Dealing With Walking Dead Withdrawals


Well, if you’re reading this blog, you’re probably a fan of AMC’s “The Walking Dead”. And since you’re a fan, you know that season 3 ended, oooohh, about 10 years ago. You also probably know that season 4 starts in October, which according to my calculations is in approximately 18 THOUSAND more days.

If you’re like me, this whole time you’ve been suffering with withdrawal-type symptoms. I kept a diary of my worse ones, and I will now share them with you as a form of therapy. Together, we can get through this!


Saw a man who looked just like Dale (except for the beard, hat, and a rifle slung worthlessly over his shoulder). Wept.


Took my daughters purple bow and arrow set (from the Disney movie “Brave”) to Riverwalk Park here in Bakersfield. Held it sideways like a crossbow and shot some squirrels. Park ranger tried to shut me down, got a purple suction dart arrow in his eye for his troubles.


Went to a local prosthetic shop, took a leg up to the counter. The man looked me up and down and asked, “Who’s this for?” I replied, “A friend”.


Took family to the hospital to get blood drawn. Get results in a week.


Today I looked at various on-line dating websites and searched for all girls named “Maggie”. Sent them all a threatening message: “If you EVER break Glen’s heart, I will ruin you.” No responses.


Saw an RV. Wept.


Took family to get results from blood test. The doctor walks in and said “Good news, you’re all perfectly healthy.” Not what I wanted to hear, so I offered him 20 bucks to say “You are ALL infected”. He wouldn’t say it for any less than 50. Friggin doctors. I hope my insurance reimburses me.


Some girl scouts came to the door. I yelled “THIS PRISON IS OURS, WE SPILLED BLOOD!” They ran away. Darnit, I was craving thin mints too.


I’m starting to refer to my wife as “Lori” and I swear to you, I see her everywhere I go. Look, there she is! Aw, too slow, you missed her. LOOK! Dang.


Saw an RV. Wept.


Went and paid a visit to my old 9th grade science teacher who I feel strongly resembles Milton. Gave him a hug and whispered “Hey, you tried” into his ear. He must not have recognized me, because he maced me. It stung.


Today I declared to my children that until October their new names will be Carl and Sophia. Carl enjoys his new hat. And glock. Just kiddin about the hat.


Saw an RV, and I didnt weep! Got choked up, but still, getting better!


Saw Carl kill a frog in cold blood with a magnifying glass. Gonna have to watch that boy. I’m starting to think that he feels he can lead this group better then I can! Had to ask for my glock back.


Went to “Open Mic Night” at a United Nations Local 213 meeting last night. Tried out some Merle-inspired material. Didn’t go over too well. Went back to hospital.


Saw Sophia slowly walk out of our barn, almost freaked out. Mostly because we dont have a barn. Or live anywhere near a farm for that matter. Weird.


Saw an RV. Shrugged. I think I’m over it!


Nope, I’m not:

See you in Season 4!

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Is That a Dog or a Welcome Mat?


Beethoven. Lassie. Marmaduke. Milo (or Otis). Dogbert. Benji. Odie. Old Yeller. Scooby Doo. Clifford. Cujo.

You know those are all dogs. And you can probably pick them out of a doggy lineup, and you can probably tell me what kind of breed they all are. With the exception of Dogbert, who I think is some kind of chihuahua although I wouldnt say that to his face.oregonwashington161

You know these movies too: “Lady and the Tramp” “Marley and Me” “Homeward Bound” “101 Dalmations” “Air Bud”.

The point is, people love dogs.

The mailman in me wants to hate them. Everyday: “WOOF WOOF WOOF BARK BARK” which I loosely translate as:”Hey u mailman! I know you can hear me! I told you yesterday, go away! Imma get you, sucka! Imma break down this fence and im gonna bite you,then im going to track down your family and bite them too! Ooh I cant wait! I cant wait!” Every. Single. Day. And I bark back like “Mutt, you aint biting nothin! Go ahead and bark! I was here yesterday, I’m here today, and I’ll be here tomorrow! 6 days a week, maybe 5! Smell this? Thats Old Spice, get used to it! ‘Fore I stick my dog spray up your right nostril and light you up! You’ll be rubbing your face in the grass for a good 10 minutes!”

Sorry. Anyway.

I can’t lie. I like dogs.

