"Come here little man. Try these slippers on."

"I got a pair just like that at home." I said.

"No you don't have a pair like these at home. These are magic slippers. You wear them while you smoke dmt."

"That's a bunch of fukin crapola."

Its always a tricky situation with dealers from another dimension. Sure maybe that dmt will staple your nutsack to your forehead on your planet, but here on earth, I take one puff of that plastic shit and I might as well be hotboxing a roach bomb. Thats why I've learned to stick to a few simple rules.

Rule #1: Make sure you calibrate your scale for the specific planet that you are visiting. One time Beef Meat called me up from Fozgum Larmax with a huge fukin score. Two tons of raw uncut mdma and a half ton of shake. I was wondering how he would get that much madness through customs. Not to worry, it only ended up being enough to roll one fat snowcone and paralyze some keezal hawks.

Rule #2: Always bring your own kit. And that does include Farley fruit snacks if you get the munchies. I was packin bowls with Skarbusk on Gorbak 7 and I got a mean hankerin for some gypsy queeflogs. "No problem." says Skarbusk. And he brings out a box of snackeroos. "Those ain't queeflogs." "Try them you'll love em." Well I didn't. I spent the rest of that fukin vacation crappin my lungs out. I would be gettin off the toilet one minute, thinkin I'm done. Then another hacksaw of rhea would come burnin out my ass. Only positive thing is my tapeworm got a good workout. We never did find out what was in that box.

Well shit. I may or may not lay out the rest of my golden rules tomorrow. But with the two above, you should be well on your way to scorin the mean stuff anywhere in this galaxy. Oh yeah, and make sure you are really buying hash and not just a piece of wood wrapped in plastic.

      Gratz meef,
            Reverend Speefnarkle