If you’re going to traffic drugs you have to be creative. You can’t just load 1.8 tonnes of meth in a crate and expect it to arrive at the desired destination. That’s why people started using their bums as post packs. If you’re gonna get the deals on the street, you got to find a way to sneak the contraband past customs without alerting them to the illegal nature of your shipment. If you are gonna be a drug lord you better have done some theatre sports. Impro, baby.
There have been some pretty innovative ways to move product. Inside the foreskin of the penis. It helps if you’re uncircumcised and you’re not smuggling weed. Cocaine has been found in lollipops, which makes Halloween trick or treating so much more appealing and in Colombia guards found 1.6 ounces of pot and 0.2 ounces of crack inside a pigeon’s backpack. Yep, a pigeon with a backpack. I am imagining the hours spent designing the prototype and the dude who had the job of putting backpacks on pigeons. I can imagine him in a room full of pigeons and tiny backpacks thinking ‘I used to kill people. Now I dress up birds.’
This week Aussie Intelligence stopped a massive amount of liquid methamphetamine leaving Hong Kong for New South Wales disguised as coconut water. I guess the fact it was called ‘meth water’ was the first clue. It was deep cover, drug cops dressed as Pilates instructors. It was an easy shipment to crack. The first tell was that it actually tasted good. After drinking the first crate Australian Intelligence were quoted as saying, ‘It’s actually made me more intelligent’.
It’s a great idea. I mean, who would suspect coconut water? It’s meant to taste bad. I hate coconut water. I’ve never seen the appeal. I always thought it tasted like the liquid you find in the sink after you’ve washed up. Now I understand why so many people have been drinking it. It’s full of meth. People say it’s a natural source of energy. That it supports athletic performance. Now I know why. It’s clearly addictive. I’ve seen people breaking bad at yoga classes all over Byron. They’re not yoga devotees. They’re meth addicts. It’s very clever. Talk about disrupting the stereotypes. While the cops are watching the dude in the trakky daks and the sketchy singlet, it’s the Instagram mum of two in the Lorna Janes who’s the culprit. She might be face down on a yoga mat, but she’s pushing the juice.
Apparently this was very strong coconut water. It had a street value of more than half a billion dollars. Thanks to law enforcement, they’ve taken coconut water off the street. That’s a sad day for coconut water lovers all over the country. People at doofs all over the country waiting for coconut water that will never turn up. It certainly changes the feel of that Lou Reed song ‘I’m waiting for my man. Coconut Water in my hand’.
According to mainstream media, ‘The harsh reality is that Australia’s problem of illicit coconut water use is bankrolling a raft of dangerous and brutal cartels, triads, and outlaw motorcycle gangs’. Never trust a biker on a health kick. What’s next? Bone broth? (Awesome way of disposing of bodies of coconut water distributors who squeal.) So if you see a bunch of bikers roll into town forcing coconut water on old ladies, the gig’s up. It’s not a start up. It’s a drug deal. These aren’t juicers. They’re dealers.
What a massive waste of resources. You want a simpler solution? Just legalise drugs. But make coconut water illegal.