Turns out, a vast majority of us Americans do. If you look up the numbers on the “internet”, approximately 1 billion people own at least 1 dog. Can’t make that number up. If you want to go deeper into the numbers, about a million of those dogs reside in the 93308 zip code, with half of those dogs running around loose, and about half of THOSE being pit bulls. Hey, the numbers are there, look ’em up. The proof is in the pudding, whatever the hell THAT means.

Seriously though, most dogs ARE pretty likable. Some reasons:

1)They’re loyal. They’re never looking to change families, never looking for greener pasture. You’re in their pack, they’re in your pack, and thats that. Occasionally you’ll have a dog thats a “runner” where you open the door, whether its the front door or the back gate, and theyre gone. But those dogs are just adventurous. Or stupid. Which leads me to

2)They’re stupid. Calm down. I’m not saying YOUR dog is stupid. I’m sure YOUR dog is the Einstein of dogs. But for the most part dogs are happiest chasing a thrown ball, tugging on a toy rope, and peeing on whatever they come across. Half the time theyre barking, they have no idea why. A good time to them is digging a hole where you dont want a hole, or chewing up whatever you foolishly left in their line of sight/scent. Pretty simple. Pretty darn stupid. In a complimentary way.

3)They’re always happy to see you. Like “they have issues” happy. Like you leave to the store for 5 minutes and come back and they act like they were never going to see you again. And thats good, right? Its good to feel missed.

I’m sure there are some more reasons why dogs are great, like companionship and all that, but i’m losing interest. Don’t act like you aren’t losing it either. Its ok. I can take it.

However, there IS a drawback to dogs: they die waaay too soon. OOOOh snap, just got serious up in here!

I remember my first dog. I mean, really though, who doesnt remember their first? Mine was a gift for my 8th birthday, a little puppy I named Rex. Just a mutt, with some lab in him, and God knows what else. And he was a good dog. I have fond memories of him, plenty of pictures back when cameras had “film” and you had to take the pictures to get “developed”. I’m really aging myself here. Anyway, my favorite pic has to be of the whole family, Rex included of course. It was one of those family pictures where Dad has to set the camera up on the tripod, hit the button, and then has approximately 1.4 seconds to get into the picture before the picture is taken. Well, in that 1.4 seconds, Dad got in the pic and of course Rex was so happy to see him (heck, he’d been gone for a WHOLE 1.4 seconds!) that he turned around and licked his face, making us all laugh right as the camera went off. 2013-04-24_17.55.54

Good times.

Fast forward a few years. I’m 21, 22 and I’ve moved out of town, from Lompoc to Bakersfield. One day I get a phone call. Better come home, son, Rex isnt doing too well. So i get home to Lompoc later that evening and walk in the house, and Rex is just laying there in the living room (strictly an outside dog, so far not a good sign). A worse sign is when he sees me, he doesnt get up. Doesnt even try. I mean, heck, I’m his boy, you’d think he’d get up for me, right? Can’t do it. He flicks his tail a couple times and thats it. Cant even lift his head, the poor old guy.

The next day we all pile into the van and head to the vet. We know its not going to be a pleasant trip. We get there, and just as i thought, theres nothing that can be done. We’d already discussed it on the way there. We weren’t going to allow him to suffer anymore. Can’t do it.

So we’re all gathered around Rex, just us 5 Vandivers and the vet. Poor vets. I’m sure they have a rewarding job most of the time, curing peoples beloved pets. But i’m sure its moments like this that they wish they’d gotten into another field. Anyway, we all said our goodbyes to Rex, and he kinda looked up at us and said his too. The vet did his thing, and that was that. Not a dry Vandiver eye in the room, even Dad’s. Then the 4 remaining Vandivers got back into the van for the ride home.

Since then my parents have gotten another dog. Shannon, and she’s okay as far as German Shepherds go. She’s good with my kids, and she’s well trained. A good dog.

But Shannon, you ought to know something. Thats your backyard now. But remember who’s it was before you, ok? See that trail that goes around the back of the house, beaten into the grass? You’re doing a fine job keeping it up, but Rex started it. Remember that, ok? Good dog. Now, go catch yourself a gopher that Rex could never quite get.

