Growing Up in a Police State – Why I am Leaving the United States – Part Three

2013/10/15

Cops – From Peace Officers to Thugs

Did you grow up in a perfect family? I didn’t, and I don’t know a single person who did.

My parents had a shotgun wedding, though they never called it such. In my early adulthood, my parents had been divorced for over a decade and I had an opportunity to do some math – My sister is ten years older than me while my brother is four years younger. Given that I grew up in a Catholic family it is a fair deduction that based on the temporal spread of births noted above, we were all accidents. In fact, the conception and subsequent birth of my sister is the obvious reason for a failed marriage. “Elementary, dear Watson.”Watson 01

My father was a tyrant, and unhappy in every relationship I was aware of – especially his marriage to my mother. As a successful eighth grade drop-out (wealthy by virtue of timing), my father incessantly harped on playing the field and always using a rubber.  Why? Because at twenty years of age he knocked-up my mother and was forced to marry her. Mom was a fine catch – a tall beauty and competitive swimmer – but being forced into marriage spoiled any sense of accomplishment my father may have had in the heat of the moment. By the time I was in elementary school, my parent’s marriage was falling apart. In a community of 99.9% Catholic families, divorce was akin to suicide.

By the time I was in third grade, 8 or nine years old, the police were more common visitors to our home than neighbors and family. In fact, the father of my friends two-doors down was a motorcycle cop who often visited our home in uniform with helmet, which I thought was cool as hell. Who called the cops to our home? Beats me. Probably neighbors who were concerned about the yelling and arguments that a brick tri-level house could not contain. The cops showed up countless times to quell such disturbances, but no one ever went to jail. They would chat with my parents after my brother and I were ushered from the scene, voices would be lowered, and the disturbance would be ignored.

The cops that came to my home regularly were Peace Officers. I’m not sure when cops stopped being Peace Officers, but they surely have. By the time I was old enough to drive in the mid 70s the change was well under way. How do I know? Experience of course, gnosis or experiential knowledge. 8 Mile road, made famous by Eminem is only one of the borders of Detroit, the others are Telegraph Road and the Detroit river. I was sixteen years old, driving my step-mother’s two-tone 1976 Thunderbird down Telegraph, just south of 8 Mile road when I got pulled over by the cops. This wasn’t the first time I’d been pulled over, but it was the first time a Thug In Blue pointed a loaded gun in my face. Why was I pulled over? Because I was a kid driving a fancy car.

Yeah, I got laid in this weekly.

Yeah, I got laid in this weekly.

No illegal turn on red; no expired plates; no speeding; no broken tail light; I was pulled over for being young and white in Detroit. I was not shot, but I was given a warning, a warning that I still appreciate today – the only reason I’m alive is because the cops allowed me to keep breathing rather than kill me and lie about how I had resisted arrest.

In my early twenties I was a wild man! I partied my brains out every single day. I was working for a company that made screws and bolts for the automotive industry and it was the largest factory, if not the largest employer in Walled Lake, Michigan. We had an account at the Dirty Duck, a lounge just a few miles away. Why? Because our Comptroller was a lush and since the owner of the company was a crook, the accountant figured we deserved a perk or two, too. He also hooked me up with a Hooker one night, but that’s another story for another time. One night, after leaving the Dirty Duck I was heading to my girlfriend’s house a mile away from work. The speed limit on 15 Mile road dropped from 50 mph to 25 mph as you approached the only traffic light in the town. I was doing 80 mph. That’s when the cop set down his donut and decided he needed to talk with me. No gun in my face. No frisking me. No arrest. No impounded vehicle. He knew where I was going – a 1/4 mile away, he knew who I worked for, he knew I wasn’t a threat to anyone other than the rare opossum or coon that crossed the road, he was a Peace Officer who allowed me to go my way because he had the common sense to realize that no one was at risk by my youthful exuberance.

