A Beginner’s Guide To Making Really Cool Friends
Hey there, pal. You seem like a cool dude, brother. You know, I’ve seen a lot of cool, tough guys in my time, so I know a real dude when I see him. But I also know that it’s hard out there for cool, hip boys who are just trying to hang ten with the rest of the grass smokers.
So why is it that you’re having trouble making friends, eh? I mean, you’re selling dope, you’re probably hanging out with some particularly troublesome figures, and you’re probably doing it all within 100 yards of a school zone. I bet you watch Rick and Morty and even have a twitter account. But you still can’t help but feel alone and left out of the cool kids club because life isn’t all hot chicks at the club or cocaine at the beach, like the music videos promise.
Well guess what, my friend: not only will I be your cool friend, but I’ll introduce you to my cool friends, too. We all want to be your cool friend, and then, you can introduce us to your fellow drug dealer/criminal friends!
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “This guy sounds a lot like a Law Enforcement Officer.” Well, tough guy, let me ask you something. When’s the last time you saw a cop wearing a loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt, huh? Oh, do these cargo shorts scream “cop” to you? Oh, if these aviator sunglasses seem suspicious, then I guess we can mark down international pop superstar and beloved Latino figure Pitbull as a cop while we’re at it, too!
Listen, I’m clearly a fun-loving, cool-as-ice teenager who loves popular music, racing my street car, and dealing illegal narcotics within 100 yards of a school zone. It’s what I’m all about, hence all of my tattoos and the undercarriage lights on my 2009 Volvo S60. So, if you’re looking to make cool friends like me, let’s drop that “cop” stuff right now because I’m obviously a rough-riding gang person who knows where you can find the party.
Once that’s established, the fun can begin. For starters, we’re going to go skydiving, so we can feel the adrenaline of living in the moment and maybe share with each other the names of all of our known associates in our criminal enterprises. After that, we’ll take it slow and hit up the local mini-golf place that my buddy Dennis took his grandkids to a couple weeks back, and while we’re putting up a storm, we can talk about all the unique places where future drug deals are going to go down. Like anywhere within 100 yards of an otherwise perfectly-safe school zone. Plus, it’s not a cool guys’ day out if we’re not hitting up the smoke shop to grab some high-quality stogies, all the while talking about what kind of firearms our drug-dealing friends are packing, of course.
But, at some point, we’re probably going to run low on cash, so we’ll hit the bank, since we can’t be spending all of our cool drug money, right? So we’ll be standing there, waiting for the next available teller and BOOM! The door blasts open, and three hooded punks storm in, guns in the air. Everyone hits the ground… except you.
“Hey man, you got a death wish or something?” says the main hooded punk, his shotgun only inches from your unwavering face.
“Nah, man. I’m just a cool, tough guy with cool friends,” you reply, spitting in the face of certain death. You look at me, helpless to come to your aid, because I’m definitely not a cop. You nod at me, like a straight-up baller, and then your head explodes like a volcano, with brains and skull fragments flying across the bank’s floor like if gravity worked sideways and and someone just cracked open a piñata. I then cradle your headless body, frayed ligaments and sinew settling into the hole where your head used to be, making your torso look like a nightmarish turtle neck in my arms, weeping as I ask God why he would take someone so fucking cool.
Meanwhile, your distraction buys enough time for the cops to arrive, putting down your killers like the wild, aimless dogs they are. Not only were you a cool guy in life, who had such cool friends, like myself, but you were a hero in death. I make sure to give a really heartbreaking speech at your cool funeral as all the boys from the precinct look on, while, by complete coincidence, all your drug dealer friends are finally taken down by the proper authorities.
While your death may have been tragic, at least you won’t be rotting in jail, like the friends you had that, as it turns out, weren’t so cool after all, now were they? So you’re welcome, and every time I bust a perp from here on out, I’ll be doing it in the memory of the coolest scumbag street friend I’ve ever had. You.