Since then i’ve gotten a couple dogs too. Not by choice though. My wife is a sucker for rescuing dogs she sees running around, so thats how we came to own Lucy and Sparkles. Sparkles doesnt care too much for me. Psssh. Whatever. Right back at you SPARKLES. But Lucy is a good dog. Has an annoying bark that she uses too much, and lays around like a welcome mat more than she should (i mean heck, go patrol or something) but we’re cool. We’ve had her for about 7 years and shes starting to show some wear and tear. But still, shes the only one to greet me at the door when i come home from work. My son: (running around playing) “hey dad!” My daughter (on the couch watching tv) “hey daddy”. My wife (also on said couch) “hey babe”. Well, geez guys, dont get too excited. But here comes gimpy (unless theres a scrap that fell on the floor from the table, then she’s Bolt) Lucy, waddling her large butt up to me as if to say “Hey boss! missed you! where ya been!” My family can learn a thing or 2 from Lucy.

Anyway. Although Lucy is no Rex, i’m dreading that day when she can’t get up by herself. I’m dreading the drive to the vet. I’m dreading the drive back from the vet, and what i’m going to tell the kids. Maybe we’ll watch a movie:


Stinking dogs.

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Tupac the Matchmaker


The following is a story. The story of how i credit the rapper Tupac for getting me and my beautiful wife together.

The other day I was at my sister in laws house, helping them move dirt from one pile to another, AKA landscaping. Luckily I had the Spotify app going in my phone, and a little Tupac came on.  And as often happens when I’m doing mind numbing labor (AKA every day at work) my thoughts start to wander. It wandered back to my high school thug years. Back when I used to look to Tupac songs for advice in dealing with girls.

But to a young, impressionable lad like myself, Tupac was very confusing. “I get around” is a song saying womanizing is the way to go. But “Keep your head up” says respect women. For every “How Do You Want It” there was a “Dear Mama”.

And then, Tupac got himself shot. What was a young man to do?

Well, I did what any youngster with no guidance would do. I avoided girls altogether. All through high school, no contact. Didnt talk to a single one. Very little success after high school too. Until i transferred from the Rite Aid in Lompoc to that magical Rite Aid at Coffee and Olive in Bakersfield. And i saw her. The take your breath away, stunningly beautiful Stefanie Smart.

So I did what i always do. I froze up. Dang you, Tupac, where are you when i need you!

And just like that, there was a voice in my left ear. “Yo, what up homey”. I look, and its Tupac right there on my shoulder! Lookin like I remember him. Well, except he was dressed all in red, had horns, and was holding a trident. He spoke again “Yo dawg, check it. I see you scoping that tall piece of @$$ over there. I feel you, homey. Check this. This is what you gonna do, aight. Take your left hand and grab the front of your pants like youre holding them up, ya feel me?” But Mr. Shakur, I have a belt on. “Dawg, you keep interrupting, I aint gonna help yo @$$, got me? Aight, now you put a dip in yo hip, know what i’m sayin, and you walk up to her and you grab that phat booty with your right hand and you tell her: ‘b****, we gonna do this or what?’. And then, G, you take her to the cold box, (dont worry, she down, i can tell) and you sit her up on that display of Bud Light in there and you rip that blue Rite Aid smock off her and tell her ‘baby, i dont want you wearing nothin but me, ya feel me?’ And then you take a 40oz off the shelf and you pour that sh** on her! Yeeaah homey, the b*****s love that s***, dawg! Yeaaah and then hit it and quit it, ya feel me?” And then Tupac started doin this thug dance with his elbows out, side to side, making the “W” with his fingers.

Boy, was I fired up! Good to go! Lets do this! So I grabbed my pants and started taking a few steps in her direction. Thats when i heard another voice, in my right ear this time.


So i stop. I look. And its Tupac again! But this time he was dressed in white with a set of dazzling wings and a halo. And he said “Young blood, mind if i step in here with some advice?” I look back over at devil Tupac and hes riding his trident like a horse, still throwing up the “W”. So i throw up the “W” right back and continue my walk over to my future conquest. But angel Tupac stops me.

