BANNED

Not me but a friend of mine has a lifetime ban on what used to be our regular bar hangout for performing a "fruitbat"

Which is where you drop your pants, underwear included, and do a handstand.

Chicks dig it.

 

Jumping on the "not me" train:

Someone I know is banned from a Quiznos in for knocking out a stranger at the soda fountain, both people were completely sober. Apparently the guy bumped into him, dude I know gives him an angry stare and they have the following conversation:

Other Guy: You got a problem?
Dude I know: Yeah, you know what, I do

*knockout punch*

The worst part is that he went there almost every day for lunch.

 

I got banned from a country. That's right, I am never allowed back into New Zealand.

Here is the email I sent out to friends,family, and potential fuck-buddies a day or two after it happened:
(keep in mind that it is probably the longest post on TIB....and I am a fucking moron.)

Spoiler

Ladies and Gentlemen, Raise your hands if you are the elite member of a club, that club that is banned from a country?
Anyone,,,Anyone? Fuck you. I win.
I have been asked to never return to New Zealand....Ever.
I am sometimes amazed at the amount of shit I get into, but I am not lying. I did nothing to warrant this. (complete fucking lie)
Here we go. From the top, leaving nothing out:



Me and Rory leave for the Airport from the hostel around 4 pm. (Right after we got done watching Cassanova with Heath Ledger in it,,,,Two thumbs down, I probably would rather watch ballsack than that)
We get to the train station okay, and take the train to the International Airport. Although Rory is going back to Sydney, and only needs to go to the Domestic side, his flight is a couple of hours after mine, so we are going to hang out for a couple of hours before my flight.
A small glitch:
I get to the Virgin Blue check in desk, and am immediately asked if I have an Australian Visa. I of course respond to the dude, "Why the fuck would I have an Australian Visa, when I am an American Citizen?" He tells me that I cannot go to New Zealand without one, because I will have no way to return to Oz.
My mind is already racing, because I know I don't have a Visa and now my trip to New Zealand is going to be canceled.
Well low and behold, the guy goes and checks and I have one.
How?
I have no fucking clue... I get out of line. The dude gives me my boarding pass and some printout,,,and I go find Rory. (This is an important fact,,,the fact that he gives me a printout) Now I don't even look at it, I just fold it up and put it in my pocket with my boarding pass.
I find Rory and ask him what the fuck they are talking about..."Visa? I don got no stinking Visa?"
He explains that I am a huge fag and the card that I filled out upon entry into Australian is some sort of Visa... Fair enough, it has been pointed out by lesser people that I am an idiot...

So we go hang out for a while, checking out the duty free shops, making small talk, engaging in conversations the likes of the English girl that we both want to have sex with, and why we are attracted to her.

(She has a sexy quality that I cannot put my finger on (other than her heart shaped hiene, and boobies that jiggle in all the right spots), but would not want to knock her up,,,because she's not good looking. (but I don't know why she isn't good looking either...I cannot explain it) I mean, she's got some kind of weird nose, kinda bulging eyes, and I don't know,,, just not normal. He thinks I am crazy, and would happily like to "throw a fucking on her"
I believe that the fact that she is part Scottish, and lives in England is cool enough. I mean, just sitting there listening to her talk, and staring at her boobs is interactive enough for me. You guys out there know what I am talking about. Its the exoticism of the matter, the sexy bra's and panties, the enticement of "european sex", the accent..
And yes,,,the fact that I would have slept with someone that has lived in a town that was in the movie Braveheart.(Edinburgh).. Yeah,,,you know....Exotic.
Anywho, this is just a sample of the stupid conversations we are having.

So Rory leaves for the Domestic side, I head down through the security zone.

Second Glich:
This one I blame myself for. For future reference, (I already know this, but am so stupid to not even listen to my own wisdom) don't try to be funny with public and government workers.
For example: When filling out the pre-entry card that you have to fill out before going through customs,,,,Never, I repeat never put erroneous information on there.
Ie....Don't put P.I.M.P., and Professional Gambler on the occupation question.. For example, don't do that. Not that I did, but I am saying...Don't do it.
They actually read those cards. Then ask you questions about it, and these people don't have a sense of humor. Which I found out even more later in the trip.
That's all I am gonna say about that.

