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FUCK THE POLICE
Feb. 7th, 2007 10:54 amBy all the Gods I fucking hate cops! I know that I should not be this angry, bordering violently angry, but anytime I have interactions with the police I can feel the rage rising in me. On my drive in to work this morning, I was having visions of me committing great violence against cops.
I grew up with a father who hated cops and I myself was afraid of them. Throughout my youth they proved themselves to be nothing by vile, power-hungry, megalomaniacs who loved little more than to abuse their power as much as they could. In my home town, several city police made it their life’s goal to give tickets to as many teenagers as possible. My friend Tony ended up residing with one such cop one day and he reported back to me how they would set traps for the kids coming out of the high school and get them for any minor driving infraction they could think of.
Then in 1993 I had a major run-in with the police. I’ll leave the details out of it, because it is a very dark part of my past, but suffice it to say before they had me cuffed the cop had a bloody nose and in our struggling we tore the gas line out of the stove. When they put me into psychiatric evaluation it was determined that I would most likely either kill myself or the next cop I saw. Against all protocol I was escorted to the mental hospital without police accompaniment. That is where I ended up with a misdiagnosis of “soft bipolar disorder.” What I really suffer from is clinical depression and Adult ADD, but that is another entry.
My most recent experiences with police have continued to be negative, from being escorted out of a theater for swearing because I was mad that they fucked up the film to them refusing to investigate when my stereo was stolen saying that it wasn’t worth their time. Add to this the number of times that Denver police get away with killing people because they are not white or gay and it just gets my blood boiling.
Ironically, the thing that started all of this was a very minor $30 parking ticket that was my won fault. But still it shows just how much even the slightest interaction with cops can set me off.
Oh, and the title of this entry is from a poster several people were carrying when I was in Long Beach during the 1992 L.A. riots.
I grew up with a father who hated cops and I myself was afraid of them. Throughout my youth they proved themselves to be nothing by vile, power-hungry, megalomaniacs who loved little more than to abuse their power as much as they could. In my home town, several city police made it their life’s goal to give tickets to as many teenagers as possible. My friend Tony ended up residing with one such cop one day and he reported back to me how they would set traps for the kids coming out of the high school and get them for any minor driving infraction they could think of.
Then in 1993 I had a major run-in with the police. I’ll leave the details out of it, because it is a very dark part of my past, but suffice it to say before they had me cuffed the cop had a bloody nose and in our struggling we tore the gas line out of the stove. When they put me into psychiatric evaluation it was determined that I would most likely either kill myself or the next cop I saw. Against all protocol I was escorted to the mental hospital without police accompaniment. That is where I ended up with a misdiagnosis of “soft bipolar disorder.” What I really suffer from is clinical depression and Adult ADD, but that is another entry.
My most recent experiences with police have continued to be negative, from being escorted out of a theater for swearing because I was mad that they fucked up the film to them refusing to investigate when my stereo was stolen saying that it wasn’t worth their time. Add to this the number of times that Denver police get away with killing people because they are not white or gay and it just gets my blood boiling.
Ironically, the thing that started all of this was a very minor $30 parking ticket that was my won fault. But still it shows just how much even the slightest interaction with cops can set me off.
Oh, and the title of this entry is from a poster several people were carrying when I was in Long Beach during the 1992 L.A. riots.
