The Hossman Cartel

I want power. I want to be in control. I want to choose the destiny for thousands who will hang onto my every word. I want to be able to hire a donkey as a drive through attendant and have everyone agree that it was the most faboulous decision ever made. I want yes men. I want people around me who’s sole job is to make sure that I have nothing but green M&M’s in my bowl. I want to own exotic animals in an honest to god private zoo. I want to build a golf course where no one is allowed to play but me and my caddie—who will be a model. I want to be able to recreate the civil war using monkeys, a la Homer Simpson. In short, this is my Drug Cartel Fantasy.

Welcome to another random blog brought to you by Wikipedia.

I have many fantasies in my life. Yes, I to have the Princess Leah fantasy. But these are a different kind. I have a rock star fantasy, an astronaut fantasy, a drug cartel fantasy and even a Hermit in Montana fantasy for when I don’t want to be bothered anymore. I swear to god that I will do that last one.

This most recent surge of Wikipedia research came from a few books that I had been reading. I like the true crime stuff every once in a while but you need to take a break so that you don’t go insane with creepyness. I read a book about Pablo Escobar and also about Ciduadad Juarez and some of their drug cartels. This led me to search on drug cartels, where they are at, who’s killing who, have they been caught, etc etc. Add to this that I am also reading a couple of Mafia books, and there you go, I have twisted my soul.

So just incase I’m being watched: I have added drug cartels to my wiki searches of serial killers, Iran, Hiroshima and dictators. I expect all of you to vouch for me when the Patriot Act gives me a right cross to the kidneys.

But back to my random topic today. I have learned that Cartels have some insane abilities. For example, Pablo Escobar built his own prison where he was to be housed. That was the deal. As you can imagine, this “prison” was really a large mansion, complete with telephones in his “cell”. The “guards” were all his men. I am shocked and amazed that he escaped from this place. We are talking a high security facility here!

And every cop is on the payroll. It’s disgusting how many cops are in the back pockets of the Juarez Cartels. If you know anything about it, there have been over 400 murders of females in that Mexican City in the last 10 years. Anyone want to take a guess who is doing it? If you said the police, then take a couple of key bumps for yourself.

But my fantasy doesn’t include this dark side of the Drug Cartels. Honestly, when I read about all of this it disgusts me all the corruption on all sides. I mean, can’t we just get a little honesty here? And I defentalty don’t want to kill anyone or cause any damage. I want to be the glorious benefactor.

So in my fantasy, I change it to just straight up Cartel. I won’t be peddeling any Columbian Marching Powder. I’ve never been a drug user myself, I’m a good boy that actually paid attention to the PSA’s about what drugs do to you. That commercial with the egg and frying pan—totally got to me. Gave me nightmares for weeks.

And I know that I would be caught. I would suck major ass as a Columbian Drug Boss. I would be the guy that would be pulled over going 100 in a 25 with blow all over my windshield because I forgot to zip up the bag. And I would let anyone search me. I’m to scared to ever say no.

And I couldn’t order a hit. I could order a sundae with extra chocolate. I could order a new social security card for my daughter. But I couldn’t order a hit. I would be to forgiving. Can’t we give that drug mule another chance? He won’t narc on me, we are friends. I’m sure he will do 25 years while I’m on my yaucht snorting anthills of coke.

And I couldn’t handle coke or any other drug for that matter. I would quickly turn into that junkie in that movie that offers blow jobs for some crack. I can’t even stop dipping, how the hell can I stop the white lion fantastic train ride?

So let’s go ahead and delete the word “drug” from the cartel and hereby establish the Hossman Family Cartel. We are going to need a compound of some sort as well. Not that I will let anyone live there besides me. Being part of the Cartel means that I won’t trust you, so you can’t come over and play with me.

Most Cartel bosses also have a hoard of chicks somewhere. This is another thing I could do without at the moment. Hossmom has plenty of loving to give so I won’t being needing anymore help there. She has given me two kids and is thus fertile. This is very important in the Cartel world so I will know who will take over. She has given me my heir so she stays in with second wife ready to take her place incase any of my enemies get to her.

I will demand at the compound an Olympic sized pool as well as Giraffes. I have no idea why Giraffes other than that seems to be what every massively crazy rich guy has.

And I would be that crazy rich guy. I would walk around my compound asking each staff member “did you hear that?”, then run away screaming. I would have to get some crazy hair as well as all rich crazy guys have hair. If I was rich I could afford a hair transplant and be I would be rich enough that no one would laugh, atleast not to my face.

But no guns will be allowed at the Hossman Compound. It’s not guns that kill people, it’s you that kills people. I have no doubt that if I ever owned a gun I would accidently shoot myself while trying to do the cool western gun flip into my holster. I couldn’t help myself. You couldn’t have guns either. The truth of it is that I don’t believe in the conceal and carry laws we have, and I live in Texas. Sure Billy the Kid, I know that in your head you are in a bank when robbers come in and you pull your piece, offer a witty line, then blow them away.

Here’s the reality of what really happens. You are in a bank robbery and you have just wet your pants. Normally, you would hit the dirt and hand over your watch and condoms in your wallet. But since you now have a gun, you feel like you have to do something. So you pull it out but instead of actually aiming you close your eyes and just start shooting. Your Billy the Kid moment ends with you dropping the gun and screaming like a girl. In the meantime, I have two gun shot wounds from your random shooting. It’s not that I don’t trust myself with guns, it’s that I don’t trust you. So no guns on the Compound.

Ok, so in the check list I have gone over the money, the compound, the chicks, no drugs and no guns allowed. Ok, that’s it. That’s the Cartel Fantasy.

One more thing—I would need to refer to all the people in my “pocket” so I would sound cool. Like I would say, “Don’t worry about it, Wylie TX is in my pocket”. Yup, that would rock.

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