The State Does Not Protect You – Never Will

In my twenties I moved to California. I fell in love with a woman who had been what is now known as a terrorist. Keep in mind that “terrorist” is a relatively recent term. Terri was a decade older than I, and sexually wild – exactly what a man in his twenties needs. She would unzip my jeans and do me in a room full of people, in public, in a restaurant, in a theater, in a moving vehicle simply because it was fun to get away with such things! Terri was also on the FBI radar having been involved with the Symbionese Liberation Army, the folks that kidnapped Patty Hearst. Passion is the greatest drug in existence, and Terri, being Italian and Hispanic was incredibly passionate. But passion, like a great sword has two edges; passion will light up your nights with memories for a lifetime, but passion will also put you in the ground if you aren’t careful. One of my lovers, Suzi, from Michigan decided to visit me in California. She claimed she was visiting someone else, but asked me to  pick her up at SFO (San Francisco Airport) and didn’t have a place to stay, so she spent the month in my bed. Terri pretended to be as open minded as Suzi. Yes, I had told them both about my relationship with each of them and being competitive as women are, they both tried to fuck me to death. Set your fantasies aside, having two women competing for your dick is life-threatening, not fun.

One night, Terri got pissed off at me – remember passion’s two sides? – and knocked me down twice in less than five seconds!  I’m not a big guy. Five foot ten at the time and about a hundred-seventy pounds. Terri was a Spinner. About five feet tall and most of her weight in her tits. I was so startled, that I punched a window rather than her on my way out the door! I called the cops and asked them to remove her from my house. They said, “No. You invited her in (like a vampire), we have no legal reason to remove her.”

Believe it or not, I continued to pay rent on my house for the months (!!) Terri held it hostage. During this time I crashed on a couch at a friend’s house, and Suzi and I (remember her?) got re-acquainted. After about a month I needed something from my house so I planned to stop by while Terri was at work. Since I was getting a haircut at the moment I announced my plan, Suzi said, “I’ll get it.” I don’t even remember what was so important that I needed to go home, but Suzi figured that her picking it up was a better plan than me picking it up, especially if Terri happened to be there.

She was! Terri had been leaving her car (a 1970s baby blue Toyota) in the parking lot of the restaurant she worked in to give the impression that she was working while she waited for me to come home for something! As soon as Suzi walked through the door, Terri kicked the shit out of her and put her in the hospital with a bruised trachea, kidneys and knee, black-eye and split lip!

Terri was arrested, I had my home back, but the jurisprudence system was determined to deal me another blow. In Chico, California you can’t evict someone from your home, even if they kick the shit out of their rival and are found innocent of all charges because they claim to “love” someone! Yep. At trial Terri claimed that her love for me was the motivation for putting another woman in the hospital, and therefore she should not be convicted of assault and battery. And she won!

While I only share personal experiences with regard to the state, please realize that the Police in the US have no obligation to protect you, even if you are attacked in front of them.

Another Woman Behaving Badly

I tend to be attracted to Wild Women. Have you noticed? In 2001, I called the cops a number of times when I was attacked by my wife. She had a record/history of physically attacking men, including cops going back at least 20 years. Bridgette has issues, but you wouldn’t know that unless you spent at least a year with her. Why? Because she has patterns. After we were married I learned about these patterns, their underlying cause and why they will kill her. Bridgette was also passionate. Plus she had a Penthouse body! We wed in 1996 and had known each other since 1992. Bridgette helped me with my Bonsai business and ran one of my stores. But she had a thyroid problem known as Graves Disease. Essentially, your thyroid controls all of your endocrine systems and if your thyroid is whacked, so are you. Bridgette would bounce off the walls with energy from Spring until Fall, then crash and burn for months at a time, barely able to get out of bed. What this meant in a mundane way is that Bridgette would usually get a job in the fall, work until spring, then either quit or get fired to allow her to be a kid during the spring, summer and fall. Hardly the type of person you could count on to be there when things got tough.

Bridgette, like Terri, physically attacked me a number of times. A few required Police intervention; once when we weren’t seeing each other, she decided to attack me in one of my bonsai stores, the last time was in 2001. I called the cops after Bridgette attacked me and we wound up wrestling across the living room, kitchen and down the stairs. She tried to run me over with her Ford Bronco, and I responded by ripping wires and hoses out of the engine compartment. When the cops arrived after numerous calls about an hour later, they put ME in cuffs and threw me into the back of a squad car. Unknown to me at the time was that Bridgette had flirted with the cops after they arrived. Firm tits always trump reason and facts.

