What A Bunch of Shit

I haven't written a police brutality blog in quite a while now, because, frankly, I've been disgusted by the whole deteriorating state of affairs. But as far as disgusting goes, this story sinks to a whole new level.

Imagine if you will . . .

You've just finished some shopping at your local Walmart, and as you are exiting the parking lot, you come to a "rolling stop" at a stop sign. Sure enough, your rearview mirror is immediately filled with flashing red and blue lights. Your heart drops into your stomach and your biggest concern is if you can get away with a warning instead of a ticket.

You pull over and the officer slowly approaches your window. You hand over your license, registration and proof of insurance when asked to do so. After what seems an interminable time, the officer again walks towards your car, but you notice that another squad car has rolled up behind the first.

Instead of handing you back your papers and issuing either a ticket or a warning, the officer tells you to exit your vehicle. This is not supposed to happen. Now you're worried. Your heart rate and blood pressure go up instinctually, and your breathing becomes rapid and shallow. You climb out of your car and stand up straight, and naturally you are nervous and tense.

Without warning, the cop lunges forward, forcefully spins you around, and pins you to the hood of your car. Your hands are roughly handcuffed behind your back and you are told to sit down on the curb. Now two more policemen are pacing about the scene while the original officer searches your car.

After quite some time, although you have no accurate reference point considering the circumstances you are in, the "arresting" officer informs you that a warrant has been issued by a duly appointed judge, authorizing the police to conduct a full body cavity search based on "suspicion" that you are harboring drugs upon your person.

You are placed in the back of a cruiser and taken to a medical facility. When faced by the police, the doctor in charge refuses to admit you due to "ethical concerns." You are placed back in the cruiser while several officers stand outside talking on their cell phones. You are then transported to another medical facility in a different county, where the intake staff reluctantly agrees to admit you.

Over the course of the next fourteen hours you are x-rayed with no visible signs of concealed narcotics, you are subjected to repeated anal probes, you are given not one but three enemas and forced to defecate in front of medical personnel and uniformed police and then probed again, all without the slightest sign of hidden contraband. Then you are given a sedative and prepped for surgery and summarily forced to undergo a complete colonoscopy where a scope with a camera is inserted into your anus, rectum, colon, and large intestines. No narcotics are found.

When you are finally released, you are subsequently presented with a bill demanding immediate payment in full for the procedures you were forced to undergo without your consent and constant objections. Failure to pay will result in your account being turned over to collections where you will be further harassed and have your credit rating ruined.

Nice huh? Well this is exactly what happened to David Eckert in Deming, New Mexico on January 2nd, 2013.

Eckert filed suit in August against the City of Deming, Deming Police Officers Bobby Orosco, Robert Chavez, and Officer Hernandez (no first name available), Hidalgo County, Hidalgo County Deputies David Arredondo, Robert Rodriguez and Patrick Green, Deputy District Attorney Daniel Dougherty and the Gila Regional Medical Center including Robert Wilcox, M.D and Okay Odocha, M.D.

The case has rightfully drawn national attention as specifics of the incident and the lawsuit were recently made public.

Eckert's attorney, Shannon Kennedy, said that after law enforcement asked him to step out of the vehicle, he appeared to be clenching his buttocks. The officer claims to have noticed Eckert's "posture to be erect" and that "he kept his legs together." Law enforcement thought that was probable cause to suspect that Eckert was hiding narcotics in his anal cavity.

Attorneys representing the defendants in the lawsuit all declined to comment on the situation. The attorneys said it's their personal policy to not comment on pending litigation. But when asked by KOB New Mexico Investigative Reporter Chris Ramirez, "As the police chief what reassurances could you give people when they come through your town that they won't be violated or abused by your police officers?" Deming Chief of Police Brandon Gigante responded, "We follow the law in every aspect and we follow policies and protocols that we have in place.”

"If the officers in Hidalgo County and the City of Deming are seeking warrants for anal cavity searches based on how they're standing and the warrant allows doctors at the Gila Hospital of Horrors to go in and do enemas and colonoscopies without consent, then anyone can be seized and that's why the public needs to know about this," Kennedy said.

