Just came across the border after a little road trip gone haywire. Apparently the border patrol thinks I'm either a drug-runner or a tax-evading professional gambler. On the way down, I got to sit in an hour while they searched the car top to bottom. On the way back, I had the pleasure of waiting an hour and a half while I answered the same litany of invasive personal questions, and saw two officers turn into three turn into five plus a drug-sniffing dog that went through the entire car, looking for anything.
I guess if you rent a car and drive to the States to gamble instead of flying to Vegas with the rest of the frickin' world, and go for more than two days at a time, then you are guilty until proven innocent.
Dear diary. Current mood: furious!
Using my new scale of measuring building anger and frustrations, it weighed in at about 7.5 Cornette's. Worse than the famous "Dairy Queen" incident, not as bad as the famous anti-CZW rants he did as commissioner of ROH.