Reality and you don't get on, do they?

Date: Sat, 25 Oct 1997 14:33:11 GMT

From: !!!bmyers@ionet.net (TarlaStar)

Organization: Little Sisters of the Perpetually Juicy

Newsgroups: alt.slack

 

Well Kids, I discovered that we really DO live in a police state. It's

not just a joke we make. Allow me to describe my Wednesday and

Thursday of this week.

 

I worked in the studio all day Wednesday, taking only a break to run

Nightmare Hippie Boy over to his girlfriend's house for a short visit.

The Bearded Guy said he'd pick him up because I was going to be at the

studio a little late. (I must inject at this point that Dobbs was

actually doing the time control, or I wouldn't be typing this missive

now.)

 

I was out of frappy and decided to make a quick run over to my

frapmeister's house. I came home for about 30 seconds to pick up my

purse (I left it at home when I took NHB to his chick's) then went

over to see my friend. When I came back there was a white van pulled

off the road into the grass on my street. I thought, "hmmm that's

strange, I wonder if someone had an accident." So I drove into the

driveway...and saw two black and white police cars next to our broken

Sentra that stopped halfway down the driveway and has been resting

there for about two months just off the drive. Now my head was racing,

was someone injured in this accident, did someone try to run from the

police by going up MY driveway. I saw another van, this one was

airbrushed with stripes on the side, and two, possibly three more

black and whites.

 

I pulled up to the scene, rather confused and afraid for my menfolk. I

opened my car door and a uniformed policeman yelled at me, " Put your

hands in the air!"

 

I said, "This is my house, what's going on here?"

 

He had a gun pulled on me at this point and screamed again, "Put your

fucking hands in the air!"

 

I put my hands up and said, "They're in the air, okay?"

 

"Step away from the car!" he yelled.

 

I tried to say something about the car being in neutral, but he

interrupted me again.

"STEP AWAY FROM THE CAR!"

 

The car began rolling backwards down the drive.

 

"PUT YOUR CAR IN GEAR!

 

At this point, I was pretty sure they were mistaken, so I sorta

"Raising Arizona'd it, "Can I put my hands down?" ( Well, what do you

want young feller? If'n I freeze, I cain't rightly drop to the ground

and if'n I drop to the ground I'ma gonna be in motion.)

 

I put the car in gear and put my hands back in the air. Then he told

me to turn around and back over to him (about 30 feet.) Then he

started handcuffing me with this black plastic stuff. I said, "What

ARE you doing?"

 

"You're under arrest." he replied.

 

"FOR WHAT?" I asked. I couldn't imagine what was going on.

 

He replied, "What do you know about a package from Arizona?"

 

I said, " I haven't got any idea what you're talking about."

 

"Oh, so you wanna play it that way, eh?"

 

"I'm playing it the only way I know how, I don't know anything about a

package from Arizona."

 

"Do you know anyone in Arizona?" he asked. (completely violating my

Miranda rights btw)

 

I said, "My whole fucking family lives in Arizona."

 

"What about Tempe?"

 

"I don't know anyone from Tempe. But I'm on the Internet, anyone could

send me something.... Is my son okay?

 

"He's fine, he's under arrest too. So's your husband."

 

"Are my dogs alright?" (I was worried about 'retha, because by now I'd

seen at least six men running around my yard in black ski masks and

black t-shirts which would tend to piss my dog off)

 

"They're fine, not happy but okay."

 

At this point, I stopped talking to them and just did what I was told.

They brought Brian and Alex out of the house in the same black cuffs.

We caught each other's eyes.

 

Some asshole in a black mask with a sleeveless t-shirt came over and

tried to physically intimidate me by standing right next to me and

crossing his arms so that I could see his biceps. I actually had

enough sense left about me at that point that I sorta snort-laughed at

him. I've been around too goddamned many bodybuilders in my life to be

impressed by some cop's biceps.

 

So, they took us down to the police station, and left us in three

separate interrogation rooms WITH the handcuffs on for three hours

while they tore my house apart (with a search warrant). Then, after

leaving poor little Bart outside of the fence so that he couldn't get

in to food or water, they came back and FINALLY decided to read us our

Miranda rights. He asked, "Do you want to answer any questions?"

I said, "Not particularly."

 

Now, I should explain at this point, they'd taken my purse from me at

the house. It was searched at least twice in front of me. I saw two

different officers open the purse and look around. This will be

relevant later in the tale.

 

So, they asked if there was someone who could pick my son up at the

juvenile holding facility in case we couldn't make bail that night (It

was now around 11:30 pm) I told them to call Sr. Wicked Deeds (though

I gave them her real name and her reallife position which is slightly

impressive.) Deeds said of course she'd come get him. Then they took

TBG and I over to the county jailhouse (fortunately we were in the

same car this time and exchanged a few kisses.)