So, I go buy some books, and a sandwich, and wait about an hour for my boarding.. All goes smoothly. No issues, in fact its quite a nice other than a loud child in the airport.
No issues on the plane either,, in fact I gotta nice exit row to sit in..
But the exit row comes with having to listen to instructions on Liferafts, oxygen masks, women and children first, etc,...etc...

I think I sent an email out to someone about a month or so ago about Virgin Airlines. Let me tell you all something. These fuckers are the Nazi's of the sky. I mean, I used to fly about 4-8 flights a month when I used to work, and the flight attendants at Southwest could give a shit about anything. These bitches, they want your full attention. I seriously had to listen to a 8 minute dissertation on evacuating the plane. What made it even worse is the guy sitting in my row, really took it seriously. I mean he was asking questions and shit.
I have never seen airline stewardess's be so strict. I had my sandals off on final approach, and the Stewardess emphatically told me that they could not land the plane until I put my sandals on...? Yeah, fucked up...I know.

So...Here is where all the fun begins.
I deboard, I walk to Customs..
The guy at customs seem nice enough,,,he seems to have a good disposition, mild mannered,,,,and has tattoo's all over him.. Not the typical Customs gate agent..
Here is the ensuing question and answer session:

Q Why are you here?
A. Existostencially?, or in New Zealand?
Q. Blank stare....New Zealand.
A. Drinking
Q. What are you going to do here?
A. I am backpacking, I want to do some Hiking and Fishing.
Q Do you want to claim anything?
A. Nope
Q. Do you have your departure ticket?
A. Scuse me?
Q. Your departure ticket...?
A. How can I have my departure ticket, when I am not leaving for a week?
Q. When are you leaving?
A. Blank stare..................I just told you,,,,a week.
Q. Do you have a printed out Itinerary of your return flight?
A. Nope
Q. Why not?
A. Didn't know it was a requirement.
Q. Why isn't your passport signed?
A. Didn't know it had to be, gotta pen?

He produces a pen, I sign it.
He asks me a couple more questions, in which I cannot remember. But were mindless and stupid. If anyone has traveled internationally, they ask you some questions twice to see if your are going to fuck up and lie. They typically are checking for your eye movements and other signs of dishonesty...
Apparently I have the look of a fucking Enron Executive on my face, because he calls for backup.

Some chick customs officer takes me away through the gate....Tells me to go grab my bag from customs..
At this point, I am feeling really relaxed. I mean, if I was in serious trouble, she wouldn't have let me go trapzing all by myself alone....Right?
It takes me around 20 minutes to get my bag,,,and I head back down.

I walk up to her counter,,,and some dude asks me "Can I help you?"
Now keep in mind that the fucking lady that told me to "go get your bag" and "come with me" is standing not more than 16 inches from this asshole, and I would think that she would have informed him why I was there.
Plus the fact that it is fucking desolate (It's midnight) at this end of customs. Literally no one around for like 500 feet. So its not like they had shit going on at the time.
Also,,,,This fucking idiot guy,,,,IS HOLDING MY FUCKING PASSPORT IN HIS HANDS...Open No less....
I tell him that SHE (I am pointing at her) told me to meet her down here. With no facial expression whatsoever, he tells me to go have a seat.


This dude calls me back over within about 5 minutes. He asks me if I have a return ticket? He asks me what I am doing there? He asks me how long I am going to be in New Zealand? He asks me almost exactly what the other first fucking guy asks me. I answer all the questions,,,and then.....he then tells me to go back and have a seat.

Another 5 minutes go by.

Some dude in a suit and tie comes up to me...
Asks me the same questions. He asks me if I have a return ticket? He asks me what I am doing there? He asks me how long I am going to be in New Zealand? He asks me everything that the first two idiots asks me...Obviously at this point, I am thinking to myself....Can't we all just get together,,and have a little pow wow for the sake of duplicity and repetition?
This point is not obvious to government or public workers...

Basically what they want to know the most is "when are you leaving New Zealand?"

