On the Tentacles of Leviathan...

I had an art professor tell me once that our harshest critics would be those closest to us. He was right, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. Those who truly love you will be honest with you, instead of bullshitting around. Anyhow, my last post was about when I first began to understand that the "system" we live in is major-leage FUBAR.

A friend of mine read it, and I'm still not exactly certain what he got out of it. His criticism appears to be that I "lack perspective", when dealing with issues regarding my childhood. I guess this is somewhat my fault, as reading that post did kinda seem as if I were blaming the public school system for things that happened in my youth.

While I would love to be able to honestly say "Yeah, they're the reason I'm all fucked up!", that's not really the case. Like any government program, they couldn't even do that if they tried.

Seriously though, I'll say this. I love my father dearly, and I honestly believe that the majority of those involved with my public-school education had my best interests at heart. That's not to say that I didn't have some of our "educators" who were some seriously sadistic malevolent pieces of excrement, but I digress. Right now, I'll repeat a favorite quote of my father, with "The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions".

So, what was the meaning of that post? Well, it wasn't to point out the misdeeds of our public school system. Any rational and reasonable person knows that public education is beyond fucked, period. It isn't necessary to point out its failures any more. It wasn't to dog out my dad, either. You cannot find guilt with a man who has honest intentions, as intent is one of the two elements of a "crime".

The point, of course, was merely to show that public school is a mechanism of conditioning. Consider it an annealing process that stock must go through, before it can be properly machined, formed, and used.

Occasionally, you get stock that happens to be abnormal. You heat it and cool it like normal stock, but it doesn't behave the same way. It's either going to become brittle and easily broken, or it becomes harder than a whore's heart. Some of us were broken, some of us pissed off the guy swinging the hammer when we dented his anvil.

Regardless, our public school system is a machine of The State. It is of The State, by The State, and for The State. The State exists solely by means of force, as it has no other possible recourse for dealing with those who do not consent to it. If it is evil to use force against someone in an aggressive manner, and such an action is the only manner in which The State may operate, The State can only be logically described as inherently evil. By extension, all mechanisms of The State can only logically be described as also being inherently evil.

Back to what I was saying, my experiences at Northside Elementary were just a brutal learning experience for me. I didn't understand what was happening. All I knew was that it sucked, because I was of abnormal stock and the machinists didn't know what to do with me. I was beaten, both literally and figuratively, but I would not be forged into the desired piece. The metallurgist grew weary of not being able to shape me, and he also grew angry over the way I marred his anvil. I became bent out of shape, my temper was lost, and I became cracked in a few places. Welds were made in some faults, others were left as they were. In these unrepaired faults, there were burrs that had a tendency to cut when handled without caution.

What will never be denied, however, is that I would could not be forged into the intended mold.

The State may swing its hammers a million times and succeed in forging their stock in the intended manner...but this will never change the fact that they did, in fact, use force to alter something that existed prior to the hammer's blow. The fact that a particular piece of stock did not become forged as intended does not change the fact that the stock existed prior to the hammer's blow, or that its resilience with regard to the hammer and anvil was not a defect in the stock.

It matters not what forge The State chose to initiate its attempt to mold the stock, nor what blacksmith attempted the forging. There are many hammers, many anvils, and many forges...but they are all owned by The State. Sometimes, the stock just will not bend the way The State desires it to bend.

The stock was deformed, twisted out of its initial shape, cut upon and beaten...but it would not be molded. You added coal and air, but it could not be properly annealed. You tried more heat, more pressure, but you still could not forge it into what you wished it to become.

The stock still has the markings and the hardness first given by the initial hammer and anvil. Some of us are just made of different stock, and we won't bend the way you want...but we didn't forget the first time you tried.

What saddens me the most is that those who swing the heaviest hammers often do not realize who or what they swing those hammers for. They do not understand the damage the anvils inflict upon the stock. No matter what forge the hammer is swung in, no matter what the anvil, there is but one desired outcome for The State.

