99. Bad Weed, Bad Call
Boy, this is the worst weed I've ever had, Wesley thought, even though it smelled great. He'd rolled two joints, smoked them both, and still didn't feel high. He'd heard about some super weed that gets people so high that they think they're straight. Maybe this was super weed. Naw, he thought. This is just crap. His best buddy had ripped him off! There was only one thing to do: call the police.
Wesley told the police his problem. They said they would be right over. He went to the front door and unlocked it. Slowly, he printed Buster's phone number and address on a cigarette paper. He put it into the big baggie of grass. He wondered if his call was going to make TV news. Or maybe the front page of the newspaper: "Good Citizen Turns in Drug Dealer." Wow! The city might make him an honorary deputy sheriff. He lit another joint—maybe the third one would be the charm ...
He heard the car doors closing and the footsteps approaching. All right, he thought. He wondered if they had brought a television crew with them. Maybe he'd make the 11 o'clock news. The police were very polite. They thanked him for Buster's phone number and address. Then they arrested Wesley. "What for?" he protested.
"For possessing more than 28 grams of pot," an officer replied.
"But this isn't pot—it's more 'not' than 'pot.' Why do you think I called you—I got ripped off!"
"Well, we'll see about that after the lab analyzes it. If you're both lucky, you did get ripped off."
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