I tell this fuckstain,,,,the same thing for the 3rd time. I am leaving in or around 7-9 days from now. I am flying back to Brisbane from Auckland. Do I know the flight number...NO, Do I know the exact date? NO. Why don't I know this? Because I thought this information was somewhat proprietary,,,and If I knew they needed it,,,,,I would have wrote the shit down...
So predictably, he tells me to have a seat.
He comes back out 5 minutes later.
He informs me that they have to find out this information...
I ask him if I can use his computer.
He says sure. I pull up my email account, and show him my return flight to Brisbane, and the flight number and the fucking date....And ask him if he needs to know my mothers maiden name too.
Let me explain....I should not have been a smartass to this guy.. You will find out soon enough why..
He gives me my passport back..and then he tells me to go sit down again. I do, for about 10 minutes this time.
Idiot boy from the counter comes back over to me, and asks for my passport and ticket. In an "I'm-sick-of-this-shit manner" I dig into my left pocket and give him the whole contents of the pocket which has a wad of papers including my ticket and passport.
He finds the folded up piece of paper that I stuffed in my pocket that the boarding agent gave me......Yeah remember that little tidbit? Well come to find out that this my return ticket!!! Shit, all better now.. Right... Problem solved,,,Little Luke can hail a cab, or bus, or shuttle to the hostel..Super, Okay, Awesome.......Wrong...Fuck No.
So this dude tells me that we are all done, but now I need to go to customs and get checked out. Like as in, no big deal checked out..

I walk up to another customs agent, he looks at my ticket,,,and tells me to follow line four.......Now people,,,there are 4 lines. They are all color coded, and in sequential order....Numero Uno is the shortest (as in distance, not populated) and the 4th being the longest.
Right about then I realize that I am in for the long fucking haul. It is going to be a long fucking morning. I know it. I knew that that bastard back at the counter, made a mark on my ticket, that told the next custom guy that I needed to be fucked with.... I knew it....Right at that moment I realized it. Fuck me.

Knowing all of this, I get a little defensive...Which brings out the fucking asshole, and smartass that all you bastards now is the real "me"...
If these No talent, worthless, lazy, inbred, government fucking workers are going to fuck with me,,,,,,,,Well welcome to Assholeville....Population me..

I walk to the assigned customs table. I notice that there is some other traveling dude there a couple of tables over, with a look of despair and hate in his eyes. This does not give me the air of confidence.
This just makes me more pissed, because it's what is in store for me.. He is the only other person in that customs area. (Keep in mind its like 1 or 1:15 in the morning now.)

A brand new Customs guy comes up to me. Tells me that he is there to go through my shit, and to put it all on the table. I do. He begins the barrage of questions.
Why are you here? Where did you come from? How long are you going to be here? Where are you going in New Zealand? What are you going to do in New Zealand? How much money do you have on you? Do you have anything that you would like to claim? Why so much luggage? Are you on drugs? When is the last time you did drugs? Do you have any drugs on you? And literally a billion other fucking questions.. (He is also taking little notes in a hand held spiral notebook,,,,you know the ones that Detectives use on like NYPD Blue.. So of course everytime I respond to his questions,,,I want to call him Detective Andy Sippowitz)
Now keep in mind that I cannot remember all the question he asks. Mostly he asks me a round about a thousand times questions about drugs...
All the while unpacking my shit, and taking samples with some strip of paper and testing it with some machine about 50 feet away. He did this (if I counted correctly 13 times,, but I could be wrong)

Now as time goes by.....I go from mildly pissed to all out telling this guy to go fuck himself.. I know that they have to ask questions over and over again, but is it really necessary to ask me all these drug questions.
As time goes by, I start answering his repetitive questions with smartass answers in a fuck you tone.
I mean really people, I don't do drugs, I haven't done drugs in a long fucking time, I certainly don't have any on me.....So I have nothing to fear.. Right?

So here is a list of the questions he asks me,,,and listed after them is the range of responses I gave him. As you can see, I answer them honestly in the beginning,, then as you see later on the answers I give him are to fuck with him.

Why are you here?/What are you doing in New Zealand?
I am here traveling.
I came here to see the scenery, and to fish.
I am here to travel and meet people...much like yourself sir..
I am here to fuck as many women as possible. Do you know any? Yeah,,Probably not...
I came here to drink till I puke in your streets..

How much money do you have on you?
12 bucks
In my bank account? None of your business.
Are you asking me to bribe you sir?


What is the deal with all this change? (Remember I have all that change in my luggage,, well if you don't remember,,I have like 82 dollars in change on me)
So you would ask questions.
I require the homeless to give it to me...

Do you have anything you would like to claim?
No
Yes, 3 cigarettes, and half a tin of chew
Yes, Insanity.

Why so much luggage?
What kind of a question is that?
Why do you think?
I had more,,,but I sold it for beer.