To finish this post, I'll quote the Metric/SAE/Fraction conversion chart given to my machine shop by a supplier, which reads "Every new machine tool was built on a rebuilt machine."

Something to think about...

The Red Pill

A substantial portion of my friends and family have "eaten the red pill". Those who haven't just don't really speak to me that much any more, for a variety of reasons. It's not that we're angry at each other, it's just that we really don't seem to have that much in common any more. Those of us who have done so simply find it much easier to speak with one another, as our eyes have been opened.

The "red pill" I refer to, of course, is a metaphor referencing a scene from the begining of the first installment of the "Matrix" trilogy of movies, in which the hero is offered a choice by his mentor, where both a red and blue pill are offered in outstretched hands. The blue pill is an invitation to go back to one's daily life, without any knowledge of what is wrong with "the system", while the red pill is a free ticket to knowledge...regardless of what that knowledge may be or bring about.

Back here in the real world, we have no special red pill to take in order to "wake up". I wish that were the case, I'd buy 'em by the truckload and start spiking the water cooler at work! Rather, it is a gradual awakening. It is a slippage into the previously unknown that we tend to drift further and further into, at an ever-increasing velocity.

I was young when I started my descent into the rabbit hole. I'd say it was most likely when I was in the 5th grade. Since I started public school, I was always "gifted, but troubled". My teachers always claimed I was incredibly intelligent, but labeled me as "lazy" because my lack of completed homework often led to failing grades and I did only the bare minimum necessary to not be held back at the end of the year. But anyhow, back to the point. I grew up in a little podunk town in SE Texas, with our school district's mascot being the "Wildcats". In the fifth grade, we students were introduced to two new phenomena. One, the notion of changing classes for different subjects, was new to us because we stayed in the same room in previous years. The other was completely new, as it was a form of a "points system" much like the driver's license points system we now live under here in Texas.

They called it the "Super Cat Folder". Pointless ridiculous lack of originality in naming aside, each child had their own sheet of paper inside this folder. On this sheet was a grid. Each day of the week ran one way, each academic class ran the other, creating a total of 25 squares. It was like a punitive football pot. If you committed any minor infraction in any class, you got a "mark" in your folder. Your teacher for that given class period would notate inside your folder for that given day of the week, what your specific infraction was. It could be any number of things. Not having proper supplies for class (such as your pencil, notebook paper, etc). Not doing your homework properly or at all. Asking to use the restroom during class, instead of pissing after lunch. Doing anything that might cause a teacher to arbitrarily say you were somehow "breaking a rule".

If you receive ten marks in a given week, it was an automatic trip to the principle's office. Instead of any sort of description of infraction when your teacher wrote up the dreaded Discipline Report that got you called into the office, the line dedicated to that purpose read only "10 Marks". On top of that, you had "study hall" for the remainder of the week while the rest of the kids went outside for recess, etc. You sat along the "wall of shame" with the other screwups and had to watch as assembly was called on Friday afternoon, while all of the "Super Cats" were treated to trinkets, pieces of candy, etc.

If you screwed up and forgot to bring that new package of notebook paper with you in the morning, that was half of your allowance of "marks" spent in a single day, as each of your teachers would cite you for it. Your pen is out of ink halfway through the day, and you don't have a spare to get you through Reading, Social Studies and English? Well, your tally is up to eight, and it's only Wednesday. Really need to piss, but you've got an hour until lunch? Well, it's Thursday morning, and you've got one mark in reserve, but you've got a little more than a day and a half until you're in the clear. Oh, damn! You forgot to do your vocabulary words! Down to the office, son.

I was referred to as "anti-authority" the entire time I was in school. Dad kept telling me, typically right after he finished whipping my ass for getting sent to the principle's office, that I was acting like my mother. It was the same old story. "I know you're not stupid. Why won't you just do what you're told?"

Well, sadly, when you're in the 5th grade, the offering of "Hey, I'm sorry. Shit happens." doesn't quite cut it...especially when you're talking to dad.

