PORN VALLEY, CA – Scott Fayner reported a story today about Taylor Rain and a drunkin’/drug bust last night while the two were out trying to rent a movie. When I first read Fayner’s posts, I was under the impression that all his drunkin’ rants were just his schtick although I’m told they’re all true stories.

Fayner writes on LukeFord.com:

So last night we scooted out to the valley so she could pick up her much needed weed. On the way back we needed to pick up a check I had coming to me in North Hollywood. Did I mention T.R. was a bit tipsy, a bit stoned, a wee bit heavy on the gas pedal?

She drives fast and reckless, all the time and always at full-tilt. I tell her she needs a driver to take her places ’cause she shouldn’t ever be behind the wheel of an automobile that’s in motion.

Cruising down Victory, from behind the shadows comes a CHIPS copper and his siren is a wailin’! Today, it seemed yesterday, is not her day. And here she was still glowing after her amazing getaway from the pigs last week. Her luck had run out. I grabbed the 1/2 oz of grass and shoved it in my sock. T.R. yelled for me to put it back in the center console. I did.

Officer asked her to step outside, where he administered some drunk tests on her. Then some more. Then some more chopper coppers hit the scene, gave her more tests. I sat in the T-Bird stoned with my dog Rhi smoking Marlboro after Marlboro, hoping to God they’d find it in their crooked hearts to set the hot gal free. No such luck. When a cruiser drove up I knew my baby was headed for jail. I sunk lower in the bucket seat and wished for a do-over. What’s that Zeppelin lyric? Cryin’ won’t help you, prayin’ won’t do you no good. Yeah, that’s the ticket. No free ride, no collecting $200. You’re going to jail baby, and I’m certain you’re not stoned enough to make it out alive.

Rhi keeps growling at the fuzz who keep lurking around the car with their flashlights and cheap cologne. I’m asked to step out, which I do.

“Where’s the dog’s leash?” one asks me.

“Not here,” I tell him.

“Why not?”

“We’re in the car. I don’t need one.”

“Well, you can pick it up at the Van Nuys pound,” says his partner.

“I don’t think so,” I inform them. “She’s coming with me. I’m free to go, right? Right?”

“You can go.”

But to where? I don’t have a clue where I am, sure as shit none of my druggie friends could come and get me in the next three hours. I made one call to R. She’s not polluted on narcotics, I’m positive. Thanks to this goddess from above I made it home within 20 minutes.

Hit the sheets, kept my phone on my chest to alert me of T.R.’s call from Jail.

Got it around 3 in the morning, 3-way with a bail bondsman.

“Shit Dog!” she barked, “You didn’t take the weed! What’s wrong with you? I have nothing to smoke when I get out! Sheeeettttt!”

“Let’s deal with that later,” I said, thinking the bondsman doesn’t need to hear this when he’s putting up $5,000 on her.

I met the bondsman around four with five hundred bucks cash in hand, literally every penny I had in my wallet. The things we do for love.

Released some time later, I fed T.R. a candy bar and cigarette, then took her back to my place, where she scraped every pipe in the joint until she was properly stoned. I thought about trying to fuck her but scratched that idea. Although banging her silly with the stench of incarceration still lurking on her was getting me horny, I nixed the idea and fell into slumber, my cute little jailbird nestled in my manly arms.

And to think, all she wanted to do last night was smoke weed and watch Lord Of The Rings The Two Towers. Almost found herself in the dark belly of the Twin Towers downtown jail instead.

And we’ll have fun fun fun til the police man takes the T-Bird away.