fatbottoms
New Member
I'd like to hear everyone's most harrowing tales of run-ins with the law regarding weed or drugs.
It doesn't have to be absolute horror stories, like captivity in a Turkish prison where you became the anal queen... funny stories, sad stories whatever tale that'll keep stoners interested.
I'll relay my experience of getting busted trying to smuggle a pound of pot across the Mexican border...bear with me, I tend to ramble.
It was 1983, during the crazy free-basing days when cocaine ruled the country...for those of you who's never heard of free-basing, it's what "Crack" was first called.
Back then, I had a friend of mine who used to pump weights then take the biggest crack hits for a better rush...we used to call him "Andre the Base Giant," but I digress.
During my sophomore year of college, I met a Mexican guy who told me he could get large quantities of weed for cheap, but we had to go to Mexico to pick it up.
Unlike now, good quality weed was difficult to come by in the 80's and if you managed to find a good connection, they were always running out, which left you searching and waiting for hours until you're so desperate, you end up buying some horrid Mexican dirt weed like "Wohawkin'".
So, it was on such an occasion, when weed was so scarce that I agreed to run for the border.
He had assured me that they don't check the cars, that he's done it plenty of times, it's easy...blah blah blah.
So, we go across the border with him and his girlfriend and end up driving for hours without finding any weed.
We finally find someone with some weed, but it is absolutely horrid Mexican dirt weed which resembles an adobe brick.
Frustrated and not wanting to waste the entire trip coming back empty handed, I reluctantly purchase a pound for 400.
We immediately get in the car and head back to cross the border as it's been a long day, but the day's not quite over.
I immediately toke up try out the weed as we're on our way to the border...horrid, harsh dirt weed...this is the level of stupidity I was in at the time, strung out on crack.
As we approach the border in our car, we get in a lane and start inching closer to border check.
As I stare ahead at the crossing, I see something so shocking and unexpected, my anus puckers like it's been sitting on a lemon anal plug.
Up ahead at the crossing, I see a German Shepard and the guards are pulling over every car in line as if they were searching for Pablo Escovar.
I stare in gape-mouthed shock at my friend who has a similar panicked look on his face.
I start screaming at him, "YOU TOLD ME, THEY DON'T CHECK AT THE BORDER!" over and over again, cussing him out, wishing Montezuma's revenge on him.
After I calmed down a bit, I desperately try to think of a way out of this.
Since clicking my heels together might not work, I start looking up and down my lane to see, if it's too late to pull out of the lane and turn around.
While turning around seems feasible, I feel like I'm too close to the border crossing, and images of cop cars chasing me down because I aroused suspicion by pulling out of my lane discourages me, and I stay put.
20 yards from the border...
As we inch closer and closer to the border, I desperately start trying to find a place to hide the weed in the car.
I try to give it to my friend to hide on him, and he looks at me like the package is covered in ebola...I insist, but there's no chance he's taking the fall.
15 yards from the border...
Since the pound of weed is so compact, about the size of a Kleenex box, I try and shove it down my pants, but it bulges obscenely out of my pants.
I really don't want to hide it in the car because I know the dog will find it, but I see no other option.
10 yards from the border....
I desperately try and shove it under my seat, back seat, side compartment, glove box, console, somewhere, anything...ARRRGHHHHH, PANICKING!
5 yards from the border...
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK....I shove it down my pants again, and see the obscene bulge....FUCK MEEEEEEEE!
At the very last second, I take it out of pants and shove it underneath a side panel on the driver's side as visions of the German Shepard jumping up on me run through my head.
Whatever it is they are looking for, it's serious business...cars are being torn apart left and right.
The moment has come, and I am asked to pull over and we are asked to step out of the car.
As the guard brings the dog over, I immediately regret not keeping it in my pants as the dog goes straight for the pot...took him all of two seconds...the guard congratulates the dog and gives him a reward...wonderful.
One of the guards moves towards us with the adobe brick and asks who this belongs to.
My two Mexican friends who were standing next to me, slide over, distancing themselves from me.
I confess right away without any coercion.
He asks me to step inside their booth at the border crossing.
From the moment the pot was found, I was in an emotional free-fall thinking about the consequences of what was about to happen to my life.
In the eighties with the "Just say no" campaign against drugs, getting busted with a pound of pot was no joke.
But even more worrisome and troubling were the consequences of my parents finding out.
Having to face the old man who used to wait for me in the dark for me to come home when I stayed out all night on a school night, was a frightening scene...was not looking forward to the beating.
As I sat in the booth contemplating what will happen, the gravity of the situation breaks me down and I start tearing up a little.
As the guards notice me tearing up, they take pity on me, sying things like, "He's not like the other ones...I tink he's sorry.
Once I see they're sympathetic to me, I immediately turn on the waterworks, weeping, crying and promising them everything under the sun.
Incredulously, the guard says to me, "You learn lesson...no come back" and lets me go.
Like O.J. Simpson's reaction when the verdict was read, I can't believe what's happening...he's actually letting me go.
I walk out the booth, drying my eyes, walking on air as I walk towards my car.
I tell my Mexican friends, they let me go, and they can't believe it...we pile in the car, and head home wondering how in the world I escaped.