The interesting thing is, it was my own father who taught me to question the system I was being punished under, even as he was a part of it. It was he, throughout my life, who had brought me up to understand the difference between right and wrong...and to know that arbitrary and idiotic rules did not change what was right and wrong.

While they tried and failed to indoctrinate me, they were doing a damned good job on my father. Keep in mind, my father is a man who once got his ass whipped at school for smoking in the parking lot (decades before this was actually against any law, and had only violated school policy) by a man who lit up his own tightleg right outside his office less than half an hour after the asswhipping was finished. Not long after graduation, my father saw this same man purchasing an air conditioner unit at a hardware store, and promptly told him to "kiss his ass" when this man asked for help bringing said air conditioner to his truck. I didn't hear this story for the first time until after almost a decade of being out of school, but it continues to reinforce the idea of my father being a personal hero of mine.

I guess dad was too busy working his ass off trying to support us, to really recognize what was going on. All he knew was "it's Tuesday evening, I just got home and have to be back at work in nine hours, and there's another pink slip in the mail.", and the constant bombardment of the idea that I was some sort of "behavioral issue".

I liken the idea of this bullshit "Supercat Folder" to the idea that if you get a dozen speeding tickets, you are every bit as morally and criminally guilty as the man who rapes and robs an old lady, even though you had not actually harmed anyone or any thing...namely, because that is essentially what it was attempting to teach us. Often, what separated the "innocent" from the "guilty" was nothing more than something as simple as needing to take a leak, or using the pencil sharpener more than twice in given class. Get nine marks? You're golden, it's Friday afternoon, have a nice day. Ten marks? You're in a world of shit.

If you were caught using that compass they made you buy every year for math class but actually used for ten whole minutes for a purpose such as etching your name into the desk, you got sent to the office and endured the same punishment as someone with their "ten marks". If you got caught beating the shit out of another kid on the playground, you got sent to the office and got the same punishment as someone who got their "ten marks".

By November of that year, it was very clear to everyone who that year's "chronic fuckups" were. I suppose I'm one of the lucky ones. Half of us ended up in prison, with most of these being before the age of 21. About a quarter of us ended up dead. As for me, I finished out the first and last years of my three junior high years in in-school suspension, with my 7th grade year in an "Alternative School" after being expelled for possession of a billy club I used to protect myself from a bully who was literally twice my size. High school wasn't much different.

What frightens me the most about it is the fact that half of us "fifth grade fuckups" were just straight-up fuck-ups from the word go, while the other half of us were people who just didn't fit into the structure being forced upon us...and that split stayed true amongst those of us who saw prison and the grave. Death and jail took a lot of friends away from me, and I haven't forgotten why.

Got into a discussion this evening...

About six cops who got shot by an alleged drug dealer during the serving of a search warrant. Well, like I said initially, serves 'em right. The US "War on Drugs" was started well before I was born, and I recently hit the ripe old age of 33 years. If you're on a SWAT team serving a search warrant, you likely aren't a 40 year old man. There's a good solid chance you are AT MOST my age, likely younger.

If you're that old, you know damned good and well that fighting the "dope wars" is gonna be part of your job, and you willingly accepted it.

I'm gonna clue you in on something. I really fucking hate most "drug dealers". Not because they happen to sell pharmaceuticals that our government says are illegal, but because the current legal status of the pharmaceuticals they sell has forced most ethical people from selling them.

Nowadays, who sells crack? Hood rats with their pants hanging off their asses, who would sell their wares to a twelve year old girl if she either has $20 or is willing to get her knees dirty. A hundred years ago, who sold cocaine? Your neighborhood pharmacist.

But no, our government said "Hey, you can't sell that! We'll lock you up for it!". So, instead of selling cocaine over the counter to adults at a relatively reasonable price, legit pharmacists stopped selling coke. The same thing happened to legit brewers and distillers during alcohol prohibition. Then, just as now, sales are left to those unsavory characters willing to break the law to make a profit.