According to Kennedy, not only was the issued search warrant overly broad and lacking in probable cause, but it was also only valid in Luna County, where Deming is located and Eckert was arrested. After the first hospital refused to perform the anal search, police took Eckert to Gila, which is located in a separate county altogether. If that is the case, then doctors performed all eight of the previously mentioned procedures illegally and without the consent of the patient.

To make matters worse, the search warrant expired at 10 p.m. while doctors didn’t even begin prepping Eckert for the colonoscopy until 1 a.m. the next morning, when the warrant had been expired for hours.

“The thought that they could do this to a man in our country is terrifying,” said Kennedy. “Our community should be outraged ... This is like something out of a science fiction film, anal probing by government officials and public employees.”

These police officers, the doctors, and the judge who signed off on the warrant should all be facing criminal charges of sexual battery, assault, and false imprisonment. They need to serve time in Federal prison for willfully violating this man’s rights and his body.

"The colonoscopy targeted an area of [the plaintiff] which is highly personal and private," the suit said. "The colonoscopy was extremely invasive and a total intrusion of personal privacy, especially as it physically penetrated his body."

Ya think?

[It should be noted that assertions have been made by law enforcement and their supporters, that David Eckert has prior Felony arrests or convictions for possession of controlled substances with intent to sell, as justification for their actions.

However, Eckert was not detained on January 2nd for commission of a violent crime, probable cause, or an outstanding warrant. He was stopped for a routine traffic violation. What happened next was police payback, pure and simple.

A colonoscopy is defined as a surgical procedure with a proscribed regimen of diet and prescription laxatives for several days before arriving at the hospital. What was done to Mr. Eckert, while in police custody, violated every Constitutional protection against illegal search and seizure, cruel and unusual punishment, as well as the fundamental principle of the Hippocratic (not hypocritic) Oath, to "never do harm to anyone."

The State, via its armed authorities, and others under its dominion, was sending a message, and it would behoove us to listen well.]

The Only Man Ever To Enter Parliament With Honest Intentions

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy." Guy Fawkes

Remember, remember, the 5th of November
The Gunpowder Treason and plot;
I see of no reason why Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes,
'Twas his intent.
To blow up the King and the Parliament.
Three score barrels of powder below.
Poor old England to overthrow.

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Guy_Fawkes

After appearing in Internet forums, the mask became a well-known symbol for the online hacktivist group Anonymous, the Occupy movement, and other anti-government and anti-establishment protests around the world.

"But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace soubriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona. Voila! In view humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the “vox populi” now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a bygone vexation stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin, van guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.

The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous.

Verily this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it’s my very good honour to meet you and you may call me V."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACUpr5GvVsE

The Energy of Thought

What is your body made of?

Nine systems comprise the human body including the Circulatory, Digestive, Endocrine, Muscular, Nervous, Reproductive, Respiratory, Skeletal, and Urinary.

What are those made up of?
Tissues and organs.

What are tissues and organs made of?
Cells.

What are cells made of?
Molecules.

What are molecules made of?
Atoms.

What are atoms made of?
Sub-atomic particles.

What are subatomic particles made of?
Energy!

You and I are pure energy-light in its most beautiful and intelligent configuration. Energy that is constantly changing beneath the surface and you control it all with your powerful mind.


By John Assaraf

http://www.themindunleashed.org/

Upon A Mountainside

Talk about a blast from the past. I was going through some OLD papers, and I ran across this "story" written by me and my old partner in crime, Bob O'Connell. This had to be written around 1973 and we were fourteen or fifteen years old, terrorizing the streets of Chicago. Fueled by Uriah Heep, blacklight posters, fat joints of Mexican pot rolled in wheat papers, J.R.R. Tolkien, and torrents of adolescent hormones, this still showed promise.

