did you see his eyes widen with anger
> and for the third time that night, you got you ass beat with those stoopid fwuffin' owwie sticks
> when you wake up this time, you notice bright orange clothes on your body
> and this room your in is slightly bigger than the one they had you at before
> the bars still remain, yet when you turn to your left, you notice another person wearing all orange
> he's tall, bigger than your daddy, and has tattoos all over his neck and arms
> "uggghhh...," you let out groggily
> "whewe da' fuck am' nightstand... whewe is dis pwace..."
> the strange hoomin in orange gets up and looks at you
> "you're in county lock up, fluffy"
> "don't know what the fuck you did do get in here but you better not shit in my cell"
> "you hear me?"
> as a nightstand, sometimes you knew when you had to take a beating, and when you didn't
> and this was one of those instances where it was probably better to not take a beating
> so you nod, and say, "okeh, no poopies in dis pwace"
> the man in orange nods
> "name's garcia"
> "what the hell is a fluffy doing in here?"
> you pause, then say, "wook mistuh, nightstand am' nuh fwuffy, am' nightstand"
> "an' nightstand dun do anythin' wong, stoopid powice beat da fuck outta meh"
> the man shrugs and looks at you perplexed, and then sighs
> "i'm in here for possession and distribution, man"
> "don't know what the fuck you did but the guards were pretty fucking angry when they tossed you in here"
> "if i was you, i'd best be getting comfortable"
> "cause you're gonna be here for a long time, nightstand"