My grandma died of cancer. While she was dying of cancer, she was given prescriptions for powerful and toxic narcotics. My grandma worked in hospitals for longer than I can remember, and both of her daughters were registered nurses. Needless to say, she knows a thing or two about the situation. Instead of eating toxic chemicals, she chose to smoke pot, knowing that it was far safer and far more effective.

At that time, in her particular location, it was a violation of the law to buy, sell, purchase, or consume marijuana. The potential sentence she would face for being caught with her medicine was, in her case, quite literally a life sentence. She was already dying, and didn't have that much time left. By the time they caught her recurring breast cancer, it had already metastasized to her vital organs.

The man she bought her pot from, on the other hand, wouldn't have been facing a simple misdemeanor possession charge. Where she lived, at that time, it was a felony offense to merely offer a person a hit off of your already-burning joint. God help you, if you sold a dying grandma a dime-bag. Such an offense would send you to the ass-rape factory for five to ten.

But enough about grandma, let's get back to the cops who got shot. Whose house were they raiding? Coulda been some guy selling weed to sick people. Coulda been some hood rat selling crack to 12 year old girls. The world may never know.

What we do know is that the same SWAT teams are used to take down both, because both the crack dealer and the pot dealer are both considered our "enemies" in the war on drugs.

Regardless, let's get to the main issue. If the government declares that it has the authority to determine what you may or may not put into your body, that government is declaring that it has authority over your body. In essence, that government is declaring ownership of your body, which in turn means that you are a slave to said government.

It makes no difference if you're talking about some college sophomore taking a bong hit at a frat party, or some Bowery bum shooting smack in a back alley. If the government claims ownership of you, it makes no difference what you're ingesting. If you own yourself, you have the right to smoke crack and worship Satan, should you so choose.

Does that mean a person has the right to steal a television or rob an old lady for that next hit of crack? Absolutely not, no more than a person has the right to steal a television for the purposes of watching the superbowl, or robbing an old lady to buy beer to drink while watching said superbowl.

Last time I checked, we were supposed to punish actions that harmed others, not actions that could potentially lead to harming others...and yet, the last time I checked, some of the biggest supporters of the "War on Some Drugs" are people who are so virulently anti gun control. That, in and of itself, makes absolutely no sense to me. I can quite literally and legally buy an AR15 rifle, a 420rd can of steel-tip military-grade ammunition for said rifle, and a 30 pack of Busch beer at Wal Mart...and do it all for less than a thousand dollars.

Ever seen a drunk man with an AR15, 14 loaded mags, and a raging case of drunken pissedoffedness? Well, aside from the loaded rifle, I have.

Now let's take a look at that same thousand dollars. Let's say the guy decided to forgo the ammo and the case of beer, and take that $200 to buy a quarter pound of reefer. In most states, that's a felony. Being in possession of the rifle, at the same time, is automatically a federal felony.

So there you have it, the idiocy of our laws. But hey, the cops who arrest people for these "crimes" are just doing their jobs, right? I mean, if people would just follow the law, they wouldn't have anything to worry about, right?

Well, unfortunately for the police, some just don't see it like that. Some say "Hey, I'm gonna engage in voluntary commerce...and if you run up into my house with guns, I'm gonna shoot back." That's pretty much what we had going on in the aforementioned situation, involving the seven wounded people in the course of the drug raid.

But let's take a look at the score card. A SWAT team of heavily-armed and heavily-armored cops busted into an alleged dope dealer's house with a warrant. Even though they were supposedly the best-trained the department had to offer, one "thug dope dealer" took down six of them, killing one. Yes, he was wounded in the gun battle...but unlike Jose Guerena, he was only wounded.

They may give him the needle when all is said and done, but let's look at the score card as it stands. One cop dead, five cops with gunshot wounds, one alleged dope dealer with gunshot wound(s). Even if they give the guy the needle, the cops still lost out on this one.

Gives 'em something to think about, don't it?

About the Voter ID laws

So, people claim the dead rise on election day. Well, it's been known to happen, but how often do the dead renew their voter registrations?