“Look, homey. My man over there, he got some good advice. But that aint yo style, dawg. ‘Sides, that woman over there, you gotta respect her. You go over there right now, trying what my man over there told you, my brotha, you’ll end up wit a couple black eyes, a broken nose, and ya boyz up around yo chin. So breathe, dog, and check this. This is what i want you to do: be calm. Laid back. Act shy. Act like you aint even interested. Act so awkward around her that she wont even know what your sexual orientation even is. It’ll drive her crazy. And best of all, ignore her. She wont be able to stand it.” But Pac, thats what i always do! For like, the last 10 years! “Trust me, my man, this time tomorrow she’ll be all over you.”

Then angel Tupac flashed a subtle “W” and was gone. I looked for devil Tupac and he was gone too. Alone again. Decision time. Aggressive or passive? So I chose….

Angel Tupac.

And he was actually wrong. Didnt take a day. Took more like a year. But still, look at us now, more than 10 years later:

2 kids. 2 dogs. 2 Fords. Too happy.



(Flashing a “W” to the heavens)

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My daughter learns to ride her bike, and i learn about life


I know i’m not the first person to compare riding a bike to life in general, but by golly i’ll be the latest!

A few weeks ago (on a Tuesday), my 6 year old daughter Presley expressed interest in wanting to learn to ride her bike without the training wheels. So i dug it out of the shed (where it had gathered dust over the winter) and we cleaned it off and dusted all the cobwebs out of her Dora the Explorer helmet. Took it to get air in the tires, and we’re ready to give it a shot.

She hops onto the bike, ready to go. Just that little act itself makes me proud. When youre that little, a bike must seem pretty imposing. I mean, youre up there sitting on it, your feet dangling, and the ground looks far away from you. It probably seems that the bicycles main goal in life is to throw you on the ground and then repeatedly run over you. Which is why you’ll never get me on a horse. But anyway.

We slowly make our way to NTTs (nana tata tios/her great grandparents house) which is a little under a mile away. I’m holding on to her seat guiding her along, and shes super wobbly. Relax, i tell her. Just concentrate on pedaling right now. Let go, daddy, she tells me. Noooo way. So finally we get to NTTs, turn around and head back. She’s still wobbly, still leaning to the side. You can let go, daddy. Monkey, I do that and youre going straight down to the pavement and thatll be the end of this little venture. Finally we make it home, and my back is killing me. I think we were both a little proud but also a little frustrated. So I tell her “our goal, sis, is to have you riding this thing by yourself by Friday” “daddy, whats a goal?” “umm. its when uh, you tell yourself that youre going to do something, no matter how hard it seems, and you do it” “oh”.

The next day, Wednesday, we couldnt practice because of a family function.

Thursday I get off late from work so we dont have much daylight to work with. We head back to NTTs again. Still not much control, not much balance. We get there and her Tio Pete drops some knowledge: “you should practice on the grass, mija, thats what i did when i was a kid”. Dangit, why didnt i think of that? So i push her back and forth on the lawn and she rides by herself for a few yards at a time. Did it for about 20 minutes. Heading back to the house, her confidence is up. Let go, Dad. I can do it. Not quite yet, sis. We get home, practice a few more minutes on the grass, and we call it a day. I’m really hoping we get this down tomorrow, and im sure shes hoping the same thing.

Now its Friday and i have the day off from work. Presley gets home from school and of course is eager to ride. So i take her out front to the street and i guide her back and forth. And i can feel her getting it. Shes wobbling less, and leaning less. So i let go for a couple seconds at a time, always hovering close by so i can catch her if things look shaky. Finally i get go, hover, but shes riding straight and true. She keeps going. I have to jog to keep up. Did you let go, Daddy? Dont worry about what im doing, monkey, just keep pedaling and concentrate on what youre doing. Remember, you make the bike do what you want it to do. You make it go where you want it to go. Youre in control. By this time i’m channeling my inner Yoda/Mr Miagi. Do or do not, there is no try. Wax on, wax off.

Anyway, finally i make her stop and turn her around to show her how far she went. You werent holding me? Nope, sis, thats all you. I felt like thumping my chest like a crazed gorilla, howling like a lonesome wolf! i was so stinking proud of her! I’ll never hit a walk off home run or make a game winning 3, but this felt like the next best thing, if not better. And the look of amazement and pride on her face was priceless. She rode back to the house, with me jogging behind her. Goal accomplished.

