Did you enjoy Bumbershoot? Awesome, dude. I’m glad, really I am!
One thing I was curious about though:
You’ve been through this whole “border crossing” thing before, right? You know what to expect?
Why did this happen?
Why were all your fellow travellers on the Greyhound Peasant Wagon obliged to wait patiently for nearly three-quarters of an hour while the nice border agents went through you and your girlfriend’s belongings (and likely your persons) with the highest level of scrutiny they could possibly muster?
Maybe it was because you chose to wear a t-shirt that declared, unambiguously, that you were anACID-HEAD
Dude, I am not judgemental about your lifestyle choices. (Much.) I mean, I get it. Me, I don’t have anything against LSD by a long shot. I also don’t think prohibition against psychedelic substances is a sensible policy. But that’s neither here nor there.
I know your momma told you to “be true to yourself.” That’s cool.
But when the schedules of 50+ other people depend on it, WEAR A DIFFERENT FUCKING SHIRT WHEN YOU GO THROUGH CUSTOMS, YOU MORON. It’s not that hard.
Besides which, it stank. Like dirty hippie. Anxious dirty hippie, when you came back. That’s the worst kind.
Did the nice border agents hold up me or my companions when I took actual LSD across the border, a statute of limitations ago? No! Why? Because I made the most rudimentary of efforts to disguise the fact that I was I GIANT FUCKING HEAD, and didn’t wear an article of clothing that basically required a butt-probe.
Did I mention you stink? Your fecking body odour has psychedelic properties.