The story doesn't end there, however. You see, I know you, but you didn't recognize me that night. I am your garbage man--I pick up your trash every week. Judging by the multiple empty liquor bottles and cartons of cigarettes that spill from your trash can, you are a tobacco-addicted alcoholic. You ruined our night (I was going to get laid!) and cost my friend her next paycheck. But we decided that when your flaccid, diseased body gives out from the booze and cigs, we are going to find where you are buried, smoke a joint, and then fuck on your grave for hours.
First off, let me say that most cops are cool people, and more than a few realize the hypocrisy of a country that has legal alcohol and cigarettes (both of which kill millions) but illegal pot. But you, Officer, are a hypocrite of the worst sort. My friend and I were peacefully sitting in a park at midnight, not bothering anyone. We quietly sparked up a bone and talked softly about life in general, when your fat ass snuck up on us and you arrested my friend, who happened to be holding the joint. You let me go, but now my friend has a criminal record and had to pay $500.