Despite overwhelming temptation, I have not changed one word. The adjectives, grammar, punctuation and format are exactly as we wrote them over 40 years ago. To my extreme satisfaction, Bob and I are still good friends, touching base frequently on Facebook. Back in the day, we used this piece to impress the girls that we would pick up at Ford City shopping mall, outside the Orange Julius shop, and take back to my house for make out sessions. Bob always seemed to get farther around the bases than I did. And for some reason, that still seems to hold true today.

So here it is for what it is. And if any of you ladies out there are duly impressed, please feel free to send me or Bob a message.

Upon A Mountainside

By Stephen J. Dunn and Robert O'Connell

I sat upon a mountainside
On a morning of black ages long forgotten,
And pondered of the coming war.
The dark forest beneath our city
Menacingly cast its terrible shadows toward the realm of the fire master, Thorgon.
The ominous threat was unavoidable.
I sat upon a mountainside and pondered of our fate.
We, the last of a great race of mighty warriors,
Wondered of the destiny which beset Thorgon
In his Tower of Light.
Thorgon, the one who held the only thread of hope
Against the coming darkness,
Sat alone, meditating those dark times.
The realm of Thorgon, like a grain of sand in a vast desert
Held the only answer of triumph over the multitude
Of evil servants of the Dark Lord
Who sought control over the entire world.
Fire! An uncontrollable raging mass of pure flame and fury
To which none could withstand.
This was the Golendrir - the great force of goodness
Over the powers of darkness.
A very few hours later, the dark army prepared for battle.
Soon after they began their horrible march, all fled from before them,
They were reeking of evil and hatred, malice and destruction.
The chaos of the black sea swept around the Tower of Light,
The Tower of Goodness and Peace.
Dark clouds hung overhead.
The mighty war began.
The numbers of the dark army were far beyond our resistance.
We were falling, all hope was quickly slipping from our grasp.
All looked lost. The outcome of the war lay now with Thorgon -
Ruler of the Golendrir.
Suddenly, a huge mass of tremendous sheer white flame rose
From far under the mountain -
The Mountain of Palgadron, the Mountain of Flame,
The Mountain of the land of Lorhandell, the Mountain of Thorgon,
Lord of the Golendrir.
The masses of the dark army burned under the terror of the coming death.
Death, the final and absolute misery, spread throughout the Enemy's host.
At last good reigned again over all the lands.
Peace filled every heart.
All this I saw long ago upon a mountainside,
And my heart was full of joy and I was at peace with the world
Now that I knew of the light that shone everywhere,
And a tear of gladness rolled down my cheek
Upon a mountainside, long, long ago.

I Love This Picture

For its artistic value . . .

What I Want On My Headstone . . .

The Icehouse

by Stephen Dunn

The moment I stepped inside, I sensed something strange about the Icehouse. It seemed to speak of things beyond. It was almost religious, but in a way, it felt like coming home.

For many reasons, I was done with college. I was just fed up with school. I was nineteen years old and a world of adventure beckoned. One day in late summer of 1978, as the fall semester of my senior year approached, a buddy of mine and I watched a woman in a ragged dress, her head held high, and a gaggle of children, being escorted by Mexican troops from an old Spanish mission.

As the 1960 movie, "The Alamo," starring John Wayne, ended, I turned to my buddy and said, "Let's go."

"Let's go where?" asked my buddy.

"The Alamo. San Antonio. Texas. Let's go see it."

"Are you nuts?" he said.

"No. Screw it. Let's go," I replied.

So with few possessions and even less money, we left Illinois in a rusty Datsun stick shift station wagon and headed south of the Mason-Dixon line. My buddy had an older sister who lived in a suburb of San Antonio with her family, and we showed up on her doorstep looking for a place to stay. She wasn't happy to see us, and her and her husband, an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, tried to convince us into going back. When this didn't work, they tried talking us into enlisting in the Army.

The fact that we were long-haired, pot smoking, rock and rollers, who just dropped out of college because of all the rules and regulations, didn't seem to inflect their argument.

The next day we got up and went through the classifieds in the San Antonio Star and saw a help-wanted ad that looked interesting. With no resume, no references, and no job history, we applied for the positions, and were immediately hired.

