Saturday, June 27, 2009

I got pulled over last night. The cop was a young midwesterner girl with glasses. She was nice, but I knew I hadn't done anything wrong.

Then she told me I was being served a warrant for criminal charges.

What the fuck?

"Wrong guy," I told her.

"Right guy," she told me.

She was right. They wanted me.

I will tell the story today or tomorrow. I'm too hungover to tell the whole thing. So I'll give you the long story short:

In April, a bouncer thought he could fuck with a guy who knows the law and knows it all. (That's me.) In the end, I was right, but I still got my ass tossed onto a sidewalk into a random black guy's ankles. Then the cops covered it up. You haven't lived until you've tried to call the cops on the cops. Southern mafia is so obnoxious. At least Yankee Italians charm you and feed you before they fuck you over. Anyway, a guy who assaulted me in a case of "100% his fault, 0% my fault," filed 2nd degree trespass charges on me back then, and I got informed of it while driving home through a black neighborhood last night.

As the officer served me my charges last night, she twice said to me: "This looks like complete bullshit to me! You should get off. I'd fight this."

She's right. I was gonna let it go, because it would cost me money. Now the Sleeping Nice Boy here is no longer sleeping and no longer nice. They just screwed themselves by screwing with me. This will be fun. It's especially fun when you're right. At least three people are gonna have their own bullshit come out in the wash. Dumbasses, they should've left me alone.

P.S. If I ever get murdered. Officer Crawford did it. I don't know shit about him, except he's corrupt, for what I don't know. Why he's so serious about messing with me, I can't say. Douglass (with two "S's" -lame) is also involved, and Diesel nightclub management conspired.) When I tell you the story, you'll say, "Really? Over that?" Yeah, people hate me. They hate me for standing there. They hate me more when I smile. It's a phenomenon like you'd never believe. My friends can't believe it. They see it. They acknowledge it. But they still can't believe it. (At least once a week they explain me to others like this: "He's not crazy. People who don't even know him, see him once and they make it their life's mission to get him. It happens all the time. We can't take him anywhere. And he never does shit to provoke it." I can bring hate out of people in extreme ways for not doing a thing. I find it funny. But it's also a pain in the ass. And now that these fucks have fucked with me, I'm gonna be a pain in theirs.

No comments:

Post a Comment