Australian Chef Steals My Scarface Fantasy

by Gabriel Hummel on January 10, 2011


Let me make something very clear, I love Scarface, I revel the idea of being a gangster, I often fantasize and pursue a life filled with nothing but hustling and not an honest day’s work to my name. So, it should come as no surprise that my panties were soaking wet the first time I saw Scarface at age 15 or so.

I fantasized about killing coca-roaches, having a coke whore girlfriend, and having a Bengal tiger as a pet, a fucking tiger man.

But alas, my dreams of being the coke king of the south were demolished when I realized that I was busy wearing parachute pants and drawing TMNT while the biggest drug ring in the world had already come to a near close.  Alas, my best friend Rob and I still wished that we were born in the late 60s in Miami and could have had our run of the city for a good decade or so.


It seems that an Australian Chef (Grant Michael Richardson) at Balcony Bar in Sydney has beat me to the punch however, as he was recently busted for selling bags of ecstasy and speed in some multimillion dollar drug syndicate operation.

It was said that the head chef helped to move $20,000 worth of drugs over three months to an undercover police officer and didn’t realize for a second that he was a narc.


What an amateur, not only couldn’t he move a paltry amount of soft narcotics around in an environment that is already littered with rock and roll pick me ups, he got fingered after dealing with an undercover for 3 months. Even a mentally handicapped foreign exchange student would have realized that there was something fishy about how a man would always wear multiple layers of clothing at all hours of the day.


And $20,000? Come on, mate, in my beautiful and dark twisted fantasy in Miami I would have moved at least that much in a week, let alone 3 months. Total drug amateurs who wouldn’t know a crystal meth lab from a pound of hash.

One of the hilarious addendum to this story is that they used food code words in order to refer to the drugs amongst themselves. Phrases like, “three people say that they weren’t that happy with the food” and that they “didn’t taste anything all night.” Were poorly used in order to move their table scrap volumes of X and speed.

I guess not everyone is cut out to be a badass drug dealer, I suppose I should look at this blunder as another competitor out of business while my dream candy land operation continues to flourish in the sanctity of my mind.

Still hustling


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