Apparently, demanding that people show a photo ID is supposed to reduce voter fraud. Well, sorry, but it just ain't so. Why? Because this "voter fraud" you keep hearing about simply does not exist. It's not that ineligible voters aren't voting, but rather, that people simply aren't casting ballots for people who don't exist.

I'm not sure how it's done in other states (or even in other districts here in Texas)...but every election I've ever voted in, which has been quite a few since I became eligible over a decade ago, has had election officials sitting at a table with big print-outs in front of them. In order to vote, one must have possessed either a voter registration card or a photo identification card.

In order to vote in any of these elections, a person must accomplish the following:
1) Be a registered voter.
2) Have a registered address of residence within the specific precinct.
3) Possess either a state-issued photo identification card, OR a valid voter registration card.

When you walk to the table, you must show one of the cards aforementioned, so your name may be checked against the rolls of registered voters.

In order to vote "multiple times" in such a situation not requiring a photo ID, a person must do the following:
1) Obtain a voter registration card in the name of someone else.
2) Ensure that such a person is a registered voter in the precinct.
3) Ensure that such a person has not already voted.


So yeah, that's pretty much it. In order to commit voter fraud in the manner this law is supposed to protect us from, you'd have to jump through a shitload of hoops. You'd have to collect a bunch of voter registration cards, travel to each precinct, hope the person is still on the voter rolls, and hope you don't get recognized.

The first part is the real kicker, seeing as how voter registration cards get sent to the voter's physical address of record. You'd have to be robbing a lot of mail boxes.

Now let's see who this disenfranchises...

1) The elderly.
2) Those with no other need for a photo ID.
3) Those whose photo ID cards have been confiscated by the state.

Let's say I'm 80 years old. I'm disabled and cannot drive. I get SSI direct-deposited to my bank account. My kids handle all my shit. No need to pay for an ID card...unless, of course, I want to vote. Too old to matter? Well, that's only five years older than the front-runner for the GOP election!

Let's say I'm a day laborer and have been for the past five years because the job market sucks donkey balls, and I live in an area that negates the need for an automobile. I have no need to pay for an ID card...unless, of course, I want to vote.

Let's say I've been pulled over by state troopers looking to increase the state's revenue, and I refuse to waive my 4th Amendment rights. My driver's license that I've paid for has been confiscated and replaced with "yellow papers" for the next month, and a court-ordered provisional driver's license for the remainder of the arbitrary suspension of my normal driver's license, regardless of whether I'm ever even prosecuted for the alleged offense. If I want to vote, I'm required to pay for an ID card...even though I've already done so.

Do most people have a valid and current state-issued ID? Absolutely yes, for reasons not related to voting. Does every legal voter possess a state-issued photo ID? No. Is voter fraud running rough-shod over this nation, as a result of not having a law requiring a photo ID? Absolutely not, and insinuating that it is, is simply retarded.

Now, the most important question to ask...DOES THE POSSESSION OF A STATE-ISSUED PHOTOGRAPHIC IDENTIFICATION CARD COST MONEY? Of course, it does. If one is required to expend money for the purposes of voting, that constitutes a "poll tax" and is quite simply illegal. There is no ifs, ands, or buts about it. It's unconstitutional to require a poll tax in order to vote.

What the NDAA means to me...

The "NDAA" I'm referring to, of course, is the National Defense Authorization Act. Yes, the same one that's had the internets all abuzz for the past week or so, because it declares all of the United States to be part of the "battlefield" in the so-called "War on Terror".

People claim that it only applies to Al Qaeda sympathizers, but I call bullshit on this claim. The language is overly broad, and allows for just about anything to be construed as a "belligerent act".

Thanks to the horrific legal precedents set forth by the Bush and Obama administrations, the qualifications for being labeled a "terrorist" pretty much consists of anyone voicing an opinion going against the grain of our government's standard propaganda.

Bush and Obama have both acted in a manner that provided legal precedent excusing the violation of constitutional rights for American citizens abroad, imprisoning and/or killing these American citizens (including children), because they were captured or killed "on the battlefield" in the "Global War on Terror".

