A man walked into a drug intervention. It wasn’t his, so the intrusion was something of a faux pas. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, adopting a fake British accent to conceal his true identity. “I thought I was meeting a Jeremy here.” “I’m Jeremy,” said the addict, who, as the centerpiece of this intimate family gathering, was surrounded by ten of his closest relatives and a production crew from A&E. “Hallå,” the man replied, now suddenly Swedish. “Do you have a moment then to conduct a business transaction?” “Sure,” Jeremy said, signaling a timeout to the interventionist. “I can sell you some weed, bro.” By force of habit, the man immediately began stripping down, to prove that he wasn’t wearing a wire — which was pointless, really, considering the event was being filmed for television. The entire room sat in stunned silence, (a) because the man was now completely naked, save for a moth-eaten jockstrap, and (b) because Jeremy had somehow managed to hide 37 kilos of marijuana under his sweatshirt. “This is unacceptable,” the interventionist groaned, noticing a typo in one of his pamphlets. “I hope you accept doubloons,” the man said, offering Jeremy a bag of Spanish escudos. “I guess we’ll find out,” Jeremy answered before handing over the cannabis anyway. “Danke schön!” the man shouted. (At this point, he was channeling a German U-Boat captain.) After stuffing the drugs into his tattered underwear, the man bowed, signed a media consent form, and then exited the room without the rest of his clothes. Jeremy, meanwhile, slid back onto the couch and asked, “Now, where were we?” “I believe your mother was weeping into a pillow,” the continuity supervisor replied. “Oh, right,” Jeremy said, rolling the brochure for a rehabilitation center into a makeshift joint. “Go ahead, Ma. I’m all ears.”
© 2014 Tony Vicory.