I'd like to start this month's commentary by setting a few things straight. Last month I told you about the "low life rat" who started the DEA investigation against me. As I said previously, it only took four bottles of "gear" (anabolic steroids) handed to the DEA by King Rat that resulted in me paying with five years of my life. By revealing another Rat-Fuck here, hopefully no one else will have to go through what I did.
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| Scott Siegel in the movie, The Wrestler |
This past month, I noticed that one person posted a response on here indicating that I got caught with a lot of gear. No shit, Sherlock; that's why my sentence is so high. . . YOU FUCKHEAD! Let me make it clear: I sold juice and if you play in this game and get caught, you should be made aware of the consequences and what to do about it from Jump Street. It's simple really: Keep your mouth shut, do your time, and don't cry about it. And when a cop says, "Anything can be used against you in a court of law," he means ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING you mention. So don't talk, period!
This brings me to the point of this month's installment. I mentioned how my investigation began and who started it. Now I'll tell you about a so-called buddy of mine who was also my roommate around the time of my arrest. I had been living in New York back then and had rented a vacation condo with a guy named Ramon Garcia. Ramon also turned out to be a spineless, two-faced rat. This Rat hails from New Jersey, where he may be living right now.
I used to sell gear to Ramon. At the time, he had never been in any trouble with the law, but he played the game without a care in the world. He would use some of the juice himself and sell the rest for profit. About one month prior to my arrest, I went to see this spineless, two-faced, sonofabitch in New Jersey to sell him some gear. He received 60 (10mL) bottles from me. That night he was short on cash so he owed me a few bucks. No big deal, right? This was my boy and roommate. Yeah, well....
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| Ramon "The Rat" Garcia |
A week went by and Ramon avoided my calls. By the second week I still couldn't reach him so I called a mutual friend and asked him to tell the spineless, two-faced, rat boy to call me and get my money together, including his share of the upcoming rent. Contact was made and Ramon texted me with some bullshit about his grandma being in the hospital. He said he'd call me the next day, but tomorrow never came; no call, no text message, nothing.
Meanwhile, I was arrested and ended up in jail. Two weeks later I reached him by phone (from jail) and this two-faced mother fucker acts like he's my best friend; he says how sorry he is for me for not getting back to me and regretting what happened to me (I could hear the violins playing). Here's the best part: he asks if there was anything he could do to help me. So I told him about the money owed and his new story was that he promised to mail the money to my mother's house. I also explained to him that because I was locked up, I needed to give up on the Florida condo. So he asks if I needed him to go down and ship anything back to New York; a request I took him up on. I asked him to pack up and ship my laptop, some clothes, and a lockbox that contained a few bottles of gear along with some paperwork. That upcoming Friday, the Ramon made it down to Miami, he called my sister to assure her that he was packing my clothes, but he indicated that there was no laptop and no lockbox at the condo. On top of all this sleight of hand, the allegedly mailed rent money did a Houdini as well. Can you say, dirt bag?
After my sister informed me about the missing items (that I knew were secure inside the condo), Ramon wouldn't answer his phone. My mind was working overtime: Was he bullshitting me and robbing the condo blind?
I managed to contact another friend in Miami who had an extra set of keys to my condo and he wasted no time getting over three. An hour later, I make contact with him at the condo where he was yelling at Two-Face. My laptop was gone and the lockbox broken into with its contents gone. The spineless scumbag tried to backpedal about the rent money being mailed a few days later then intended, which was why my mother hadn't received it yet.
All of this drama was going on as I listen in on one of three available phones in my housing unit at the county jail. With 44 inmates sharing the facilities, it's frustrating when a guy like myself is stressing over losing his shit to a spineless rat. In jail it's easy to say the wrong thing when you're upset and end up in a fight over needing to use the phone a bunch of times.
So while I'm on the phone to Miami, Ramon also claimed that he didn't have my other owed money because he had to hire a lawyer. A lawyer? What kind of lawyer did this kid need and what did this have to do with me? I pressured him further, which must have worn him down, because it all came out: On the night I had given him the gear in New Jersey, the DEA pulled his car over after I left and found the gear. In confiscating it, agents admitted that they were aware he got the gear from me. They agreed to let him go under one condition: No mention of this police encounter to me or else he'd be arrested and charged for illegal possession of a controlled substance. At this point I'm half paralyzed while listening to this shit over the phone. I told my boy to tell that spineless, two-faced rat fuck to get his shit, leave the key, and get the fuck out of the condo.
Everyone reading this should know that had Ramon been convicted of the federal narcotics violation for 60 bottles of gear, he was facing a maximum sentence of six months in prison as a first time offender (the reality is that he probably would never have done a single day in prison).
Much later on, my attorney sent me my "discovery" documents that indicated what evidence would be used against me in court. Among the paperwork was a sworn, signed statement by Ramon Garcia, in which he admitted to having obtained gear from me (hey you two-faced rat, if you're reading this: Did you think I wouldn't get the paperwork?). I also found that my missing laptop mysteriously ended up in the DEA's hands; I wonder who could have given it to them?
In a way, I feel bad that my chickenshit roommate got caught up in the federal investigation that was aimed at me. But all he had to do was play stupid and keep his mouth shut. He could have contacted me through a third party and let me know what was up. Hell, I would have paid for his attorney myself.
But look at what a real scumbag does: After telling me on three separate occasions that "the check is in the mail" some Western Union money orders arrived at my mother's place. At that time I found out that Two- Face told a mutual friend that he reported the money orders stolen after he mailed them. I barely had time to stop my mother from trying to deposit them at her bank in order to avoid even more trouble.
The moral to this story is as old as dirt: Don't do the crime if you can't handle the time! Spineless Two-Face is still out there and I'm posting his picture here so everyone knows what a piece of shit really looks like; It's named Ramon Garcia.
I want to thank everyone here at Rx Muscle for all the positive feedback I'm receiving. Special thanks to Dave Palumbo for bringing life to my crazy true stories. Also to my family who I cannot thank enough for sticking by me though all of this shit. And to Christina whom I love dearly; you will always have a special place in my heart. I hope you find the happiness you are looking for.
Until next month, stay strong, train hard, and be very careful who you trust or you might find yourself sharing a cell with me. There aren't too many solid, stand-up, real motherfuckers left out there!