Are you on drugs?
No
Right now?
No
No

When is the last time you did drugs?
A decade ago
College
Never
I wish I was fucked up now...

What kind of drugs have you done?
None
None
Weed
Weed, exctasy, heroin, Coke, Crack, Cake, LSD, Shrooms, Coffee, Cigs, Chew, and Meth.....But this was all last week...

Do you have drugs on you?
No
No
I guess we'll see soon enough, Inspector Gadget?
Is now the right time to claim them?

Then he had other questions,,,that he only asked once,,or twice.. Here is a small list....

Who booked this plane ticket?
My friend back home.
Why?
Because I don't want my credit card on some unknown computer.

We want to know this relationship with this "friend" back home...
Why should I tell you? So you can ask me again? I should start writing this shit down for you....
If you want to know so bad call her ass up.. <I list all of her phone numbers>. Fucking call,,,and don't forget to dial 0011.....

Why does she have access to your money?
That's the way I want it.
Because, she's in the U.S., and I am overseas...
Because I am going to commit suicide and I want her to have it...

So getting tired of the questions,,,and due to my waning patience.. I do something ill-advised. Which is the following.
Just a tip, (not the game) NEVER DO THIS IN CUSTOMS

At one point I ask him "So,,,,,if I did have drugs on me.......Right now would be the time to tell you.......Right?"

This sends the guy right over the falls. And of course amuses me to no end. Fuck him anyway. If he is going to make so many drug references, I am going to make him go insane.
This is exactly verbatim what he tells me: (Keep in mind, that up to this point, that this guy while being a tool, has been pretty cordial to me)

"You don't want to fuck with me!! Okay!" He repeats himself, "You don't want to fuck with me!! " "I am sure that you have heard that Kiwi's are nice people, but you don't want to fuck with me!!" I am not a nice fucking guy!!!
"I am not a nice fucking guy!!!"

At this point,,,I am laughing uncontrollably, mainly because this guy is shaking while he is talking to me. Now its not the kind of shaking when someone is angry,,,it the kind of shaking like when I got into my first fist fight shaking....This guy is a fucking idiot kid (probably around 25 years old) And there is no goddamn way he is going to bully me. Fuck him. (At this point, I know I am not going home soon,,,so I say fuck it,,, and reside to keeping myself amused)

So from this point on I answer as many questions as I can in the following format.

For example:
Have you done drugs before?
I have never done drugs before,,,ever. Becuase I am a nice guy,,,not like you,,,you are not a nice fucking guy..

Repeatedly.. Over and over again:
Who is your freind back in the states that books your flights?
She is exactly that,,,my friend. I have friends you know.. Because I am a nice guy,,,You,, as you have told me Are not a nice fucking guy!
Scuse me sir,,I have a question? If I am a nice fucking guy,,,and have friends,,,and YOU are not a nice fucking guy......Do you have friends?

I must have answered him like this twenty times... He is fucking red in the face,,,to the point, he goes behind the big glass window to cool down.. He comes back out like 15 minutes later with another guy, who tells me to stop swearing...
I tell this new guy that I can say anything I want... I am not offending this guy,,,I am just repeating what he called himself.. This cannot possibly be wrong.
I tell the new guy that I consider myself a nice fucking guy.. Then I ask the new guy,,,if he is a nice fucking guy.

Nothing but time goes by. He has basically stopped talking to me,,,and just going through all of my shit. He goes through everything, clothes, books, underwear, backpack, sundries, electrical shit, brochures,,,,,,fucking everything.

To piss him off,,,,Every time he returns from the drug testing machine..... I ask him....Found anything yet??? He never says anything....I let out an audible sigh,,,and go WHEW!!!!
Up to this point I have remained very calm.. I am impressing myself.

Now something happens that I cannot explain... I have no idea how this happens. I swear to god... NO IDEA...
You know that folded up piece of paper that I paid no attention to at the airport.. The same one that the Custom's dude took from me,,,and was my return ticket back to Aussy... Remember that thing..
Well,, turns out... Its not mine. I repeat.....It is not my return ticket. It belongs to some dude named Gary Whatever...
Seriously.
How can I explain this occurance? I tell you how....You cannot. Trying to explain this anomaly to people that already think you are on drugs,,,or don't trust you...
This materializes into some kind of fucking revelation to them...Like its their first real solid evidence against me... So it kind of gives them steam in thier engines....Right when they seemed to be losing some...
So for the next hour,,,they barrage me with questions and statements like:
Who is Gary Whatever?
Do you know him?
How could you possibly have his return itinerary?
You're lying!
You make no sense!
The gate agents don't make mistakes like this
And on an on and on.....They don't stop...

