Man, do I have a good story for this one… so I usually keep a sweet little Derringer pistol packed away in the side of my book bag for robbers and suckers. (Especially since it’s robbing season in Atlanta now that it’s getting cold) I’ve been working really hard lately and last week I decided to reward myself with a quick vacation to LA last week for some peace of mind, escape the brisk Georgia winter work on the comic and do a little tattooing. So I barely make it to the airport on time, I had an early flight. I get to the security check point, take off my shoes per usual, put all my things on the little conveyor belt and walk through the scanner. I make it pass security and one at a time my belongings come through the x-ray back to me, when it suddenly stops! Now I’m also a tattoo artist and I was traveling with my equipment so this isn’t usual to me. I get stopped by TSA all the time thinking my tattoo supplies and all of the cords is a bomb or something, so I didn’t trip. But then it starts taking a little longer than usual, and all of the sudden I see a group of cops approaching. I’m thinking “Fuck, was there a nugget of weed left in my book bag? Where is my G Pen, I haven’t seen that thing in ages? Did they find that?” Whatever they found, clearly I was in for a little bit of trouble here. So I start pondering harder, I’m actually contemplating the fuck out of myself at this point, when suddenly it clicks. Holy fuck. Fuck my life. My gun. I forgot to remove my sweet little two shooter from its modern day holster in the haste of packing at the last minute the previous night.
So at this point I’m thinking my life is pretty much over, I’m pretty sure sneaking a gun into an airport is a felony, I can only imagine how much time I’m gonna have to do. I should have done more push-ups. Then suddenly this nice elder TSA agent walks up behind me and whispers “you got a permit right?” Huh? Yeah, what type of dumb nigga would I be to walk around with a pistol without the proper licensing. “Then you should be alright.” I don’t believe him. I call my mom and tell her I might be going down the long road while I still have my phone, I can hear her begin to break down crying on the other line which in return sends a single gansgta tear running down my left cheek but I tell her “Everything will be alright.” The police are still going through all of my shit, then ask me for my identification and permits. Another older agent walks up and says You’re gonna have to get you gun back from the FBI, if they want to give it back to you. This is a federal misdemeanor and you’ll probably have to pay a $3,000-10,000 fine.” When that guy said “federal” all I could heard was “felony.” My heart sank to the floor. I like voting, I love my guns, I have plans on purchasing property and might need a loan one day, basically I ain’t ever trying to be a felon. And I definitely don’t have that type of money to cash out on a fine at the moment nor am I trying to face jail time for a simple (not so simple) mistake.
The police gather my belongs, escort me back to the airport precinct while insuring me that I wasn’t going to Clayton County Jail because the law just changed this June, but had this happen back then I could have simply walked the item to my car. “This happens everyday, people accidentally do this all the time. If I was you I would still go on that vacation and don’t stress about this for now” the cops were actually so surprisingly polite they even try to expedite my paperwork so I can still make my flight in the next 15-minutes. But it was up to me from this point! I get my violation notice and citation, grab my shit and run like a Black Friday shopper from hell across the airport towards the security checkpoint. I politely skipped about 100 people waiting in line, said what’s up to my newfound TSA homies and darted off to catch my flight literally seconds before they closed the gate. The stewardess even offered me a free shot even though I wasn’t even in a first class seat, she most have been able to read the stress behind the beads of sweat on my face. Worst come to worst, I’ll never be able to visit Canada in all of its glory if somehow I’m found guilty. Even with my Jewish lawyer. Fucking crazy, what a morning!
Back to the story… On this page we get to find out a little more about one of the key components behind the story, a new drug called Noir which comes from these extraterrestrial mushrooms. Sounds pretty trippy right? Stay tuned every Tuesday for updates, please feel free to drop a comment below (I answer and reply to all comments) and most importantly please share! Thanks!