I damaged the squad car trying to get out, was maced by the cops and spent a couple days in jail on false charges.  I had told the police about Bridgette’s history of violence toward men, including police officers, but they didn’t believe me until they actually pulled her record the following day. All charges against me were dropped except for breaking a police car and I served six months of probation.

Standing Your Ground

Have you ever had to defend yourself from Injury or Death? I have, more than once. When I lived in Palm Springs, California, my next door neighbor moved in after being released from prison. Why was he imprisoned? I have no clue. What I do know is that he considered civility and cops to be the Provence of Pussies.

I’m a laid back kinda guy. Practiced Buddhism in my youth and Taoism in my early adulthood. I can get along with almost anyone… except assholes!

My neighbor in Palm Springs physically attacked me and used to sit on his front porch with a rifle across his lap. I had to call the cops a number of times related to my neighbor. Once to document bullet holes in the wall of my house that led into my bedroom that obviously could only have come from my neighbor. “Unless there’s a body or a witness, there’s nothing we can do.” So I bought my first hand gun, a Ruger with a ten round magazine. I didn’t even tell Suzi I had it – she would have been appalled – I kept it loaded, in my locked briefcase beside the bed. Turning two dials until they stopped gave me almost instant access to my weapon.

When I moved to Toronto, my Ruger wasn’t welcome. Kanada was where I first encountered obvious government propaganda. Kanada likes to portray itself as USA Light, just like Amerika, only nicer… My experience says otherwise. I lived in Oakville, just outside TO (Toronto, Ontario) and learned about how government crime statistics are gamed. The local grocery store was robbed at gunpoint (ever hear of a grocery store being robbed in the States?) during the evening rush. Was the robbery reported on the TV News? The local paper? the regional paper? the national press? No. No. No and no.

Why is crime low in Kanada? Because they pretend it doesn’t exist! I was in a Tim Horton’s in Toronto one night and witnessed a man slice the face of another man with a straight razor! Was it reported? No. If the man had been shot with my Ruger I guarantee it would have been reported!

Neighbors can be great, just not in my experience. In 2008, before I moved to The Blasted Lands, the next-door neighbor of my girlfriend attacked me over the fence between our properties with a brick. In less than five seconds, I broke his nose, cheek bones and generally put him in the hospital. After the altercation, I walked into the house, told Linda “Call the cops, I just kicked the shit outta Tony.” It took the cops almost an hour to determine that I was defending myself. It wasn’t until my girlfriend informed them that Tony was living off of the money from a Police Brutality settlement that my testimony was accepted.

Taking One for the Team

Though I’m known as a peaceful, grounded and easy going man, I tend to attract women who are not. In 2009 I was living in the Blasted Lands (Arizona) with my girlfriend who is a registered nurse. I was trying to move my consulting practice to Arizona without realizing that Arizona was worse than Michigan in terms of business activity.

One of the passions we shared was World of Warcraft.  We spent most evenings and weekends playing WoW for the Alliance. One hot (It is the Blasted Lands after all) night in July of 2009, we had completed a Raid that didn’t succeed and so I went to bed. Three hours later I was awakened by my girlfriend astride me punching me in the face! Why? I learned a week later that she had mounted me while I slept, and wanted to get laid in the fashion she was accustomed to! In other words “Good.” Did I mention she was drunk?

Waking up to someone pummeling your face is not exactly the best way to start your day or night. This girlfriend is small, like Terri, just a few inches more than five foot tall, and at our age, not as svelte as when we were in our thirties, I was definitely feeling the punches and responded by shucking her off me, then holding her at bay with an outstretched arm. During the wrestling match we wound up on the floor in the closet, where I was finally able to break away from her. Instead of ending there, she called out to her son to dial 911, which he did.