Of course my only response,,,is "I don't fucking know"

I seriously have no idea how this happened....But it only feeds their mistrust of me,,and their overall unfriendly disposition. This goes on for a long time...So long that I almost start believing them.
Questions start to enter my mind like: Are you on drugs? Seriously,,,I start to remember the last time I used drugs,,,,Was that yesterday,,,or a decade ago?
I start to remember in college when I was doing coke off urinals and woman's ass's...Was that really in college,,,or last week?
The thought creeps into my skull that they think I am a drug mule,,,and think that I have balloons filled with Cackling Gecko Heroin lodged in my ass, and stomach...
And I am gonna be here till they do an anal search,,,or wait me out....or see if it seeps into my veins and fucking kills me.....
Which I have to say at this point,,,I am wondering,,.....Do I?
Do in fact have drugs in my system?
Do I know Pablo Escobar? Am I just a pawn in this crazy game?
And has someone, somehow crammed drugs in my ass,,or made me swallow some.....
Or I am some weird agent (you know like that one Naked Gun movie,,,where the one dude is controlled through hypnosis and is going to kill someone....Yeah like that, did you see that movie...?)
Seriously I begin to question myself....
Okay, okay not really,,,But I had nothing but time on my hands to construct such What ifs..... I am so bored that I almost tell Detective Sipowitz these fantasy's...
Which in hindsight,,,,Thank fucking christ I didn't tell him any of these concocted stories in my head...God knows what would have happened then... (Not that this fucking idiot has ever heard of Pablo Escobar)
Then all of a sudden as soon as they started all these questions,,,they stop..
(The only thing that I can summize is that the dude that I handed the contents of my pocket to,,,handed the wrong one back to me,,realized his mistake....and told them about it..)

Then he finds my journal. This is a revelation to him. (probably because he just learned how to read)
Now there is nothing bad in there. Some day to day shit, nothing really important. Some anecdotes.. Stupid shit.
He looks over it for like 10 minutes,,,,,puts it down and looks at me and says:
"So the last time you did coke was on <some date>",
I go..... "huh?"
I reply,,,, "You're insane."
"Well it says in your journal that you were in Las Vegas with someone called Marshall before you went to L.A. .,....And you had sex with hookers, beat them up, and were strung out of Red Bull and Coke.." (He has this devious smile on his face)
"Well its a reference to partying hard."
"It clearly states you were on Coke..." Well, I don't give a rats ass what it says,,,,,Lets say hypothetically I was.. Have you found any drugs or FUCKING COCAINE in my luggage? HUH? "
(Now I swear to you people....There were no hookers in Vegas,,,No coke, just lots of red bull and vodkas.....And of course Marshall typically losing an assload on the Pai Gow table. Were there some "other" interesting details of that trip?.....Maybe.. But nothing that pertains to this story..)

He goes back to searching my shit. Then goes away for 20 minutes. Has a big meeting with all the customs officials there. He comes back to me with another officer and tells me that they want me to draw 900 dollars out of my bank account. (to this day, I have no idea why 900?)
At this point,,,I just say sure.. What the fuck. What can it hurt?
They walk me over to an ATM. I try to get money out. It states on the machine,,,that you can only pull 300 dollars out at a time from it...
I yell over to them.. "Hey amateurs.. It is saying that I can only pull out 300 bucks!!
Then I start to pull out 300 bucks...
I stop
I have had enough..
NO, I changed my mind. I ain't pulling out shit. Fuck these idiots..

I get a receipt of my account...And hand it to them.. They don't grab it,,it falls to the floor.....And I walk back to the customs area where my shit is at.

5 minutes later. They tell me to start packing my shit up. I do.
Well I notice that my journal isn't fucking there. They must of taken it to proofread the thing. Fine. Fuck it. I don't care.

I start thinking that I am going to get to go now...This is an incorrect assumption.
Remember the head dude.....The one that came out in a suit and tie....Yeah,,He is like the head dude for immigration on 3rd shift. The equivilant of fucking assistant manager at White Castle..
Well this dude comes out and starts fucking interrogating me.. And I'll be damned if it wasn't the idendifuckingcal questions that he fucking asked me 4 damn hours ago.