The next day, after more practicing, I went to the shed again to dig out my Schwinn. Ok, sis, I’m going to ride next to you. Youre on your own if you get wobbly, ok?  Ok, daddy, lets go to Fosters! So we ride to Fosters and have a victory milkshake. On the ride back home, it happened. Her first major spill.

Sad thing is, i could see it coming. i could see she was going too fast, and that the turn she was going to have to make was too sharp, and the dip that was going to throw a kink in the whole maneuver. Too far away to catch her, it happened in slow motion. She went down. Thank you, Dora, for protecting her head. I went to her, untangled her from her bike and picked her up. Of course shes crying, and looking at her skinned knee and elbow. Youre ok, sis. She cries “is it bleeding? it feels like its dripping blood!” No, sis, youre fine, just took some skin off. Come on, hop back on and lets get you home and clean you up. “I dont wanna ride my bike anymore!” Come on, Pres, we’ll be there in 2 minutes. “uh uh, it hurts!” ok, sis. So we walk our bikes home, and i try to comfort her on the way. It was bound to happen sis, youre lucky you didnt get hurt worse. some kids break bones, or land on their face!  she didnt want to hear it. We get home and she gets a little TLC from mommy and she seems ok. Still, im wondering if the bikes going back in the shed for the year,

But the next day she wanted to ride again. And we’ve gone everyday since. Me riding next to her. Her with a proud, big girl look on her face, and me beyond nervous with my head on a swivel looking for potential hazards.

And thats life.

I know I wont be always be able to hold on to the back of her seat, guiding her. I know she’ll want me to let go before i feel that she’s ready.

Or before i feel that I’M ready.

I know i wont be able to hover around her in case she gets wobbly. I’ll be able to be close by, if i’m lucky, and maybe point out that pothole she should avoid. Maybe tell her to slow down around that curve, and maybe keep her on the right side of the road. But thats it. She’ll be on her own bike, with only her being able to control it.

She’ll have her own goals she sets for herself. Some she’ll accomplish, some she wont. She’ll make some good decisions, and some great choices. But she’ll also make dumb decisions and some bad, head scratching choices.

She’ll fall.

But I will ALWAYS be there to pick her up again.

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I’m starting to respect Country music, and that alarms me

Either fatherhood or old age has made me soft(er). Or maybe its both. But i’ve come to this conclusion based on the fact that I now have a tolerance for country music.

Now, I’ve never really been a man’s man. I’ve never chewed tobacco, and i’ve never been in a fight. I’ve never wrestled a steer to the ground, and when it comes time to change the oil in my car, I’d rather take it to Wal-Mart than do it myself.

However, there are some “man” things i’m guilty of. I DO scratch myself. A LOT. I DO occasionally need someone to pick up after me (sorry, hon). I DO watch and play a lot of sports, and i DO only pretend  to listen to my wife about 50% of the time she’s talking (sorry, hon).

But what i DONT do is get emotional about things.

I think the last time i cried was when my daughter Presley was born. Before that, I cant remember the last time. Even when my son Aevin was born, I shed no tears. Had to set an example, right? Men dont cry, boy!

Now, back to country music.

It seems to me that country music is a more emotional kind of music than I’m used to. i’m used to rocking out to classic or punk rock, or even getting my groove on to 90’s hip hop. Happy, fun, get out of your seat,  energetic music.

Some country songs are like that, i guess. But most of the songs that i’ve heard are sad, with someone dying, or growing up, or getting old. Heck, you could say that they sing about “real life”. Wheres the fun in that? I used to scoff at country songs. i mean, who wants to be sad when theyre listening to music?

Aint noone got time for that!

Until i got married and had kids. NOW i can kind of relate to these songs. An example:

Stefanie (my wife) and I are in the car with the family, and Stef is driving. She puts it on KUZZ (the country station) and a song is starting.

“Awwww i LOVE this song” she says. And thats usually my cue to change the station, but this time i’m rebuked. “just listen to it, you’ll like it.” Fine. But only because youre driving.

So the singing starts and i’m rolling my eyes. Typical woe is me boohoo country song. Jeez, who cares. then the chorus starts: “there goes my life” yeah, well dude, ya shoulda thought of that before!

2nd verse starts. Hmmm. My throat is getting a little scratchy. I start getting fidgety. I start tapping my leg. Its getting to me. then the chorus again: “there goes my life”. Alright dude. I’m starting to feel you now. I get ya.

