If I was a Meth Dealer

(Not me)

Just to be clear: I’m not a meth dealer.

It’s just not my thing.

Just to be clear: Meth is bad for you, mmmkay?

But if I WAS a meth dealer I don’t think I’d be particularly bad at it. Nobody would ever suspect that I, 240-pound Zach Yonk, killer of bugs and lover of dogs, dabbled in the drug trade.

To be fair, I probably wouldn’t be particularly GOOD at it either. I would probably be a very mediocre meth dealer. If they made a TV show about me being a meth dealer, I know what it would be called:

“Breaking Even.”

If I was a meth dealer, you probably wouldn’t recognize me. Not because I’d be missing teeth and covered in sores (don’t get high on your own supply!), but because I’d be covered in third-degree burns after my first lab blew up due to fact that I have no working knowledge of how to cook meth in the first place.

But after some trial-and-error, I would finally set up shop in a basement under a Cook Out.

Why Cook Out?

Because here in the South, there’s no way the cops would shut down a meth lab under a fast food joint as popular as Cook Out. Imagine that conversation with the police commissioner:

“Sorry to wake you, commissioner, but we busted a meth lab under the Cook Out. We had to shut the whole restaurant down.”

“What?! You can’t shut down Cook Out! The drive-thru line wraps around the block ON A MONDAY NIGHT! How’s the mayor gonna get his Big Double Burger now? He’s gonna have my ass!”

It’s a good thing that I’m not actually a meth dealer.

Please don’t do meth.

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