Well, the latest NDAA (btw, congress & president pass and sign one every year and have done so for decades) allows for the inclusion of the United States of America to be considered part of the "battlefield" in our "war on terror". That's right, even your own personal bathroom is considered part of the "War on Terror".

Remember how you jokingly made remarks about "screw that terrorist", when we killed Awlaki and his kid via drone strikes, when all he did was make DVDs expressing opinions? Remember how you made jokes about the Obama family Christmas tree ornaments, so you could "hang one from a tree in the privacy of your own living room"? Remember how you said "FUCK THE POLICE" after that ticket you got for not wearing your seatbelt? Remember that Gadsen Flag sticker on the back of your truck? Remember that time you bought that AR15, and mentioned something about how the 2nd Amendment wasn't about duck hunting?

Do you remember the MIAC report? Howsabout the multiple official state government memos and brochures saying that potential domestic terrorists may be identified because they oppose abortion, support the constitution, own "large caches of firearms and/or ammunition", or even merely wear Levi's 501 button-fly jeans?

Well, folks, let me give you a hint. Those in power don't give a flying rat's ass about your petitions. They don't care about who you vote for, because they know they are the majority. Did I mention that more than 90% of our senate voted in favor of this bill, as did the majority of the house? Writing my congressman ain't gonna change it. My congressman voted against this bill already. What good would writing someone else's congressman do? It's not like he can count on our votes!

No, let's look at things realistically. 70 years ago, the Nazi government took power and started enforcing a police state. If you spoke out against the government, you were brutalized, both on the streets and in the courts. They made it a point to demonize certain segments of society...and then they passed laws stripping the rights of these certain segments, claiming they were "enemies of the state".

These segments included gypsies, homosexuals, Jews, political dissidents, and the handicapped.

They were rounded up on trucks at gunpoint, loaded into cattle-cars, and shipped to extermination camps. Sadly, EVERYTHING they did was "legal" according to the sovereign laws of the nation. While the Nazis were tried, sentenced, and hanged according to the London Charter of 1945, their actions were perfectly legal according to the laws of Germany.

That's something to think about...

Thankfully, this nation has prolific users of the interwebz. We have knowledge available to us that was unheard of 70 years ago. On this year's "Black Friday" (the shopping day after Thanksgiving), BATFE/FBI background checks for purchases of new firearms by private individuals spiked to an all-time high...in spite of the fact that private firearms sales have been rising steadily since Obama got the nomination.

The registered hunters of "fighting age" (18-38) in Wisconson, if organized, would comprise the world's largest light infantry force...surpassing that of even the official US military. That, of course, is just one state. We haven't even started talking about Texas yet.

I've given up on fear, I'm just getting bored. The worst they can do is kill us, right?

My records request letter

The following letter was written to David Ashburn, chief of the Angleton Police Department, in Angleton TX 77515. This letter was written to him after I contacted him via telephone, asking him about how I needed to go about filing a formal open records request. He informed me that an email wouldn't be good enough, it had to be hand-delivered to the police station "so he'd know it was me". It was received by dispatcher Lisa Swift at approximately 19:00, 28Nov11.

************************************************************

Attention: DAVID ASHBURN, CHIEF OF POLICE, ANGLETON POLICE DEPARTMENT

This is a formal written request for copies of the following records, as they pertain to the DETAINMENT, ARREST, BOOKING, PROPERTY CONFISCATION, FINGERPRINTING, BOND HEARING, and RELEASE of BARRY HAYES ***** on NOVEMBER 22 of 2011, CASE #2011******, for the alleged offense of FAILURE TO IDENTIFY:

All audio and video recordings created by electronic equipment inside the patrol car of OFFICER JANA BLAHA.

All audio and video recordings created by electronic equipment inside the patrol vehicle of the PATROL SERGEANT ON THE SCENE OF THE ARREST.

All audio and video recordings created by electronic equipment inside the ANGLETON CITY JAIL BOOKING AREA.

All audio and video recordings created by electronic equipment inside the ANGLETON CITY JAIL FINGERPRINTING AREA.

