So as some of you may have seen on my twitter last nite, I found 95 bucks on the side walk last nite. I found 4 20′s, a ten and a five just sprinkled in a row on the sidewalk and I gobbled those bills up like my last name was Weinstein. I quickly inspected it to make sure none of them were Poo Dollars, looked around to make sure there were no hidden cameras and I was 95 bucks richer. I couldn’t believe it.

Right after that I’m out to dinner and everyone’s talking about how absurd it was to find almost a hundred bucks on the street and we all pretty much agree that some lowly delivery man must have dropped all that money riding his bike back to his restaurant. He probably strolled back into work after delivery a huge spread to someone on the Upper East and reached in his pocket to pay the manager and had zero dollars. Which in turn meant he probably got fired which then means he had no money or means to support his family which ultimately means he probably had to return to a life of crime in Mexico as a human drug mule. So essentially me picking up all that money and stuffing it in my greedy pockets probably ruined the lives of roughly 5-6 Mexicans who relied on that 1 delivery man job. Now, also taking into account the horrible nature of my day to day job, there’s absolutely no way karma would send free money my way that in turn destroys a life without there being some sort of punishment. Everyone jokingly agrees that karma’s a bitch and I’m fucked.

Well fast forward about 1 hour and I look like fucking Hitch after he had an allergic reaction to seafood. That picture there was about and hour or 2 after the redness and swelling started to go away. I had been at one of my regular bars around the corner with my girlfriend and her roommate standing at the bar drinking an irish martini (yea yea, I know I’m a fag). They’re just sitting there chatting away while I’m swelling up like a fucking red tomato. Can barely breath, ears on fire, cheeks and lips all red and swollen. Looked like I was the fat kid who ran a mile in gym class. I kept on going to the bathroom and basically taking a bath in the sink with cold water trying to fix it. Later my girlfriend told me she thought I had diarrhea and thats why I was making so many trips. Nope! As a matter of fact toots I would have loved a case of the shits that night instead of blowing up like a balloon. Just like “Hey don’t mind me girls, keep chatting I’ll be the guy standing next to you dying of asphyxiation while all the blood pools in my face!”

Eventually the girls realize whats going on and think I’m gonna fucking die. My lady springs into action and sprints to Duane Reade like 5 minutes before it closes to buy me some Benadryl. I’m trying to downplay it all and say I can stay for another drink, meanwhile I’m pretty sure my windpipe was completely closed and I think my face was actually about to spontaneously combust. I spent the rest of the night sitting on her couch with a wet washcloth on my face with all the girls half taking care of me/half making fun of me.

Ironically it was a Mexican bartender that made my drink. So it all came full circle. The delivery man probably set off some Honkey Gringo Alert that the white man had stolen his money and tipped off the bartender to poison my drink. The Mexicans giveth, and the Mexicans taketh away. And the moral of the story is don’t pick up free money if you’re an immoral smut blogger and expect to get away with it.