You Can Run, but You Can't Hide by Duane "Dog" Chapman & Laura Morton

Author:Duane "Dog" Chapman & Laura Morton [Chapman, Duane "Dog" & Morton, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-02-03T21:33:02.125000+00:00

C r a c k i n g U p

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explain how I could lose my bail bonds license if I got caught with

drugs in my house. As a convicted felon, it wouldn’t go down well if

that shit was a part of my life.

I decided to let the subject go. I didn’t understand her need to do

cocaine, because I didn’t need it. For six months, I didn’t connect

the dots. By now, we were living together. One night, she came to

me and said, “It’s time we take our relationship to another level. I’d

like to see you do the wild thing with my girlfriend.”

“Cool!” What guy wouldn’t dig his lady coming to him and say-ing she wanted to get it on with another beautiful woman? I was to-tally into the idea, but I knew I had to get drunk, stoned, or take a

Valium to go there, because I wasn’t normally the kind of man who

wanted to share sex with anyone except my old lady.

“OK, call your friend.” I began to drink before she got to the

house. I wanted to loosen up, be cool, you know how it is. I didn’t

want to be the nervous dorky guy. I thought a few drinks would

help calm me down. To be honest, I was as nervous as I was ex-cited.

When her friend walked through the door, I thought I had died

and gone to heaven. She was spectacular—long reddish hair, big

tits, and full hips. She took off her coat as I poured her a drink. She

reached into her purse and pulled out a pipe. At first, I thought it

was a regular pot pipe. After taking a closer look, I realized there

was something yellowish white in the pipe.

“Wanna try some?” She purred like a kitten.

“What is it?” I had no idea what she was smoking. I thought it

looked like speed. If it was speed, I wanted nothing to do with it. I

hate speed. You can’t eat, screw, or sleep on that drug. She told me

it was the opposite of speed. She said it was an aphrodisiac. What-ever it was, I wanted it.

The only thing I knew about smoking cocaine was what I read

about Richard Pryor blowing himself up and catching on fire while

freebasing. I had never heard the term crack, because that wasn’t

something anyone I hung around with was into. I didn’t need any

help feeling like a Spanish fly, but what the hell. I was willing to give

it a try. I didn’t have a clue what I was smoking, nor did I under-stand the danger.

The girls lifted the pipe to my mouth, lit it, and blam! After one

hit, I lost my inhibitions. I ripped off all my clothes and began to

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