All audio and video recordings created by electronic equipment inside the ANGLETON POLICE DEPARTMENT HALLWAYS AND LOBBY.

All audio recordings created by electronic equipment, of all RADIO TRANSMISSIONS from OFFICER JANA BLAHA, the PATROL SERGEANT ON THE SCENE OF THE ARREST, and the DISPATCHER OF THE ANGLETON POLICE DEPARTMENT.

The arrest report for CASE #2011******

In the interest of simplicity and cost savings, I would prefer digital copies of these records in a commonly-readable format. If digital copies in a commonly-readable format are not available, analog copies will suffice.

Upon receipt of this request, please acknowledge receipt and provide details as to when I may pick up these records, in writing, to either my email address at n******78@yahoo.com, or via hand delivery to my physical home address of 10** N Ch******, Angleton TX 77515. Since I am expected (per your own instructions during our telephone conversation on 11/22/11) to provide this notice in writing and hand-deliver it to the police station before these records will be considered for release, I figure it is reasonable to expect the same from you, in the event that you are unable to provide acknowledgment and pickup details via your publicly-funded email account.

Welcome to the land of the Free. Papers, please?

In the wee hours of the morning, I'm getting up hours earlier than I need to...so I can deal with a four month old puppy, a 92 year old grandmother, and a girlfriend trying to get to school an hour away.

I had to run out to my Jeep for something (I honestly can't even remember what it was, now)...but I inadvertently locked my keys in the vehicle. About the time I realized this, it had begun to pour down raining. It was also right about this time that I realized I had left my jacket in the passenger seat the day before. So there I am, with a window cracked open 2”, trying to manipulate a bent coat hanger between the window and my Vent Visor...without having to rip the Vent Visor off the side of the Jeep.

Wasn't happening. I ran back inside, grabbed something a bit more rigid (this time, a wooden yardstick), and also ripped a “head hole” and a pair of “arm holes” out of a large trash bag. So I run back outside, wearing a black trash bag (and a ball cap, because the rain keeps getting on my glasses), and try to use the yardstick. No avail, it's flexing too much and it's too long.

So I go for round three. I'm out there with the fireplace poker. Yes, I've literally wedged a fireplace poker between my window and my plastic Vent Visor. Right about this time, “Angleton's Finest” decides to show up. “Hey, you got a slim jim?”, I ask. “No. Can I see your driver's license?”, she replies.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm in no mood to deal with the police, EVER. Reason being? Personal experience shows that, at best, they're useless. Most likely, they're there to cause problems.

So, naturally, I said “No.” Not forcefully, not in an impolite tone of voice, just an assertive “No.” I waved her on, because I had popped the door lock switch open, and had gone inside to discard the fireplace poker and trash bag.

She again asked for my identification. “My name is Barry Hayes Rhodes. That's my Jeep. You're in my front yard.”.

We go back and forth. She informs me that she needs to be absolutely positive that I am who I say I am, and she has the authority to do so because she has witnessed me “with my hand in the window” of my own vehicle.

She tells me that she's going to take me to jail, if I don't produce a state-issued piece of plastic...because, apparently, the reality of the situation isn't quite good enough for her. Nevermind, of course, that she has no legal recourse to take me to jail, and doing so would be a violation of both state law AND my civil liberties. She goes on to threaten my own grandmother, who is now standing in the doorway, with jail for “interfering with an investigation”...which also would have been against the law, because my grandmother did nothing but assert facts (facts that did, in fact, point out the obvious...the officer was trespassing on private property, I did own the vehicle, and I did in fact live at the house).

She kept it up. “Show me your ID, or you're under arrest for Failure to Identify!” Well, having known the law for quite some time, I informed her that she was not in compliance with the law...but, fuck it, LET'S RIDE!

So I get cuffed and stuffed, and she's still trying to act like a hard-ass in the car. I informed her that I'm not going to hold court in the back seat of some half-ass wanna-be cop car...and if we're going to jail, we should be on our way. “This is MY arrest! You don't get to tell me what to do!”

