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The Ghost Gun
Little Mitch and the Evil Bitch

I was living with this one girl who developed a drug problem. I would hide the money before I slept.

One night I wake up and she’s got this gun, a nine-millimeter automatic, in my mouth—and cocked.

My eyes get wider and she squeezes the trigger and there’s no round in the chamber, so I cuffed her and knocked her to the floor and she runs off.

I call the cops and tell them she’s trying to shoot me and two cops come out.

They go looking for the gun and can’t find it.

She has hid the gun and won’t tell them where it is.

It was a good thing, actually, ‘cause if I had been found to be living in a house with a gun—even though the gun was not mine and I didn’t know about it—I would have been back in the joint, a violation of my parole.

So the cops say, “Oh, it’s a ghost gun,” and they fill out a report so I can go file charges against her.

She’s doin’ time over that shit right now. The judge didn’t believe a word she said. That is one woman that I am glad to be rid of—what an evil bitch she was—and will be again when her ass gets free.

On Bitches

Your Trojan Whorse

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