So my boy asks me to sell some crack...

I've seen Scarface about 150 times. I love that movie. It is, by far, my most favoritest (real word) movie ever. I guess you can say it may have influenced me a little. I made the mistake of mentioning my aspirations of being like Tony Montana in front of an old friend a couple years back. I went on about how I could build a small, secretive business on weed and ecstacy and live quite nicely off of it. I'm a hustler by nature, meaning there's not much I can't do. I go on and on about how I know my shit and whatever and I was just looking for a connect. I can only assume he misunderstood me. You see, my boy was hood-rich. When I say that, I mean he had alot of nice stuff, but he hid it in a meager apartment and had no job. He went on to tell me about how he had this hookup in another state or whatever and he was going to visit said hookup in a week or so. "For real? I'm in." When he went on to tell me I had to help him cook it up and bag it, I became a little weary. "Cook it? We ain't talking 'bout the same thing, are we?" It turns out he was gonna strap a couple pounds of dope to a little kid and get it up here through Greyhound. "Oh. I see." Apparently, UPS ain't got shit on Greyhound if you need to transport anything illegal. I then went on to tell him how I was talking about something completly different and I'm not into pushing any of that stuff. Something about getting large amounts of jailtime for small amounts of product doesn't set well with me. I did, however, make an 'investment' towards a future return. I might as well have given that money to the blackjack table because I saw no return. Turns out, his bus was about to get searched and he had to dump his product. Serves me right. I learned that day to just say no to drugs. And drug dealers. Coincidently I've only seen him once since then. I can only assume the next time the dogs came through, he didn't dump the shit fast enough and now he is 'unreachable'.