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You may remember me posting a query about what Mexican gear to buy on my next trip down to Nuevo Laredo. Well I made the trip and I have some f**king stories to share with anyone considering purchasing MX gear without a UG connection.
I got into Nuevo-Laredo around 4pm on Friday. Twenty minutes later I had already bought the gear I needed to finish my cycle recipe: 3 amps of QV Test. E-250, another amp of QV EQ-200, 3 boxes of Clomid/Omifin 50mg, and 7 boxes of Nolvadex 20mg. That's 4 amps and a LOT of pills. I had two travel pouches around my waist, underneath my pants--pouches like you would normally carry traveler's checks and credit cards in when overseas. I managed to fit everything in those two guys without anything bulging or looking out of place. Even had a semi-baggy shirt to hide my physique. This was my second trip to N-L for gear and I thought I had it all down pat. Wrong.
Shopped around, had a drink or two at a restaurant, crossed over bridge to US side around 6:30 that same evening. I was wearing a jacket because it was cold and rainy that day. Maybe that was my first mistake.
Anyway, had my wallet and ID ready for the US customs assholes, calm face, even had a bag of cheap-ass MX souvenirs to make my visit seem more arbitrary. The first customs guy looked at my ID briefly with a suspicious face (seems like they always have that fucking look about them). He nodded his head to waive me by, but another guard stopped me before I could move more than two feet. He asked me to take my ID out of my wallet, and I did. Then he asked me to take off my jacket. Done.
"OK Sir, could you come with me please..."
Fuck. The Customs officer took one look at me and pulled me aside before I even had a chance. He explained to me my rights and choices for the situation, that if I told him if I was carrying anything illegal, I would not be arrested, only fined, "like a parking ticket," he called it. And if I "lied" and said I was carrying nothing, they would search me. If they found anything, I would be arrested and prosecuted. It was all up to what I told him. Keep in mind that as much as most of us hate pigs, this one was very nice and up front with me--he wasn't trying to haggle or intimidate me.
I nodded my head and told him I was carrying some gear, and he took me to the back area--you know, the friendly little place where they strip-search you and do the body cavity searches. This part hadn’t crossed my mind yet. I was still dazed in the “goddammit is this really happening to me right now?!” phase. They asked me to take a seat on this shitty wooden bench next to some white-trash middle-aged woman who was probably caught transporting crack in her cooch. I heard one of the officers ask if the other needed gloves. That’s when it hit me. He said no, but I wasn’t convinced.
Two awkward minutes next to the crack-whore and they took me into the cell—that’s what they called it. Just an opened bathroom-tile type of place with a toilet in the corner. There were two officers, one of whom was the guy who pulled me aside in the first place. They made me strip down in front of them. Of course they saw the pouches. I offered to take them off but they told me not to. What the fuck? They wanted to see if I had anything in my ass. I’m not going to say anything else about what happened in there.
They slapped me with a $6000 fine, but held up to their original promise of dismissing me without arrest. Part of this fine was for attempting to transport “controlled substances,” for an initial penalty. Everything after the first $1000 or so was based on the U.S. worth of the drugs. 45 pills of Nolva cost me $208 in fines, but the 90 Clomid pills—are you ready for this? $4100. Just for the fucking Clomid. The test and EQ only hit me for $500 even, and those are the actual steroids for God’s sake.
They kept me in the office for three hours while the customs guy (the one who caught me) tried to educate these two overweight half-wits in D-H-S uniforms. Don’t even get me started on fat incapable cops. I think most of the corresponding stupidity they bring to the table goes without saying. But because he used my drug offense to train the two half-wits, it took three times as long as it should have, which left me in the hot seat for several hours wondering what the fuck my final penalty would be. Money? Handcuffs? Ruined life?
The good officer took the fine down to $750 since it was my first known offense, and I had to write a check right there on the spot (which was understdably hot at the time). As I was writing the check I saw out of the corner of my eye two zip-loc bags with my precious gear in it—test I would never get to inject. Goddamn it was painful. And yes, I know it could be worse. Shut up and keep reading.
