Thursday, August 1, 2013

Slammed in the Street

My faggotry makes it easy to get caught in a spot where the police will take their shots.

I use to live in a group home were the staff always called on the police when there was the slightest thing wrong. I remember sitting in a neighborhood meeting in another part of the town. The members complained that police were slow responders. They weren't slow to respond to the home. We were low hanging mental weaklings and the police would have their way with us.

Once I had a particularly tough day and decided to talk privately with a staffer. "I feel like killing someone," I said. It was a private and confidential session, I thought. Not really. All figurative language becomes literal when it can be construed as a threat. "We will get the police after you." How comforting for mentally ill person to hear. Frightened, I left the house. The police came quickly enough. They asked to talk to me. I ran in fright. They tackled me hard on the street pavement. I was the dangerous one, the one who didn't hurt anybody, and was sent to a nut-hospital.

While I laid on the ground beneath an office, another one made light of me and the situation.

I sometimes call the Police asking them to admit to their savagery. They never do. Perhaps they believe anything having police sanction cannot be savage. My body slamming was easily condoned as it was approved.

Yankee Stadium Trauma

A man watching a Yankees-Orioles game at the stadium wandered down to the box seats. When he was discovered by stadium personnel he was escorted to the stadium's security dungeon. They asked him to empty his pockets. When he emptied his wallet they dragged him to the floor and kicked his head and body. They beating stopped when the wallet was pried from his hands.

He was thrown into the dungeon cell. The security personnel then mocked him. They called the police. When the police arrived they threatened to hurt the man. He was ordered to go to the police station in vein-constricting handcuffs.

There was no quick and speedy arraignment. A bunch of us spent two nights in jail for the probable cause of looking suspicious, or in my case, a faggot caught among several bullies. On the positive side there was an entertaining man in the holding cell.

I've had a few things to say to those police officers by phone. Usually they give denials and non sequitors.

I've called stadium security to ask for my knapsack back, which was never returned to me that night. Whoever I spoke to had no interest in helping me.

So I gave up hope asking for the knapsack. Now I go with something they can deliver. I call up to say: "This is your faggot speaking. The one you kicked on the floor. Would you like to get some free kicks again? Remember, faggots do not fight back."

Sherrif Deputies Abuse a Disabled Man

When I asked for help using a telephone from two Sheriff's Deputies, it seemed that they were so appalled at my idiocy that they beat me to the floor.

I've learned that police officers like to get physical. They are most inclined when the victim is defenseless.

Here's what happened. I called police-emergency to get my home phone number so I could leave a message with a friend to call back. Would you call that stupid? The work is already done for you. I consider myself the stupidest person and also the greatest fag. The police can size up fags and know they can abuse them.

A male and female officer arrived at the house not knowing my conversation with the 911 operator. They were expecting some sort of medical emergency. It seemed a big let down to them when I told them the reason of my call. You could see them getting angry right then. When they turned to leave I begged them to find out my phone number. My fag entreaty enraged them even more. The male pushed my pointed hand with enough force to send me back two feet. Then I gave him a laconic push of equal force. Now he had reason to go wilding on my skinny body. The female officer participated with no hesitation. They threw me to the ground. I tried to keep my feet, but the male helped me down with a jet of mace a few inches from my eye.

At jail a jailer asked me to drink from the cell toilet.

I call them a lot today. I'm always asking for the most punishing deputy in the department. He's never around. I wish I had his personal phone number so we could discuss things.

WealkingsWill Never Prevail Over The Police

And they will give weaklings like me a criminal record after baiting me. They don't forgive. The criminal record lasts forever. And no one hires a criminal.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

County Police Officer Loses Cool

The Police are up on everything. I was stopped entering traffic from my apartment complex after pointing to a police SUV and saying “you are responsible for my smear,” by that I mean my smear of criminality. Instead of shrugging it off, the driver blocked my exit and asked if I had gotten in a row with my neighbor. I said no. Then he took my license, looked at his SUV’s computer and found that I had called the Sherriff.

Before he left another officer pulled up in a squad car. He came to my car window and gave me a blue streak of anger laced with the F and S words. It’s so hard to stay cool when being yelled at. I simply told him what I had already told the first officer: that I am mentally impaired. The impairment worsens when I am harangued. He said he didn’t care about my brain. Not too cool. Never will I be able to listen to anyone who carries on in a raised voice with streaks of curse words. To talk to me you must be nice and gentle, like Mr. Rogers.

His actions remind me of an incident of my own poor self-conducted as a cub scout in third grade. I was in full scout uniform when I did the pull-the-chair-out ruse to someone sitting down. Her head hit the edge of the seat. She had to go to the nurse’s office. There I was in uniform representing the cub scouts. The people who help ladies cross the street. And I had done something dastardly. What shame. I wonder if the officer took shame. I will find out by contacting the precinct. Am I allowed to do this when every police department around me has an order of protection about me?--- yes. It is illegal for police to have an order of protection against individuals, so said a police sergeant in Vermont. Vermont sounds like a progressive state.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Whose Name Shall not be Named

There is a girl who suspects that I have damaged her reputation by writing blogs about her. She posted online that I am a stalker, which could damage my reputation.

Who stands to suffer greater damage? By one argument she could take a greater fall because she is respected while I am a punk. On the other hand, I might fall further because she is a known entity while I am a schnook. Whatever I am branded with will stick with stronger adhesion.

She called me up to confront me on the blogs. I neither confirmed nor denied authorship. She then said I was pulling her chain. Strange to hear a sweet girl saying that.

Friday, February 8, 2013

Police have a Weakling to Terrorize

I used to live in a town which I will not name. I didn't know that the surly acting you see in police procedurals could be found in the town's police station.

A take-away is when someone removes a police officer's gun from his person. It seemed a convenient way of ending my wretched life. It did not work out perfectly. The officers and men at the station did make my life more miserable after the attempt. One of them was willing to assist in my death, if you took his words literally.

I fully expected the officer to bat my hands away when I asked for his gun and went to take it. I did not expect him to break my jaw in two places. Then at the station an officer promised that if I did any funny stuff when making a phone call he would break my head. Jaw already broken, the brain case would come next.

An assault that could lead to death. But that's what they would soon accuse me of. You, a detective told me, attempted to break the windshield of a moving car with an out of bounds golf course marker. It was a simple "fact" he said. So why don't you just confess and clean your conscience? He explained some of the facts. It occurred near my house, perhaps a quarter mile away. Apparently no one saw anyone throw it. But there were footprints in the snow leading through the golf course to my parents' house. No, I said, I was never in the area at the time. I was living five miles away. Then came the deal: if you admit to it you will do short jail time but if you don't come clean you will be in for a long time for attempted murder. I came clean and said no, I did not do it. Not good enough. He asked me to confess again. He may have asked three times.

This is the way faggots are treated. I've called the department many time since and asked them to confess to antagonizing faggots. They go silent. But I have evidence. Why shouldn't I press them again and again if I have facts of their bulling tactics?

Can't you bully back a bully if that's his game?

The hardest thing is trying to get a bully to own up to his nature. In the case of police officers, you'll rarely get them to explain why they behave as bullies, and with less success will you get them to explain how much they like bullying (or how strongly they are compelled to, if there is not too much enjoyment). The most I ever got was "We have no choice but to do this." It's the Nazi henchman cop out.

You may notice that those bullied become bullies. I give back what I take from bullies. So the monkey has jumped on my back. If the infection spreads fast enough we'll all be bullies.

The cops have made a faggot out of me. Only faggots are forced to explain in county court that they wanted to commit suicide.