Sort of ends on an whimper, but obviously, they had bigger fish to fry and let me go.
It doesn't have to be absolute horror stories, like captivity in a Turkish prison where you became the anal queen... funny stories, sad stories whatever tale that'll keep stoners interested.
I'll relay my experience of getting busted trying to smuggle a pound of pot across the Mexican border...bear with me, I tend to ramble.
It was 1983, during the crazy free-basing days when cocaine ruled the country...for those of you who's never heard of free-basing, it's what "Crack" was first called.
Back then, I had a friend of mine who used to pump weights then take the biggest crack hits for a better rush...we used to call him "Andre the Base Giant," but I digress.
During my sophomore year of college, I met a Mexican guy who told me he could get large quantities of weed for cheap, but we had to go to Mexico to pick it up.
Unlike now, good quality weed was difficult to come by in the 80's and if you managed to find a good connection, they were always running out, which left you searching and waiting for hours until you're so desperate, you end up buying some horrid Mexican dirt weed like "Wohawkin'".
So, it was on such an occasion, when weed was so scarce that I agreed to run for the border.
He had assured me that they don't check the cars, that he's done it plenty of times, it's easy...blah blah blah.
So, we go across the border with him and his girlfriend and end up driving for hours without finding any weed.
We finally find someone with some weed, but it is absolutely horrid Mexican dirt weed which resembles an adobe brick.
Frustrated and not wanting to waste the entire trip coming back empty handed, I reluctantly purchase a pound for 400.
We immediately get in the car and head back to cross the border as it's been a long day, but the day's not quite over.
I immediately toke up try out the weed as we're on our way to the border...horrid, harsh dirt weed...this is the level of stupidity I was in at the time, strung out on crack.
As we approach the border in our car, we get in a lane and start inching closer to border check.
As I stare ahead at the crossing, I see something so shocking and unexpected, my anus puckers like it's been sitting on a lemon anal plug.
Up ahead at the crossing, I see a German Shepard and the guards are pulling over every car in line as if they were searching for Pablo Escovar.
I stare in gape-mouthed shock at my friend who has a similar panicked look on his face.
I start screaming at him, "YOU TOLD ME, THEY DON'T CHECK AT THE BORDER!" over and over again, cussing him out, wishing Montezuma's revenge on him.
After I calmed down a bit, I desperately try to think of a way out of this.
Since clicking my heels together might not work, I start looking up and down my lane to see, if it's too late to pull out of the lane and turn around.
While turning around seems feasible, I feel like I'm too close to the border crossing, and images of cop cars chasing me down because I aroused suspicion by pulling out of my lane discourages me, and I stay put.
20 yards from the border...
As we inch closer and closer to the border, I desperately start trying to find a place to hide the weed in the car.
I try to give it to my friend to hide on him, and he looks at me like the package is covered in ebola...I insist, but there's no chance he's taking the fall.
15 yards from the border...
Since the pound of weed is so compact, about the size of a Kleenex box, I try and shove it down my pants, but it bulges obscenely out of my pants.
I really don't want to hide it in the car because I know the dog will find it, but I see no other option.
10 yards from the border....
I desperately try and shove it under my seat, back seat, side compartment, glove box, console, somewhere, anything...ARRRGHHHHH, PANICKING!
5 yards from the border...
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK....I shove it down my pants again, and see the obscene bulge....FUCK MEEEEEEEE!
At the very last second, I take it out of pants and shove it underneath a side panel on the driver's side as visions of the German Shepard jumping up on me run through my head.
Whatever it is they are looking for, it's serious business...cars are being torn apart left and right.
The moment has come, and I am asked to pull over and we are asked to step out of the car.
As the guard brings the dog over, I immediately regret not keeping it in my pants as the dog goes straight for the pot...took him all of two seconds...the guard congratulates the dog and gives him a reward...wonderful.
One of the guards moves towards us with the adobe brick and asks who this belongs to.
My two Mexican friends who were standing next to me, slide over, distancing themselves from me.
I confess right away without any coercion.
He asks me to step inside their booth at the border crossing.
From the moment the pot was found, I was in an emotional free-fall thinking about the consequences of what was about to happen to my life.
In the eighties with the "Just say no" campaign against drugs, getting busted with a pound of pot was no joke.
But even more worrisome and troubling were the consequences of my parents finding out.
Having to face the old man who used to wait for me in the dark for me to come home when I stayed out all night on a school night, was a frightening scene...was not looking forward to the beating.
As I sat in the booth contemplating what will happen, the gravity of the situation breaks me down and I start tearing up a little.
As the guards notice me tearing up, they take pity on me, sying things like, "He's not like the other ones...I tink he's sorry.
Once I see they're sympathetic to me, I immediately turn on the waterworks, weeping, crying and promising them everything under the sun.
Incredulously, the guard says to me, "You learn lesson...no come back" and lets me go.
Like O.J. Simpson's reaction when the verdict was read, I can't believe what's happening...he's actually letting me go.
I walk out the booth, drying my eyes, walking on air as I walk towards my car.
I tell my Mexican friends, they let me go, and they can't believe it...we pile in the car, and head home wondering how in the world I escaped.
Sort of ends on an whimper, but obviously, they had bigger fish to fry and let me go.
