My Big Fat Mexican Drug Deal: A Honeymoon Tale

In Playboy's The Smoking Jacket articles on November 19, 2011 at 4:48 pm

I had every intention of smuggling a fat sack of medical quality marijuana on my honeymoon to Cabo San Lucas, but I chickened out at the last second.

I was all ready to go with a weed filled maxi pad cleverly pasted into my underpants when the Super Shuttle pulled up outside our apartment and I freaked out.

“I can’t do it!” I wailed.

Carrying crotch weed on a domestic flight was one thing. International drug smuggling was, in my mind, an entirely
different story. I’d never been to Mexico before and somehow I just knew that if I tempted fate, my new husband and I would end up spending our honeymoon in a rat infested prison cell a la Midnight Express.

“We’ll be fine without it sweetie,” my hubby said as the airport van driver leaned on the horn outside. “We don’t need pot on our honeymoon.”

I pulled down my slacks, ripped the maxi pad full of weed out of my underpants, tossed it on the coffee table and headed out to the airport an eighth of an ounce lighter.



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