 

Then they booked us into jail. It took at least three hours for me and

another 2 for TBG. When they were searching my purse at County, they

came across some frappy. "Well they didn't search very well, did

they?" said the officer at county. And in my mind a little bell went

off that said, BROKEN CHAIN OF EVIDENCE," and a tiny bit of hope began

to grow.

 

Well kids, after all that searching, after tearing my house up easily

as well as any burglar out there, guess what they found? Guess what

they needed half a dozen SWAT guys in black for? Guess what they

needed six police cars and two vans to find?....stems and seeds, and

paraphenalia. That...and five tiny pathetic plants growing under a

fifteen watt bulb in Nightmare Hippie Boy's closet. So, we also got

charged with a felony, "cultivation."

 

The bail was set at twelve thousand dollars each. It was two o'clock

in the morning and I looked at The Bearded Guy and said, "Honey, for

$2400 bucks...well, I've stayed in worse hotel rooms, I'm sure." So,

we spent the night in county jail.

 

They made me change my clothes. I had to give up my bra because of the

plastic unwires in it and my socks because they were grey, not white.

They didn't take my toe ring though, and I was thinking "Well if it

happens a la "The Stand" at least I can use the toe ring to scratch my

way out of the window screening." I mean, I'm willing to eat others,

but not RAW.

 

After a bit of a hassle with one of the twelve women in my cellblock

who was sleeping in the wrong cell (the guard was hassling her, not

me), they finally got me into my room and in bed. It was freeze-ass

cold in there, so I wrapped myself in the single wool blanket they

gave me, stuck my prison issue Keds under my head wrapped in the thin

towel that they gave me and tried to sleep. At four am the lights went

on so they could have a head count. Then at 6 am they went on again

for breakfast.

 

Breakfast was two pieces of very thin french toast, two patties of

some sausage-like material and fruit (prunes). I ate everything but

the sausage. It frightened me more than the cops had.

While I spent time waiting for my arraignment, I got to know the other

women in my cellblock. Most were poor, uneduated and caught up in the

system without much chance to escape. I used the phone to make a

collect call to Sr. Testicler. I asked her to call my lawyer and tell

him about the arraignment time. He came down to the jail to talk to me

before the hearing. Thank Dobbs he's not only one of the best lawyers

in town, but a personal friend.

 

At lunch, I was initiated into the prison communication system. I

found a note in my corn. I passed it on to Jennifer. Notes, cigarettes

and other contraband are passed in the food trays among one way.

Anything that goes into a cell is examined by the prisoners for

contraband.

 

As a result of having Dick as my attorney, my bond was reduced to

Personal Recognizance. They lowered the Bearded Guy's from 12k to 2k

just because Dick was his lawyer. Unfortunately, Dick got there ten

minutes too late to speak up for Brian or he'd have gotten PR as well.

After I got out, I ran around the courthouse to two different bondsmen

(whose offices were closed) before I finally went to a bondsman that I

know personally but also despise. Instead of 10%, he charged me 15%

but after coughing up three hundred bucks, I got the Bearded Guy out

of jail. We walked over to Dick's office and he gave us the low down

on the situation. Then we called a taxi and went home...to utter

chaos.

 

They ransacked my house. I mean overturned mattresses, pulled books

off the shelves, went through every drawer in the entire house, they

took letters from Arizona (from family members) both of my address

books, a map of Arizona, two halide lamps that were stored unused in a

closet covered with luggage and old clothing etc. I mean, if we were

really cultivating...why the hell wouldn't we be using the big lights?

I'm sure they were sorely disappointed to find nothing more than stems

and seeds and those puny little plants. I'm sure they were hoping for

weapons, large amounts of cash and bagged reefer, scales and

indications that we were spending more than our legal income...but

they couldn't. We don't have any of that stuff. I've never sold a

goddamned thing in my life and this is the reason why. I never wanted

anyone to ever have the slightest bit of evidence that would indicate

that I sold smoke.

 

So...for stems and seeds and this package that was delivered to my

house but unopened, they sent a SWAT team to pull guns on my family,

to threaten and harrass us and to cost the State thousands of dollars

for a worthless operation.

 

Because we're white, have a good lawyer and a decent income, we're

free today. That's not the situation for most people who're arrested.

Don't ever fool yourself into believing that you don't live in a

police state. I've been a goddamned saint most of my life. I don't

break any laws except this one. Because I choose to smoke an herb that

grows naturally instead of drinking a legal drug to relax after a day

of working, I can be taken from my home, handcuffed, and thrown into

jail. Kids, I don't know about you...but *I* think there's something

wrong with that.

 

Oh yeah, the penalty for cultivation in Oklahoma is 2 years to Life in

prison.

 

Have a Nice Day.

Tarla

 

***

Reverend Mutha Tarla Star of the Little Sisters of the Perpetually

Juicy; a Proud jism schism of the Church of the SubGenius.

Worshipping Juicy Retardo and "Connie" Dobbs since 1986.