Since we had the rest of the day free, we decided to do what we came for. I had assumed that the Alamo would be out in the middle of Texas hill country, a dusty, lonely relic, steeped in sorrow. But the quaint park that surrounds the Alamo sat in the middle of downtown San Antonio. We toured the beautifully landscaped grounds and the remains of the wood and adobe structures that made up the mission settlement.

The Alamo Museum was just across the street from the park, and was next door to the downtown Woolworth's. A theater presentation told the story of the famous battle that included such notables as Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett. But before the assault began, Presidente Generalissimo de Santa Ana offered safe passage to anyone who wanted to leave. Only one man took advantage of this offer, Moses Rose. You won't find his name in any history book. Every remaining defender, to a man, was killed.

The next day we reported for work as night managers for Lone Star Ice & Foods. Lone Star is the oldest convenience store chain in America, and my store was one of the original buildings, with a cement floor that sloped down to a drain in the center. With age the concrete had taken on a warm, yellow patina. Plumbing pipes, electrical conduits, and metal beams ran across the ceiling. Long, florescent light fixtures hung by thin tubes. The one pump out front sold leaded and unleaded regular only.

Before refrigeration, icehouses stored and distributed block ice for the neighborhood iceboxes. The icehouses were a vital part of everyday local life, a cornerstone of every neighborhood in San Antonio. Over time, they diversified into iced beer, prepared food, and basic groceries. The icehouses still sold ice, but mostly they sold cigarettes and cold soda water. They were a cool spot where neighbors and families came to talk and hang out. No two were alike. They were decorated with colorful tin and porcelain advertising signs for Grape Nehi, Lone Star longnecks, and Chesterfield Kings.

My first day on the job, I was met by a tall man with bushy salt and pepper hair, a bulbous, mottled nose, bright, blue eyes, a handlebar mustache that matched his hair, and a bit of a paunch. Before I could say a word, he reared back, grabbed my right hand in a firm shake and said, "I drink Lone Star, I work for Lone Star, I was born and bred in the Lone Star state. Schuler's my name and Lone Star's my game."

Yes! It was Big Bill Schuler, the hard-riding, hard-drinking, innovating (often imitated but never imitating) Training Director of the Lone Star outfit.

"I'm forty-eight years young and I can outlast any man half my age in the gym, in the bar, or in the old sack-er-roo," he said. "I'm hip, I'm cool, I'm groovy, I'm boss. I deal in retail and never in cost. A cent of inventory I've never lost. And while on the job, I lay off the sauce."

He then instructed me on the proper handling of an ostrich feather duster.

After two weeks of intensive training, indoctrination, and enculturation, I was handed a set of keys. Along with the keys came the customers.

One of my regulars, the Big Red Pragmatist, approached the counter with a cold bottle of Big Red. "I have some bad news," I said. "The price has gone up a nickel."

Popping the cap on the Frosty root beer bottle-opener attached to the front of the counter, he said, "Gawd dang libral dem-O-crats! Between inflation and taxes (which he made sound like Texas) this country's goin to hell in a handbasket."

"Yes," I said. "But you pay for the convenience."

He waved his hand and took a long pull on the sparkling red, bubblegum flavored cream soda. "Ah s'pose. Ya wanna dance, ya gotta pay the piper."

A short while later the Toothless Virgin trudged in. "Hello my love. You look stunning?" I said. "Bless your heart," she replied batting her lashes at me.

This was our regular routine. I knew she was there for a dollar's worth of Chinese dried plums. The distinctive sweet, sour, bitter, tangy and salty shriveled beige nuggets were definitely an acquired taste. I knew she was toothless from the provocative smiles she gave me, and that she was a virgin because she never missed an opportunity to tell me so. She would place her fingertips on my arm and say, "I've never had a man, but if you play your cards right, you could be the first!" She was also eighty-nine years old, I should add.

I sacked up her candy, and she blew me a kiss as she made her way out the door. I wondered just for a minute what it would be like, then shook my head and went to face the shelves.

