Is that a gun down your trousers, or are you just pleased to see me?

Go on then, castigate me under your breath, if you must. However, it simply drew my attention to the sheer absurdity of this drug-riddled world we live in nowadays.

Well, what a week it's been so far! Bristol, normally a mere footnote in the grand saga of my existence, has been thrust into the limelight with the force of a particularly vigorous Bristol busker. Yesterday, dear reader, I was forced to engage in an activity so abhorrent it nearly sent me spiralling into an existential abyss: research. Yes, research! That dreaded four-letter word that conjures images of dusty libraries, furrowed brows, and the soul-crushing weight of academic rigour.

You see, I, a man of instinct, a poet of the gut, a philosopher of the pub - if I wasn't an abstainer, had to delve into the murky depths of scholarship. I, who usually operates on the principle of "wing it and hope for the best," was expected to consult actual sources on the subject of Shakespeare, of whom I know nothing (except the name)! It was like asking a lion to subsist on lettuce. My brain, unaccustomed to such intellectual exertion, promptly imploded. I required approximately eighteen hours of uninterrupted slumber to even begin to piece together the shattered remnants of my sanity. (Of course, I didn't actually get eighteen hours of sleep. I merely needed it.)

And if that wasn't enough, today has been a day of profound mourning. I have suffered a tragic loss, a blow to my very being. I fear the emotional scars may never fully heal. But, as a man of unwavering resolve, I press on, my fingers dancing across the keyboard like a caffeinated spider monkey. After all, the show must go on, even if my brain cells are still picking themselves up off the floor after yesterday's intellectual marathon. May they rest in peace, those valiant neurons, all million of them, that died in the line of duty.

Now, today. In fact, right this very second, and before the Vicks VapoRub wears off, I'm going to draw your attention to those who transcend all levels of stupidity to the point where they deserve Masters degrees in "Two Short Plank" studies. You know, those intellectual titans who have ascended to the pinnacle of the "Einsteins of the Two-by-Four Plank" school of thought, and achieved a level of intellectual acuity rarely seen outside the confines of a snail farm.

Yes, I know, it's back to that Bristol Post again! Their generosity in providing me with material knows no bounds this week, and it's only Saturday! With just one more day to go, I am almost wetting myself with excitement about tomorrow's headline. Anyway, before I get too carried away by means of a urinary malfunction and an uncontrollable bladder, I felt the burning desire to rewrite the headline: "Watch as drug dealer is caught with loaded gun stuffed down his trousers in Bristol city centre," to my own version, "Is That A Gun Down Your Trousers, Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?"

Go on then, castigate me under your breath, if you must. However, it simply drew my attention to the sheer absurdity of this drug-riddled world we live in nowadays. So, I gave thought to the pros and cons:

Pros.

Cash Flow: Let's be real, the margins on a good bit of skunk can be astronomical. Think designer clothes, fancy cars, and maybe even a little something for the missus (or the missus' missus).

Community Spirit: There's a certain camaraderie in the game. You know the faces, the regulars, the ones who always want that extra gram. It's like your own little family, albeit one fueled by paranoia and the occasional turf war.

Flexibility: Your own hours, your own boss, the ultimate side hustle. Who needs a 9-to-5 when you can make more money in a night than most people do in a week?

Cons:

The Knock: That heart-stopping thud on the door, the whispers, the blue flashing lights. It's a constant game of cat and mouse, and the cat has claws.

The Customers: From the junkies nodding off in the gutter to the middle-class mums with their "discreet inquiries," you never know who you're dealing with. One wrong move and you could be facing a shank or a social services visit.

The Ethics: Let's be honest, you're not exactly selling vitamins. You're dealing in a substance that can ruin lives, and sometimes, that weight can get heavy.

Is it all really worth it though?

Actually, no. Not by the longest chalk possible. It's a filthy, horrible business with scum of the earth people involved in it. Those involved in illegal supply chains often prioritise profit over human life. They exploit vulnerable individuals, both within their own organisations and among their customers. This exploitation can take various forms, from forced labour and human trafficking to the promotion of highly addictive substances that devastate lives and communities. Those we know and love.

The harm caused by illegal supply chains extends far beyond the individuals directly involved. These networks often fuel violence and conflict in regions where they operate, destabilising entire communities and contributing to displacement and suffering. The illicit activities also undermine legitimate economies, hindering development and creating an environment where corruption thrives.

Yet, as within other communities around Britain, Bristol has taken two more people off its streets. Or, should that be two more 'short planks" perhaps? With all the drill music that glamourises the murky world of drugs and violence, it felt only proper that I should end today's post with my own version of the events that unfolded.

Here's an attempt at a satirical reimagining of "Shoplifters of the World Unite" by The Smiths, titled "Drug Dealers of the World Unite":

(Verse 1)

Learn to love me,

Assemble the crates,

Now, today, tomorrow and always,

My only weakness is a list of dates,

My only weakness is well, never mind, never mind, oh.

(Chorus)

Drug Dealers of the world,

Unite and take over,

Drug Dealers of the world,

Hand it over, hand it over, hand it over.

(Verse 2)

Learn to love me,

And assemble the ways,

Now, today, tomorrow and always,

My only weakness is listed days,

But last night the plans for a future score,

Was all I saw on ITN, for sure.

(Chorus)

Drug Dealers of the world,

Unite and take over,

Drug Dealers of the world,

Hand it over, hand it over, hand it over

(Verse 3)

A heartless hand on my shoulder,

A push and it's over,

Alabaster crashes down,

Six months is a long time,

I tried living in the real world,

Instead of a shell,

But before I began,

I was bored before I even began

(Chorus)

Drug Dealers of the world,

Unite and take over,

Drug Dealers of the world,

Unite and take over,

Drug Dealers of the world,

Unite and take over,

Drug Dealers of the world,

Take over.

Satirical Elements:

"Assemble the crates" replaces "Assemble the ways" to highlight the logistical aspect of drug trafficking.

"My only weakness is a list of dates" satirises the precarious nature of a drug dealer's life, constantly juggling deadlines and avoiding apprehension.

"ITN, for sure" mocks the media's obsession with crime and the drug trade.

"Alabaster crashes down" could be interpreted as a metaphor for the devastating impact of drug addiction on individuals and families.

"I tried living in the real world" highlights the isolation and alienation often experienced by those involved in the drug trade.

This version attempts to capture the cynicism and dark humour of The Smiths song 'Shoplifters Of The World Unite' while satirising the drug trade and its impact on society.

Disclaimer: This is a satirical interpretation and does not condone or glorify drug dealing.