When the cops arrived, I met them at the door, calm and grounded as usual and invited them in. One officer went upstairs to interview my girlfriend, while another attempted to interview me in the dining room. I immediately attempted to record our conversation with my Blackjack smart phone, but couldn’t remember how to do it. The cop didn’t know that he wasn’t being recorded but acted as if he was.

After the officer upstairs interviewed my girlfriend, I was told I was going to be arrested. Not for failing to respond to her sexual advances while asleep, but because I had touched her during the altercation. I subsequently learned that merely causing someone to be frightened in Arizona qualifies as Domestic Violence. So we are somehow responsible for the emotions of others whether said emotions are valid or not.

I was outta work. I didn’t have a single client in the Blasted Lands after months of marketing and interviews! So when I woke to find my girlfriend kickin’ my ass I took it. And when the Police showed up and took me into custody I took it. What I didn’t expect is what happened next. I figured that I would be jailed overnight, and that I would be free the next day. But that’s not how things work in the Blasted Lands. In the Blasted Lands you are presumed guilty AND an illegal alien!

Why did I not push back against the Police State? Because I was broke…

And my girlfriend was covering our rent, utilities and food. Anyone who doesn’t appreciate how abusers can control their victims is an idiot!

Sheriff Joe Arpaio is a Dick

The Gilbert, Arizona cops that arrested me were cool. The Arpaio Sheriffs  were dicks. I was shocked to learn that I wouldn’t be jailed in Gilbert. Instead, I was chained to a concrete bench in the local jail for hours until I was transferred to Sheriff Joe’s Durango prison.

So here’s the deal – it’s is better (not cheaper) for local police to ship problem children out of the city jail, to the county jail! They had plenty of jail cells of their own, but contracted with Sheriff Joe to lock up everyone they take into custody.

So as a problem child, I spent a week in Sheriff Joe’s prison, more jail time than I would have faced had I actually been convicted of Domestic Violence!  And what exactly is Domestic Violence? According to government approved head-shrinkers, Domestic Violence includes:

  • spanking your child,
  • standing in a hallway between anyone and an exit,
  • raising your voice,  and
  • making anyone fearful!

The last time I checked, no one was able to make anyone feel anything! Emotions are entirely volitional! No one can make you feel anything you don’t choose to feel! In my particular case, and all cases need to be particular,  my girlfriend was drunk and had no recollection of what actually happened that night. How do I know? Because I asked her with police report in hand! She either didn’t say what the cops reported she said, or didn’t remember what the cops said she said!

So how and why did I take one for the team? Because nurses, like doctors are licensed by the government – in essence, their entire livelihood  is based on government permission – it doesn’t matter how good your skills are, or how many people have thrived or died under your care, if you aren’t approved by the government, you have no right to work. I was out of work. My daughter was 16 years old. My girlfriend, the aggressor, was a nurse licensed by the states of Michigan and Arizona. My girlfriend was carrying my ass financially – rent, utilities, food, etc. When the cops showed up that night I could have told them what happened and my girlfriend would have lost her licenses to practice nursing, and we would have been evicted. Why? Because the mafia known as the state would have decided years of education and experience in caring for and keeping people alive didn’t matter. Twenty plus years after becoming a nurse, she has never lost a patient; and she hasn’t been a low level  care taker, her specialty is OR (surgical nursing), and she’s a perfectionist in and outside her profession. When it comes to nursing, she is a goddess, if you are under her care, you will survive whether you want to or not. So when confronted with the options of speaking the truth, and placing our children in danger or going to jail, I chose jail.

My girlfriend and I were able to heal the emotional wounds between us after my adventures in Durango and the courts. We parted ways warmly, remain close to this day and I was able to repay her for supporting me in The Blasted Lands, after I re-established my consulting practice and even took time off work to help her move 2100 miles in 2011.

Sheriff Joe was a dick long before I spent a night in pink boxer shorts. He’s still a dick.

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One thought on “Growing Up in a Police State – Why I am Leaving the United States – Part Three

  1. Pingback: What You Want • The Topics That Matter Most | The Bootstrap Expat

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