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I Had Two Tickets To Paradise And Lost 'Em

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I Had Two Tickets To Paradise And Lost 'Em

Hola amigos. What's up? I know it's been a long time since I last rapped at ya, but I've had a lot of crap to deal with.

First off, about a month ago, I lost my job at the meat-packing plant. They got wise to the fact that I was swiping meat, so they called me into the office. I wasn't going to tell them anything, seeing as they had no hard evidence against me. Only thing was, I had three steaks in my pants when they called me in. I had to wait alone for half an hour in that office before anyone would tell me what I was doing there. Man, that pissed me off. I was going to take out the steaks, 'cause my nuts were getting numb, but then I realized that was just the kind of slip-up they were waiting for, since they probably had hidden cameras all over the place.

I played it cool, frozen nuts and all. Then they came in and started hassling me about how they knew what I was up to, telling me to just come clean. I told them jack shit. They said I'd better cooperate because they didn't want to have to get the police involved. I told them I didn't know what they were talking about. After an hour of heavy interrogation, they still had nothing on me, so they had no choice but to let me go. As I got up to leave, they told me they didn't want me working there any more, so I shouldn't bother showing up the next day. I told them I didn't want to work there anyway, so that was fine.

Just as I opened the door to leave, I felt one of the steaks in my pants start to slip, so I had to grab it. It looked like I was grabbing my nutsack at them, which was pretty cool. What a bunch of assholes! I may have been swiping meat, but they didn't know that. They had no reason to fire me. I showed up on time every day. My pal Wes "The Bomb" Baumgartner says I should get a lawyer and sue them. I just might. I'd love to see them squirm.

The first few weeks after getting my ass canned, I was okay financially. In fact, for a few brief days there, life couldn't have been any sweeter. As you may recall, my landlord broke my lease to get me out of my apartment, so he had to pay for my first two months' rent at a new place. So, with rent taken care of, the only thing I needed money for was food and beverages. They had a sale on Gino's frozen pizzas at Food Lion, so I crammed my freezer full of them. Once that was out of the way, all I needed was some refreshing beverages.

Now, hombre, in case you weren't sure, water is free, so that ain't the kind of beverage I'm talking about. What I'm talking about is icy-cold MGD, and a lot of it. My final paycheck was for $243. I wanted to be careful, so I set aside $20 for gas and a rainy day, but $223 divided by beer is still a hell of a lot of beer. So, I called up my pals Wes The Bomb and Ron and told them to come over.

When they got to my place, I explained the situation to them. All I needed them to do was help me get $223 worth of beer and keep their yaps shut about it. In exchange for their valuable time and labor, I said I would be happy to share some icy brews with them. Well, that all went fine. We went out and got the beer and brought it back to my place. That night, we celebrated with a magical evening of Super Nintendo and MGD. What more could you ask for? Everything was going great.

Problem is, that damn Ron doesn't know how to shut his hole.

The next night, I was just settling in for some MGD and frozen pizza when Ron showed up with three people I'd never seen before. I didn't want to look like a bad host, so I let them have some beer and pizza. Now, I don't know who these people were, but they could really pound down the beer. I asked Ron about them, and it turned out he didn't know them too well, either–he used to work with a couple of them. I gave him a dirty look indicating my disapproval, but Ron's such a dipshit I had to underscore my point with a smack to the back of the head.

Ron asked what I did that for, and I explained to him that I only have so much beer, and it's gotta last me a long time, so why the hell did he bring over a bunch of strangers to clean me out? Meanwhile, while Ron and I were having the discussion, my guests were in the kitchen helping themselves to another one of my pizzas. I was trying to be all cool about it, but inside I was ready to blow my top and kick them out on their asses. Who the hell goes into another man's refrigerator and takes his damn pizza without asking?

Ron apologized and swore he'd never bring them over again. But the very next night, those guys showed up again, this time without Ron, and they brought along six more people. Then, about an hour later, Ron showed up with three more people, and, before you knew it, there was a damn party at my pad. Then, just as I was about to throw them out, this one guy I'd never met handed me a joint, so I had to let them stay. What could I do? By the end of the night, they went through all my beer and most of my pizzas, and they even busted the toilet.

The dream was over. Like my man Eddie Money, for a brief, shining moment, I had two tickets to paradise, only Ron had to come along and blow it. Now, I gotta go out and find another job pronto, 'cause with no beer and no food, I might as well be dead. I gotta tell you, Ron is my best bud, and he always will be, but sometimes I fuckin' hate that dumbass.

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