Who You Pay When The Customs Agent Comes With Rhino Horn Powder

Dead Rat.jpg
Rat. Not an endangered species. Ever wonder why? They’re so much like humans.

Having a bad day. This is a NSFW post.

No. Seriously, dear worst-reader. Just a few moments ago I almost got into a fist fight with a German customs agent. Ok, well, maybe not a fist fight. So let me set this up.

Taking Beckett, the killer pug, for his afternoon waste-my-time walk, we come across a few street tents. As we got closer we could slowly see what was under those street tents. Whoopi! It was be-green day, save the world day. There were tents for the prevention of wearing fur, cruelty against animals and my favourite: German customs agents were informing the riffraff, i.e. the public, about what NOT to bring in the country after they go on their get up earlier than anybody to preserve your beach chair collective-state vacations.

On the tables under the customs agents tent were examples of the various contraband that has been confiscated at Düsseldorf Airport. There was a crocodile Dundee hat. That’s right. A real croc hat made out of real croc leather–lined with croc teeth. There were sea horses in a glass casing–that looked as though someone might have painted over them to make them look like toys. In a glass vodka bottle was a preserved (I’m assuming it was formaldehyde) cobra. Could there once have been vodka in that bottle and it was owned by a Russian oligarch who was flying through Germany after visiting Botswana? Then there was my favourite. Smack dab in the middle of one of the tables was a rhinoceros horn. Wait. rhinoceros horns. Plural. I think. And I don’t mean just the tip of the horn(s). It was a horn from one of them rhinos that has two horns. The whole of the skull of the rhino was still attached to the horn(s). It was fucking gross. And that’s when everything started to get queazy for me. There were hundreds of examples of once live animals that the riffraff tried to import into Germany–illegally. Boo-fuckin’-who, eh! Barf!

But here’s the thing. I fucking hate these pretentious motherfuckers who go out on the streets and try to convince people to join their little bandwagon of nitwits–and thereby never actually making it clear as to the reality behind nation-state customs officiality. (That’s just another worst-word that almost combines reality-tv with official. Or maybe not.) So I turned to one of the customs officials and proceeded to attempt (at having) a provocative conversation about officiality. All the while I was on the verge of throwing up my guts and slapping someone silly.

Moi: Why is it illegal to bring this stuff into the country? Most of these animals are already dead when the vacationing riffraff buy them. They are, in effect, trinkets sold by very, very, very poor people who would otherwise have nothing else–except what all poor people have–namely the inability to feed their idiotic offspring. What’s the harm in that?

Customs official: (narrowly translated to English for the hearing impaired) It’s illegal.

Moi: Oh really, Opa! What an ingenious answer. Did you hear my fucking question?

Customs official: It’s illegal. Duh.

Moi: Yes. I understand that. But why?

Custom official: Germany make law. Illegal. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Moi: Yes, my Germanish ape friend. I get that. But have you ever thought about the reason for such a law? Who does it really serve?

Customers official: In Germany illegal…

I gave up on the conversation not because I was talking to an ape but because Germans were starting to stand around me, they were starting to hone in on the foreigner who might in some way disrespect the(ir) collective. Run for the hills indeed, the pitch forks are being dusted off.

And that fucking set of rhino horns was ringing dollar signs in the back of my head. It was the only thing preventing me from throwing up all over the place. If only I could get my hands on them horns. I could sell them, you know. I would make enough to get the fuck out of collective land, out of #eurowasteland, out of my gold cage. And then I would go to fucking Thailand and eat baby seahorses while strangling fucking whales the Japanese are not longer allowed to hunt (in open oceans).

(Gently close can of worms now.)

Don’t get me wrong, dear worst-reader. I’m fucking with you. And. I know that there is exploitation in the world. I know that there are endangered species out there that need protection. But here’s what gets under my gander with all these pretentious wannabe fucks that think they are saving this fucking rathole that we call earth by protesting something that does nothing but help feed really, really poor people–and, of course, keep them poor, as well.

Customs officiliaty today should serve to protect the poor of other countries as much as it protects the rich of its own country. Bingo!

If the German corporate state wouldn’t pump so much cash into China so that a few fucking perverts who own all that cheap labour can build Audis that make German stockholders more money, then maybe they wouldn’t have enough cash to buy fucking rhinoceros horns for their perverted sex activities after they grind them up into powder and snort that shit away as though camels shit roses and and and…

Oh wait. You didn’t know that rich Chinese fucks grind down rhino horns into powder and then snort the powder before having sex with slave girls?

Oh sorry.

Now go buy another fucking Audi.

Rant on.

-t

One thought on “Who You Pay When The Customs Agent Comes With Rhino Horn Powder

  1. Yeah, I never liked the displays their customs people put up in the airports. I get the idea and personally have no desire to purchase these kinds of items. But the airport displays looked more like circus sideshows to attract bored travelers than anything else.

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