I had just finished eating a microwave burrito for dinner, when Captain Thunderbird strolled in, unbuttoned flannel shirt flapping about him. He rummaged around on a lower shelf at the back of the store and came forward carrying a gallon jug of Thunderbird wine in each hand. Although it is called "The American Classic," this treacly chemical concoction was introduced by Ernest and Julio Gallo after the end of prohibition, and marketed to low income drinkers in American ghettos. And despite its yellow color, it also has the unfortunate side effect (other than dissolving  your liver) of turning your lips and tongue black.

"Well, well, well," he said. "I finally got my car runnin'. I sized the rings, sparked the plugs, shifted the gears, blew the gaskets, exhausted the manifolds, distributed the cap, alternated the battery, muffled the crankshaft, balled the bearings, and smoked the universal joint."

Not being a car guy, at least I think that's what he said.

"Did ya catch the big game this afternoon?" he went on. "Obijibwaybwekechanticlear Jones intercepted the pigpen and ran it back from the sixty-nine for pickup sticks. The ref blew him dead at the line of scrimshaw and there was extravehicular activity. Then Walter Platoon said a Hail Mary on the two with 4:20 left in the periodical. Orange Panda kicked a long feel good to win the game, and the players patted each others buttocks. It's a game of itches."

Not being a sports guy, at least I think that's what he said.

I rang up his purchase. "That comes to $19.75. From $20, you get a quarter back."

As the evening wore on, and customer traffic slowed, I began to restock the snuff display behind the counter with Copenhagen, Skoal, and Longhorn Fine Cut Wintergreen. The door bell chimed and I glanced around to see the Safari Guide standing behind me.

He had a round, good-natured, but deeply creased face, hazel eyes offset by thick horn rimmed glasses, pith helmet, bush jacket, and a cobra-skin belt cinching up khakis tucked into black field boots. For all intents and purposes, he was pretty much deaf and blind.

He placed three dollar bills on the counter and said, "$3.00 regular if you please, my good man."

I set the self-serve gas pump outside the Icehouse and the Safari Guide climbed into his jeep and drove away. Without the gas! By the time I realized that he was leaving without the gas, it was too late to stop him. I knew that he lived only a few blocks away, so I put up my back in ten minutes sign, locked the Icehouse door, and walked quickly to the Safari Guide's ranch house.

I knocked on the door and after a bit, the Safari Guide, with his round, good-natured, but deeply creased face, hazel eyes offset by thick horn rimmed glasses, pith helmet, bush jacket, and a cobra-skin belt cinching up khakis tucked into black field boots, answered the door. For all intents and purposes, he was pretty much deaf and blind.

"I need the keys to your jeep," I said.

"You need to go to sleep?" said the Safari Guide.

"No, I need the keys to your jeep," I said.

"There's no need to weep?" he said.

I knew this could go on forever, but I had a store to run, and I finally made him understand what I wanted. I drove the jeep back to the shop, put in the gas, drove the jeep back, and walked back to the Icehouse.

I unlocked the door, removed the sign, and sat behind the register casually paging through a copy of Juggs magazine. Although I heard no sound, something made me glance up from an article I was reading, and there standing before the register was a man - a five-foot, five-inch, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound, ageless, black man, whose white Afro was windblown into two pointed tufts. He was small but wiry. He wore no shirt, but he was covered in a pair of bib overalls splotched with what looked like dried red paint. His fingernails shone as if he had just had a high buff manicure.

I had never seen the man before and could not fathom where he had come from. Seeing my confusion, he smiled at me, and lo, he had golden teeth! Not a couple of fillings, not a front cap or two. His teeth, all thirty-two of them, were solid gold.

The black man said, "That was a very good deed you did. Most people would have pocketed the three bucks and shrugged it off. You will be rewarded. Yoo nebuh know who be watchin'."

The black man smiled his twenty-four carat smile, put some change on the counter, and walked out of the store with one 16 oz. can of Schlitz.

Although I did not comprehend why, the black man seemed to belong to the Icehouse, as if he had been a customer from the beginning, and would be a customer to the end.

I looked down at the coins. The can of beer sold for sixty-six cents including tax. The change on the counter was exact.