GUNS ARE NOT THE PROBLEM

james must have been driving, when we all spotted the hitchhiker sneaking down the back way home from some bar, the hitchhiker looked all tall and creepy, but hell we had Tommy Natch in the back and the two Menes brothers, so basically we represented a car load of goons,

ohhh, pick him up, pick him up somebody screamed and smushed the brakes on and took the steering wheel away from james

we squeezed him in and ask where he was going and asked if he could buy the gang some beer on the way, and he said sure and seemed to be enjoying the ride, and being teased and f-ed with, he tells us where he lives and it's out of the way but the guys in the back seat need a night cap and the grocery store was drawing us in with bright lights against a black sky, so we stop and park out front and he gets out and your not going to leave me here are you? and of course we are, but no we say, you coming in with me, and hell no we all say, we're all listening to new wave love songs.

he comes back out gives Tommy Natch the beer and we drive off but then he starts getting all ambiguous about where exactly he lives and james pulls over and says get out, and i open the door and come on get out, but he wont get out, so we stand there for a second screamoing,and give me a beer and i give him a beer and he gets up but wont let go of the door,

i want all the beer he says, i get back in the car and james drives off, leaving the fucking nut standing in the woods somewhere.

and we are all laughing and laughing, james gets on the highway to get home fast and 2 minutes later, i swear, Road block,

holy shit. and a state boy pulling up behind us at like eighty, RUN, tommy says, we can't run,

so james pulls over and before we can even say a word, James has a gun to his head, and i have a gun to my face,

and the troopers are screaming, hands on the roof, hands where i can see 'em, then i'm dragged out of the car and dragged into the grass face down, hands pulled behind me, face stepped on into the dirt,

where's the gun?

tell me where's the gun.

now there's like fifty state police standing on each of us, all screaming and trying to crush my face with knees, and pushing .9mm guns into our heads.

and tommy is laughing and taking a nap, no one can squish him.

so we're all sitting back to back hand cuffed to chairs, being interrogated, one at a time, turns out the nutty hitchhiker phoned the state police and told them that we had kidnapped him, threatened him with a gun and forced him to buy us beer, and beat him up before dumping his body in the woods.