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Big drug bust up in Manchvegas…..

That’s it? 26 grams of crack cocaine, $1,800 and some burner phones? I fully support the police, but this is like Billy Madison getting a birthday party for passing the third grade. We’re talking about Manchester here. Do you realize how much crack cocaine you can find in Manchester? All of it. And we’re out here celebrating 26 grams and some cell phones? Lowered expectations like you read about.

But that’s not why I chose to blog this story. I was all over this one like ratchets on raw dog because one of the slopqueefs graced us with her presence in the comments, and she was everything you dreamed she would be and more.

If you ever get arrested during a drug bust, and you wanna defend the honor of yourself and the ex-con currently tossing you some D, it’s always a good idea to show up in the comments and speak in hoodbooger dialect. Studies have shown that often convinces people who would normally be on the fence about your guilt or innocence.

And your story doesn’t add up either Smashley. Ya know, because the cops are saying that your dirty dick distributor was arrested at the stashhouse when they came there to arrest him on warrants. I’m sure they were hoping for a bigger haul, but from the looks of you it’s safe to say that the second you come in the vicinity of crack cocaine it disappears faster than a steak and cheese on a blunt rider with Amy Schumer.

Some would call her stupid for what she wrote, but she disagrees.

Oh snap, we got a high school graduate (equivalency) in the house!! Y’all better recognize.

And please, for you Derry people, stop calling it Pinkerton Academy. No one is fooled. It’s public school. You go there for free because the taxpayers let you. They just kept that name to make all the future strippers they produce feel like they attended prep school.

She had a message for the haters.

She’ll wipe the floor with you, but she certainly won’t wipe your teeth.

Let me give you a little Manchester evolution to show you how she ended up here on Turtleboy.

It starts when with a high school romance.

After taking 6 years to graduate from PUBLIC school you meet a guy with a pubestache. He’s into NasCar and never leaving Manchester, and he’s got a job down at the mill making slightly above minimum wage, so the next thing you know this happens.

Because obviously it was meant to be.

Pubestache seems like a decent guy and the two of you plan on having a nice white trash lifestyle, complete with the multiple satellite dishes attached to the section 8 lair where you will continue to spread the baby batter around.

But then you realize you’re 19 and you can’t imagine yourself gyrating on only one cock for the rest of your life. You hate the fact that you have a crotch fruit at home who always needs shit and ties you down. You need action in your life. Something to spice it up. So you go down to whores R us and have yourself a shopping spree.

Next thing you know you’ve got a new man named T-Bone who calls you, “get in the fucking car.”

He’s obviously living large since he’s got a tube TV on top of a laundry basket while wearing Walmart brand mesh pants.

Meanwhile, you’re sporting a jacket with flags of the world, indicating the nationalities of every guy whose spunk grenade has been granted access to your tampon tunnel.

And T-Bone’s over here thinking, “She bout to get that money, then she bout to get this D.”

But eventually T-Bone beats the shit out of you one too many times and ends up getting locked up. No biggie, because his boy Edgar jumps in to keep the taco warmer room temperature while he’s doing his 2.5 years in county.

And if there’s one thing Edgar knows, it’s crack cocaine.

But there’s a problem – you’ve got competition for Edgar.

And ultimately you can’t compete with that so you go right back to the trailer park you came from.

There spend a lot of time in rundown crackmill apartments where Level 3 Eddie mills around in the background looking to see if anyone dropped their crack on the floor.

You’re only 20 years old right now, but you definitely wanna keep on the path you’re going, because by age 27 you can see what your future will look like.

Remember the baby? Good times. Where the fuck’s he at? Ehh, who cares. That’s Shane’s problem now.