Obviously this repetition makes me insanely pissed,,,to no end...
In fact this came out of my mouth (I cannot be certain of the exactitude of the wording,,trust me,,,it probably sounded like gibberish and was laden with expletives)

What kind of Place are you running here?
I am sure that whatever government agent responsible for travel would love to hear how you treat fucking foreigners.......WHO WANT TO SPEND THEIR FUCKING MONEY HERE...
You fucking asked me the same questions 4 fucking hours ago!!!
What are you stupid?
Why am I here? Why am I here? What fucking kind of question is that? Really? What does one come to New Zealand for?
Your a fucking idiot!
None of your goddamn business!
You know what,,, I am pretty sure that I don't want to be in this fucking country after this.......Put me on the next fucking flight out.. Fuck you,,, and you, and you (me pointing to individuals around the room)
By the way? (in a quizzical voice), have any of you rubber badged morons found any drugs? Huh? No Coke? No Nothing?
Once again,,,,I start telling everyone "Fuck you",,,and pointy my finger.

Literally at this point,,,I wanted to fight them all. Every last motherfucking one of them.
I understand that want to give me shit,,,,but in my insane mind at this point... I think I just want the fucking questions to be different... You know. I want the Immigration dude to ask something like "So what's your favorite color?" or "Can you properly explain the Infield Fly Rule" I just want these fuckers to mix it up a little..
I am so pissed that I am willing to endure a 3 1/2 hour flight back to Aussy and never come back.
Really people. Think about it.. If you have to be stuck somewhere for 4 1/2 hours, you want it to be for a reason. I think you all get the point.

By this time I am whispering to myself (Yes at this point I am talking to myself,,,outloud...)(I am legally insane at this point) "this is not indicative of the New Zealand people,,,this is not what they are like,,,this is not what they are like",,, "they are nice people,, this is a rare case"

Now the Mr Manager on 3rd shift Immigration cockbreath motherfucker, tells me:
"Well according to New Zealand Law if you cannot state a true purpose and reason for visiting New Zealand than we don't have to let you in the country" then he continues "I am going to have to interrogate you"

I fucking explode. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU CALL THIS THEN!!!????"

They lead me into another room,,,,I sit for about 20 minutes..
He comes and gets me,,,takes me too another interrogation room......And I am not making this up......ASKS ME THE SAME MOTHERFUCKING QUESTIONS HE ASKED ME 4 1/2 HOURS AGO!!
With exception, he has me sign some documents....ie. Do you understand that this interview/interrogation will be taped, and documented electronically...I sign...
He also asks me other questions...
What is your full name,,,Date of birth, Mother's Maiden Name (I chuckle, because 3 1/2 hours ago,,I offered that information),,,Blah blah,.,,blah...

I ask how long the interview is going to take.. He tells me that (very matter o' factly) that it can take anywhere from "this point on, or up to 4 hours",,,and "he can legally hold me for 72 hours before deciding what to do"

The interrogation was more like a traffic stop than an interrogation. I did not get beat by a rubber hose, no open hand slaps to the face....No damn tasers. (but it certainly would have added some needed excitement)
So the traffic stop last about 20 minutes,,,and then I am told to go wait again in the other room.....While a panal decides if I should be allowed to enter the country..
(At this point,,,Seriously... I don't give a fuck. Really, I would rather go to Afghanistan if it was a short flight)
I am also envisioning the panel being made up of people who just last week used sentences like "what would you like with your happy meal?",,,and "Do want to supersize that?"
So I am not putting a lot of faith in getting in the country.. Which of course once again leads to my ambivalence to getting in..

The fucking suit dude comes back in... And in a not so matter of fact way,,,Tells me that I am allowed entry to New Zealand......BUT


* I am not allowed to get a Work Visa in New Zealand
* They have started a file on me,,, and am being tracked.. (That to me is fucking awesome...I love files)
* I am not allowed to stay longer than what I told them I was going to be there (7-9 days)
* If I ever want to return to New Zealand, I need to get permission in advance in writing,,, And Captain Dickhead tells me "it is highly unlikely that you will be let in" (I respond,,,I ain't coming back to this shithole")


I am escorted out to of Immigration,and Customs to the airport... As I proceed to give the entire place the middle finger.. Except one dude. He has been nice to me the entire fucking time. Nice guy...

