I’m a drug dealer (re-write)

I never tried this joke on stage but I had some random thoughts pop into my head on how to rewrite it and make it work. So here you go.

I like in a house – let me rephrase that – I live in a room in a house I found on craigslist. I stay in the room. Because I found the house on craigslist. Why did I do that? because I hate myself. Last night one of my roommates got home and started talking real loud to her friends in the hall way. She was telling them that she thinks I’m a drug dealer because I’m always home during the day, I always pay my rent in cash and I listen to lots of rap music. I was like, first of all. If I was a drug dealer. I wouldn’t be living in a house I found on craigslist in Kirkland. Although I guess she never said I was good at it. Second of all. It’s Kirkland. Am I slinging adderall? Come on. Your honor. The defense rests.

I mean. I’ve only seen scarface a couple of times. But I don’t remember the part where he’s in the middle of a machine gun battle and his roommates come out like “Hey can you keep it down. Some of us actually have to work in the morning. Thanks. Oh and can you move all of your cars, because I can’t get out of the driveway.”

Either you’ve never met me, or you’ve never met a drug dealer. I’m bad at math. I’m bad at gang fights. And I respect the police. You never hear that in a rap song. I would know. That’s all I listen to.

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