Subject: Re: Your Reverend Mutha Discovers the Police State

Date: Sun, 26 Oct 1997 05:14:14 GMT

From: (st bubba)

Organization: iSTAR internet Incorporated

Newsgroups: alt.slack

References: 1


On Sat, 25 Oct 1997 14:33:11 GMT, !!! (TarlaStar)


>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.


<snip harrowing tale>

i had a bad experience with the local rcmp that was

kindasortanotreally like this.


early last spring, after the wife and i finished smoking a fairly

gooey joint of oil and frappy, and being the weather was good for once

here in cape breton, i thot i'd do something useful, and wandered out

to my beat up hyundai, popped in my royal philharmonic orchestra does

pink fflloyd cd, and started cleaning my habitually messy beater.

not ten minutes into this herculean effort, a gold car comes down my

driveway, stops outside the wrought iron gate and out step two plai>

clothed gentlemen. at first i figgered they were tourists who got lost

which happens a lot out here being that i live dead center in the

middle of no-where, so all buzzing and friendly, i approach the gate

and ask if they need assistance.


i got about five steps in their direction when the big bald one

<henceforth named "bad cop"> pulls out one of dem nifty "this is my

badge-be impressed" wallits and tells me to put my hands on my head.

at this point two police cars converge from either direction along the

road and uniformed officers get out, shotguns aimed vguely in my

general direction.


i ask bad cop what the fuck is going on, wherein he again tells me to

put my hands over my head. i decide, considering all govening

circumstances, that this is a GOOD IDEA. his partner, called for

arguments sakes "good cop", attempts to vault over my gate, fails

miserably and falls on his ass. the frappy in my system takes over and

i start giggling. BAD THING to do. bad cop gets right testy and starts

asking me rapid fire questions. he asks where i'm from, being as he

already KNOWS that my wife and i recently bought our property. he asks

who i am. i tell him my name, which, being VERY irish, he decides is



"give me your wallet" he states. i show him my drivers liscence, he

slips back in my car and punches my name into their 'puter. meanwhile,

good cop, now unrumpled, steps over to the gate and attempts to

unlatch it. my wife comes out at this point <having secreted out our

frappy plants when she saw the cruisers> and inquires whats happening.

she also gets the "hans on yer noggin" treatment i got. thing is with

my wife, she dont much like authority so stalks to the gate, unlatches

it for befuddled good cop and again asks whats up.


good cop informs me that my name had been mentioned in connection with

a brutal murder in abbotsford, british columbia, and that yours truly

was to be arrested in connection with such. he proceeds to let us know

that he's certain im aforementioned killer because my wife and i moved

to cape breton from b.c. a mere month after the murder. this to him,

and the fact i VAGUELY resembled the wa6ted police sketch, was a

concrete case.


my wife asks what the gun toting mounties at the edge of the property

are for then...


"well, ma'am, we happen to know you have a black badge in pistol

shooting and we are protecting our assets" good cop informs us.

bad cop gets back out of the car, scowling..."mr. stuart is an

IMMIGRANT" he states distastefully, "held kilmainham jail for 3 days

under questioning for republican sympathies."


"a TERRORIST?" good cop inquires with a smile.


"looks that way." bad cop states.


both detectives saunter into my yard screaming at me to get prone on

my belly, hands behind my back. now, of all times, my peak from the

joint fifteen minutes hits, so everything starts feeling a bit

surreal. they hold my head forcefully to the lawn while handcuffing

me, asking my wife questions.


after a few minutes of my wife telling the cops that they can rot in

the deepest pits of the stygian realms, they grab me under the armpits

and literally THROW me in the backseat of their car.


now, im stoned, i know i didnt kill nobody and these guys are getting

on my nerves. far be it for me to actually CO-OPERATE with these vile

beast, i begin de-riding them about the lack of saetbelt use in their

car <"but of course you don't need to wear 'em," says i, "you're cops,

you dont NEED to obey the law."> this earns me a backhanded cuff from

bad cop.


we pull into st peters, the nearest town with a plice station <pop:

500> and since this station has no interview room, im set

<unhandcuffed now> in the squad room. they leave me a phone to call my

lawywr, of which i have none and cliches aside, ordering takeout at

that moment with an o>set of munchies sounded good. when i called out

of the room to see if any one else wanted anything, they took the

phone away from me...go figger.


good cop comes in as im poking through their fridge, trying to find

the donuts <they had NONE, which i thot a flagrant disregard to my

constitutional rights..they didnt agree> and begin the interview. he

starts asking questions about my subgenius membership card, my divine

excuse from my billfold <"you a satanist?">, asking questions about

the murder, which of course i know sweet fuck all about.


bad cop comes in to see how the interview is going and makes hisself

cup of coffee..he wont make me one much for "serve and



when they dont get the answers they want <that being a confession i

figger> they get out the EVIDENCE KIT. hair sample, teeth bite thingy,

saliva sample, blood sample, although i drew the line on the semen



fifteen mintes later, they comein, all apologetic and interupting

Jeopardy! on their tv which i couldnt fi>d the remote for, telling me

that "i guess we made a mistake"


they did get real petty though, and charged me with fraud because the

birth date on my health card was 3 days different from my drivers

liscence. that charge however didnt see court.


i leave the squad room, still stoned and bitching about their lack of

donuts to witness the wife in her glory screaming at bad cop for

impeding our lives, filling out complaint reports and generally

insulting his penile agilityor lack thereof...


the good thing about this story is that when i went in a month ago to

register my new gun, the local seargent offered donuts and coffee....




st bubba

15th secular temple

of lenny & squiggy