So that's it people... My 4 1/2 hours of hell. Just thinking about it (almost 2 days later) boils my fucking blood. If I would have seen these people on the street afterwards,,,, I would have strangled the cocksuckers with my bare hands.

Some advice... New Zealand is probably the prettiest place on the planet. To me, it ranks higher than Glacier National Park (My old favorite), and Yellowstone. Yes, Its that beautiful (see I'm deep)
If I had to give advice though. Don't waste time in the North Island (Auckland is located there), go straight to the South Island and fly into Queenstown (It is now an International Airport)

 

When I was maybe 13 years old, I used to be really into this card game called MLB Showdown. It was a baseball card game where you could actually play baseball with them.

Anyways, I was a member of this forum showdowncards.com. People talked about strategy and made trades of their cards through the mail through here, which was pretty cool.

Well, I got ripped off in one trade by this dude and he PMed me douchebaggy things. The mods of the forum wouldn't do anything about it, so I just snapped. I flooded the forums with profanities, creating an insane amount of topics in each forum. Caps lock was on too.

Not only was I IP banned, but somehow they found out my telephone number, called my house, and relayed to my stepmother the language I was using on their message boards that caused them to shut down for a few hours to delete it all.

Not sure what my step mom thought upon hearing that her 13-year old stepson was using the terms "jizz guzzler", "cum dumpster", "ass clown", and "douche nozzle".

 

Warning : somewhat long post – ignore it if you’re smart.

I had just moved to a new town and was enrolled in Franklin Lakes Middle School (NJ). This was about 5th grade. Being hypoglycemic (diagnosed) according to the Army Dr. at Fort Monroe (VA), and semi-retarded (self diagnosed), I decided I would ‘blend in’ by being the class clown. This was my first time not being around other Army brats. Now, I am not sure if I was funny, or my classmates just loved that I always halted their schoolwork, but I had attention. Too much attention, as it turned out.

After repeated parent/teacher and parent/principle conferences, it was decided that I’d see a psychologist. He immediately put me on Ritalin which calms most kids down. Even though it is a stimulant, it acts as depressant in 99% of children. Not me! Thanks for the crack, Doc.

My dad had just not too long before retired from the Army after 25 years and was trying to make the transition into the business world, and my mom already was at her wits end. I'd like to think I allowed them to bond over a common hatred - their son. Driving me into New York city twice a week to see the psychologist was not mom's idea of fun, and the meds just made me more hyper and “funny”. Every adult was sick of the “look at me” act. Despite the warnings, I was emboldened by boredom and my new drug. As an example, my dad always said “money just doesn’t grow on trees”. One day the teacher asked the class where paper came from. No one knew. I blurted out “it grows on trees”. She blinked, and over the laughter, said I was correct. Now, they not only had a class-clown, but one that they were fooled into thinking was smart.

A few weeks later, the principle – I still remember his name - Doctor Klinger – met me as I was getting off the bus in the morning. I was hauled into his office and was informed that I was expelled. Expelled in the 5th fucking grade! My mom was so ashamed she didn’t even pick me up – a neighbor had to.

There’s a ton of stuff that happened in the next 18 months before we moved again, but the bottom line was I was bused to the Saddle River Day School. This was a school for the incorrigible five towns over. If we behaved over a long period of time, we were allowed to go across the street and attend select classes at the real grade school. And, there was incentive to behave. I still remember Jack Otto getting his front tooth knocked out by our Iranian teacher. I still remember that "teacher" slapping me around in the “study closet”. Hey, no one else wanted the job of watching us – go for it Mr. Iranian.

The worst part? That’s easy. Instead of walking up the hill to catch the big yellow bus with the 25 rows of my soon to be seated semi-new friends; all the neighborhood kids, I was picked up right in front of my house.

In a blue bus.

With five rows.

It was…how do you say…a short bus. I was the first stop. We passed all the kids at the top of this hill waiting at the real bus stop to take them to the school that expelled me. Just me, the tard-bus, and the empty rows awaiting my fellow tards to join me at their stops on our journey to Incorrigible Middle School. Wave hello, funny boy.

When I retell this story with my mom present, she still maintains that I was not “expelled”, I was simply “asked” to leave. Even my dad has tears of laughter at her mother-like denial of my shitheadedness.