3rd verse. Uh oh. What the hell is going on with me?? I’m actually getting choked up here! Wha?? Thank God i have sunglasses on! Breathe. Woo. Woo. Look out the window, count some cows or something. Get your mind off the lyrics. And then the music slows and heres the chorus one last time: “there goes my life”. Ooooooh no. no no no no no. Stop. Get a hold of yourself, Kevin. Think about something else! Football. Work. An action movie! Saving Private Ryan! yeah, thats it! Explosions! Machine guns! Storm the beach! But isnt it sad at the end when Tom Hanks dies and hes like “dont waste it” to Ryan, and now Ryan has all this pressure on him to make something of his life since all those dudes died to save him? Well, yeah, that IS kinda……no, wait! NO, BRAIN! Its NOT sad! What are you doing to me here?? Who’s side are you on??? AHHHHHHH LA LA LA LA LA LA IM NOT LISTENING LALALALA

“Wasnt that a good song?”

I shrug. Eh. It was ok.

Apparently the country music landscape is littered with songs like this. And now that i have kids, i’m starting to actually LIKE them. I sympathize with them now. i understand these songs. I get it now.

Now, does that mean I’ll be listening to KUZZ in my car when i’m cruising by myself?


Too hard to drive when i’m bawling my dang eyes out.


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Find A Better Hiding Place for those Pics of your wife that she took back in the day

A few years ago, my lovely wife and a friend thought it would be a great idea to make a calendar for their respective boyfriends. This was maybe 2003, 2004. Anyway, definitely BK (Before Kids)

Now, as you can probably imagine it was a very interesting calendar. Apparently, they took pictures of each other in rather seductive poses and clothing. Well, not much clothing. But it was tastefully done! Not Penthouse, or even Playboy material. More like Maxim.

Anywho, they thought it would be cute to incorporate whatever the major holiday was for that month into the picture. Pumpkins for October, mistletoe for December, you get the idea. As I said, interesting. To this day I have that calendar in a box buried somewhere, probably in the back of the closet. However, the original pictures themselves are currently in my dresser in my underwear drawer. Well. They WERE.

Because see, now its 2013. AK. (After Kids). And something i like to do is buy the kids (4 and 6)toys and hide them in my SOCK drawer and i bring them out when I feel like they earned it or maybe if its Tuesday (I’m a sucker). But the sock drawer has officially been compromised. My son (4) now checks through my socks looking for toys. My daughter, Presley (6) took it a step further and investigated my UNDERWEAR drawer. Who DOES that??

Anyway, you can see where this is going. She finds a picture, probably from the month of April, and says “Really, mom?” I snatched the pic and told her that drawer is now off limits. And then my sweet Pres asks a question of her mother. She could have asked “mommy, where were your pants?” or perhaps “why are you covering your boobs with your hands?” But no. Full of curiousity she innocently asks:

“Seriously Mom, why are you dressed like a bunny?”

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How Biggie Smalls Saved Me.


On this day, 16 years ago, the Notorious B.I.G. was shot and killed.

Now, I don’t necessarily remember where i was when i first heard the news, but i DO know it had a profound impact on my life.

You see, up until that point, I was a young high schooler fully immersed in the east coast/west coast thug lifestyle. How so, you ask? Observe:

On some nights (not school nights of course) i would stay out til 7 or 8pm, waaaaay past my curfew. I tried to cut class once, but the librarian caught me and made me put down “The Hobbit” and dragged me off to my 5th period sex ed class. I’d go to school all decked out in my LA Gear Regulator shoes and Starter Chicago Bulls XL parka until some fresmen punked me for them.  Whenever cops rolled by me, I wouldnt even wait a whole block before i muttered “eff the police” under my breath.  You remember that candy that looked like cigarettes? I used to hang out in front of the liquor store and act like i was smoking them until my fingers got sticky. Then i wouldnt even eat the candy, just straight up throw it on the ground.

Shoot, i used to set up a stand in front of my house with a sign that said “Fresh Squeezed Lemonade $.50 a Cup” and then serve people kool-aid. That sh** is $.19 a packet, suckas! If that aint a hustle, i dont know what is!

But then Biggie got shot, and i realized i had to straighten up my act.

RIP Biggie Smalls, your death was not in vain…..

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