As of this minute, I have no criminal record since there was no arrest or conviction from this incident, but I now have an offense on my name in the U.S. Customs database, so anytime I try to leave the country, to go ANYWHERE, they will see this incident on the computer when they pull up my name and go to stamp my passport, and without any reasonable doubt, I WILL be strip-searched again, and again, and again, and the same may very well go for anyone traveling with me. You can imagine the complications this brings to the honeymoon to Tahiti with your new wife. Think about some fat fucking pervert with a uniform and rubber gloves probing in your girl’s orifices with a suppressed grin, maybe he asks one of his buddies to come take a look and see if he “missed anything.” If it pisses you off, it should, because the cock-suckers at the airport love their jobs. It’s empowering in ways most of them should never have known. And this will be with me for the rest of my life. With no one else to blame. Think about it.
If you’ve read all of this, do not for a minute think me ungrateful. God was smiling on me that day. It’s why I wasn’t arrested or detained for more than a few hours, and it’s why I was still able to drive home that same night, minus the gear (fucking bastards). I will always wish there was no record of the incident except for that in my mind, but I understand very well that it could have been MUCH worse—a higher fine, jail-time, criminal record following me around whenever I need a job or something that requires state consent, etc.
My purpose for telling you this is to remind anyone considering smuggling gear over the border that the Department of Homeland Shitheads has really cracked down on their Customs policies and drug-control. I’ve NEVER had this much trouble in the past getting other “lesser” drugs across the border. Also recall that steroids are classified as controlled substances in this country—no one gives a shit if that substance was coke, heroine, amphetamines, weed, OR steroids that you were carrying. It’s all a controlled substance and gets lumped into the same category on your record, as do the penalties that follow. Steroids are just as much of an offense as narcotics, and that to me is the most ludicrous fact of it all. This “War on Drugs” joke between the Bush and Reagan administrations is still very much alive, and I needn’t remind you of how continually severe the new drug policies are becoming with each subsequent bill that gets passed in Congress. Never mind that cigarettes and alcohol kill more people than EQ or test EVER WILL—the government has no lenience in regards to gear. It’s depressing and it’s aggravating, and sometimes I crave anarchy. That’s just me.
This event as a whole has seriously made me rethink steroids as a possibility for my physical development. Suddenly being natural doesn’t seem so bad after all. I had a UG connection six months ago—a chemist, but problems arose and that source fell through. That’s why I went down to MX in the first place. I speak Spanish fluently. I know my gear. Thought I was being smart, guess I learned the hard way.
Best of luck to ALL of the bros on this board in the years to come—with your cycles, and with the acquisition of your gear. Just be safe people.
-e
I got into Nuevo-Laredo around 4pm on Friday. Twenty minutes later I had already bought the gear I needed to finish my cycle recipe: 3 amps of QV Test. E-250, another amp of QV EQ-200, 3 boxes of Clomid/Omifin 50mg, and 7 boxes of Nolvadex 20mg. That's 4 amps and a LOT of pills. I had two travel pouches around my waist, underneath my pants--pouches like you would normally carry traveler's checks and credit cards in when overseas. I managed to fit everything in those two guys without anything bulging or looking out of place. Even had a semi-baggy shirt to hide my physique. This was my second trip to N-L for gear and I thought I had it all down pat. Wrong.
Shopped around, had a drink or two at a restaurant, crossed over bridge to US side around 6:30 that same evening. I was wearing a jacket because it was cold and rainy that day. Maybe that was my first mistake.
Anyway, had my wallet and ID ready for the US customs assholes, calm face, even had a bag of cheap-ass MX souvenirs to make my visit seem more arbitrary. The first customs guy looked at my ID briefly with a suspicious face (seems like they always have that fucking look about them). He nodded his head to waive me by, but another guard stopped me before I could move more than two feet. He asked me to take my ID out of my wallet, and I did. Then he asked me to take off my jacket. Done.
"OK Sir, could you come with me please..."
Fuck. The Customs officer took one look at me and pulled me aside before I even had a chance. He explained to me my rights and choices for the situation, that if I told him if I was carrying anything illegal, I would not be arrested, only fined, "like a parking ticket," he called it. And if I "lied" and said I was carrying nothing, they would search me. If they found anything, I would be arrested and prosecuted. It was all up to what I told him. Keep in mind that as much as most of us hate pigs, this one was very nice and up front with me--he wasn't trying to haggle or intimidate me.
I nodded my head and told him I was carrying some gear, and he took me to the back area--you know, the friendly little place where they strip-search you and do the body cavity searches. This part hadn’t crossed my mind yet. I was still dazed in the “goddammit is this really happening to me right now?!” phase. They asked me to take a seat on this shitty wooden bench next to some white-trash middle-aged woman who was probably caught transporting crack in her cooch. I heard one of the officers ask if the other needed gloves. That’s when it hit me. He said no, but I wasn’t convinced.