Oh, wow, where have I heard that one before? Oh yeah. It's that last state trooper that arrested me (charges dropped!). At least this dizzy bitch had the nerve to at least arrest me before saying it, but I digress.

So we get to the jail. Cops are crowding around. I finally get out of that pansy-ass halfway cop car they've got me shoved into, and I ask her. “Can you get these handcuffs off of me now?”

Once again, forever being Betty Jane Badass, she replies “Not while we're in the sallyport!” All the while, I'm just thinking...WTF are we waiting for? We finally get inside the city jail, and some guy who insists on perpetuating the stereotype of “overweight and overpaid city cop” starts booking me in.

He sees my name, and asks me if I'm related to a man commonly known as my father. “You're goddamned right, he's my father. Does he know you?” Said man goes on to ask me various questions, and gets to the part where he asks me where I work. “That's not important”, I reply.

At this point, he asks me something along the lines of “What, are you one of those 'Republic of Texas' guys?” “Come again?”, I ask, not sure where he's going with that line of questioning. “Those guys hate everything about me.”

I inform said cop that I don't hate him, I just don't quite understand his motivations. He asks me why I do what I do for a living. I tell him that I'm good at what I do, and I enjoy helping people. Tells me that's why he became a cop, because he likes to help people. I look down at the very prominent red ring on my wrist, left behind by the handcuffs, and set my gaze there for a few moments...long enough so he has to look at it, too. I ask him, “You're helping me?”

“Well, when I have a murderer, I don't help him.”

That lasts for a few questions, and then he turns it over to the woman who arrested me in my own front yard. She gets to the property confiscation section of booking, and brings up the issue of jewelry. “I know you've got a chain around your neck, I'm gonna need that.”

I'd give my third nut to be able to capture the look on her face, when I took it off and handed her my handcuff key that was dangling from that chain. Then came the part where I was supposed to sign for the property they received. She handed me a digital keypad (screen was broken all to hell, I might add), and said “Sign this”. I informed her that I would need to see what I was signing for. She pointed at my belongings, and said “You're signing for all of that.”. I told her that I would need a list of all of the belongings that were being logged in, prior to signing anything. She tells me she can't give me a list, it's on the computer. I point to the printer to her right (my left), and inform her that I can't see the screen she's looking at. She takes the touchscreen away and signs (unlawfully, of course), “REFUSED”.

Then we did mug shots, and she got to the tattoos section. She asked where they were, what they were, etc. Then it was to the cell. Then out of the cell, after hearing my name called. And being told to step back. And then to step back further. Wow, control issues much?

Then it was to the fingerprint machine. We apparently didn't do this earlier, because she couldn't figure out how to work it. That kinda made me laugh. This broad arrested me for a crime she thought I might have committed, and then couldn't figure out what to do after she arrested me.

Six hours later, I finally get released after having my father come up and piss away a day's wages on a cash bond. This is, of course, after I've already burned a day of vacation on JAIL TIME for a crime that I've neither committed or been convicted of.

After receiving my property (and yes, I made it a point to prominently display the handcuff key that I'd EARNED on my previous experiences with unlawful arrest), I asked her to tell me specifically which particular section of the state penal code I was violating.

“Well, it's on your citation”. No, actually, it's not. It's the local PD's code. I want the specific state law you kidnapped me at gunpoint over.

She didn't know it. She had me locked in a cage for SIX GODDAMNED HOURS, and threatened to arrest my grandmother for “interfering with her investigation” of it, but didn't know it. She told me to take a hard left and walk through that door....and she'd go look it up, and provide me with it.

Eventually, a city clerk provided me with a Post-it Note that had the particular penal code statute number on it. Big surprise, nothing in this morning's actions ever came close to violating that statute.

This is what I'm paying you for, OFFICER JANA BLAHA? This is what my family is paying you for? For you to act like a bully? For you to threaten a 92 year old woman with arrest, because she points out your failures? I'll see you in court, dear. Toodles...