Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Personal Use Cookies

I had this friend from central Canada with no shortage of one-uppin' tales, much like certain other typists in the blogoverse who may be responsible for applying the shiny patina of spandex to mom'n'pop blogging by coining the "tag team" blog nomenclature. You know who you are, if you are out there, you clever fellow. This friend of mine, fiend really, is a lawyer, like certain clever fellows.

He had this one tale about a local character, a vendor of substances known to the local constabulary and noted for his fine selection of medicinal and non-medicinal products, who was arrested at home for possession for the purpose of trafficking. The police had discovered over 100 partially consumed (insert your own version of dube here) in this gentleman's bedroom. The matter went to trial and at trial the defendant, in his defence, claimed the product found in his residence was there for personal use.

I was reminded of this story this evening as I offered e a graham cracker to snack upon. She worked on it rapidly, wedging the cracker into her mouth, her cheeks looking like the flesh version of an autumnal curbside garbage bag, with a too-large stick jammed in, the delicate membrane strained by the pointed ends of the offending contents. In the case of e, it was only a matter of time before her limitless supply of caustic baby slobber broke down the biscuit, but no sooner was cookie #1 shoehorned into her gob when she asked for another cookie, somehow speaking the word "cookie" around the cracker, which was clearly feeling the effects of the gob onslaught, but had yet to surrender its angularity. I proffered the bag to her. She removed two more cookies and set about to eat a bit of one, then the other, while the first was wending its way triangularly down her tiny throat, the second and third cookies clutched in hand, her brown eyes looking with interest at the bag that I was furtively attempting to conceal... dad, I need those cookies for personal use. C'mon, gimme...

That is when I thought of Mr. Personal Use and his bedroom carpet, littered with the corpses of many roaches, and the officers, pleased by the capture, and subsequently demoralized by the acquittal of the defendant who at trial presented expert opinion evidence to the effect that the volume of roaches discovered strewn about the floor was likely, given the defendant's level of usage, the product of personal use.

Put that in your pipe & c.

P-man

2 Comments:

Blogger L. said...

I forgot "roach" was a slang term for, you know. I was picturing t he creepy crawly critters and thinking, EEEEEWWWWWWW.

8:38 AM  
Blogger Mary P. said...

Holy moley. I have never SEEN one that even approaches that size. He's got to grow his own: who could afford that much of the stuff?

8:05 AM  

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