Two awkward minutes next to the crack-whore and they took me into the cell—that’s what they called it. Just an opened bathroom-tile type of place with a toilet in the corner. There were two officers, one of whom was the guy who pulled me aside in the first place. They made me strip down in front of them. Of course they saw the pouches. I offered to take them off but they told me not to. What the fuck? They wanted to see if I had anything in my ass. I’m not going to say anything else about what happened in there.
They slapped me with a $6000 fine, but held up to their original promise of dismissing me without arrest. Part of this fine was for attempting to transport “controlled substances,” for an initial penalty. Everything after the first $1000 or so was based on the U.S. worth of the drugs. 45 pills of Nolva cost me $208 in fines, but the 90 Clomid pills—are you ready for this? $4100. Just for the fucking Clomid. The test and EQ only hit me for $500 even, and those are the actual steroids for God’s sake.
They kept me in the office for three hours while the customs guy (the one who caught me) tried to educate these two overweight half-wits in D-H-S uniforms. Don’t even get me started on fat incapable cops. I think most of the corresponding stupidity they bring to the table goes without saying. But because he used my drug offense to train the two half-wits, it took three times as long as it should have, which left me in the hot seat for several hours wondering what the fuck my final penalty would be. Money? Handcuffs? Ruined life?
The good officer took the fine down to $750 since it was my first known offense, and I had to write a check right there on the spot (which was understdably hot at the time). As I was writing the check I saw out of the corner of my eye two zip-loc bags with my precious gear in it—test I would never get to inject. Goddamn it was painful. And yes, I know it could be worse. Shut up and keep reading.
As of this minute, I have no criminal record since there was no arrest or conviction from this incident, but I now have an offense on my name in the U.S. Customs database, so anytime I try to leave the country, to go ANYWHERE, they will see this incident on the computer when they pull up my name and go to stamp my passport, and without any reasonable doubt, I WILL be strip-searched again, and again, and again, and the same may very well go for anyone traveling with me. You can imagine the complications this brings to the honeymoon to Tahiti with your new wife. Think about some fat fucking pervert with a uniform and rubber gloves probing in your girl’s orifices with a suppressed grin, maybe he asks one of his buddies to come take a look and see if he “missed anything.” If it pisses you off, it should, because the cock-suckers at the airport love their jobs. It’s empowering in ways most of them should never have known. And this will be with me for the rest of my life. With no one else to blame. Think about it.
If you’ve read all of this, do not for a minute think me ungrateful. God was smiling on me that day. It’s why I wasn’t arrested or detained for more than a few hours, and it’s why I was still able to drive home that same night, minus the gear (fucking bastards). I will always wish there was no record of the incident except for that in my mind, but I understand very well that it could have been MUCH worse—a higher fine, jail-time, criminal record following me around whenever I need a job or something that requires state consent, etc.
My purpose for telling you this is to remind anyone considering smuggling gear over the border that the Department of Homeland Shitheads has really cracked down on their Customs policies and drug-control. I’ve NEVER had this much trouble in the past getting other “lesser” drugs across the border. Also recall that steroids are classified as controlled substances in this country—no one gives a shit if that substance was coke, heroine, amphetamines, weed, OR steroids that you were carrying. It’s all a controlled substance and gets lumped into the same category on your record, as do the penalties that follow. Steroids are just as much of an offense as narcotics, and that to me is the most ludicrous fact of it all. This “War on Drugs” joke between the Bush and Reagan administrations is still very much alive, and I needn’t remind you of how continually severe the new drug policies are becoming with each subsequent bill that gets passed in Congress. Never mind that cigarettes and alcohol kill more people than EQ or test EVER WILL—the government has no lenience in regards to gear. It’s depressing and it’s aggravating, and sometimes I crave anarchy. That’s just me.
This event as a whole has seriously made me rethink steroids as a possibility for my physical development. Suddenly being natural doesn’t seem so bad after all. I had a UG connection six months ago—a chemist, but problems arose and that source fell through. That’s why I went down to MX in the first place. I speak Spanish fluently. I know my gear. Thought I was being smart, guess I learned the hard way.
Best of luck to ALL of the bros on this board in the years to come—with your cycles, and with the acquisition of your gear. Just be safe people.
-e
, about this but it never fails that it keeps on happening by amateurs who think its a piece of cake...
), but crossing the border with illegal contraband is CERTAINLY not to be taken lightly 
