Night Terrors
I can tell right now that my days are numbered. Any day now the secret service will crash open my front door and subsequently pin me to the floor asking me about "la revolution" and "finding" an eight-ball of coke somehwere in my closet, whereas i knew my closet to be empty of anything organic in structure. Aye, that would be the best way to go. At least I could know with some dignity that such a thing were planted.
But that's the best case scenario. The boys down in Washington have heard of the intelligent compelling speaker, and they know a Kennedy case when they hear one. They know my probabtion is almost up, and they couldn't stand to let a premptive chance go by (hell, they never let one pass anyway).
Somewhere on the highway I'll be pulled over, for the same probable cause that compells them to pull over black men in rural Alabama and arrest them for crack-cocaine possesion; they just can't stand letting a liberal pass through their jurisdiction. With their eminent domain search and seisure rights, brought to you by the same people who put Bush into office (SCOTUS), they will "find" a kilo of smack in my trunk. Later in court they will claim to have found the smack in my computer case, conspicuously without my own fingerprints on it. Hell, for a well known "terrorist" like me they were lucky to make the find, and stop those pesky opium dealers scoring money for al queda.
OF course they would - hell Nixon had a shorter list of enemies and Rove than his digenerate bunch of swine.
Somewhere in the middle of my interogation, two men introduced as special agents Thatch and Liddy will join, with a few questions of their own. Of course they keep on asking me who I know that's trying to kill the president - they were trained under Hoover to spot commie infilTRAITORS like me (or at least they thought). When I tell them about Al Sharpton they put their cigarettes butts out in my crotch - YE GODS MAN - and when I say instead that it was Harry Reid they just laugh in my face while they rape my mother. Somewhere around me screaming out loud that Al Franken wanted to cruxify the Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell alongside the president, "swear to god" he told me so himself, they left the room only mentioning gang bangs from those leftist hollywood lawyers and activist judges they put away earlier.
When I come out I may very well join the sort of revolution they wanted to prevent me from being part of. Prison makes you that way. I'll probably just go right back in with the rest of the potential yuppies nailed for possesion of marajuanna (15 years in these parts). That is, if there is anything really to come back to.
These are sick days we live in. Christ I wish I was born under Nixon instead of King George. At least then you knew it was only about politics, and not some crusade or revalations or even a simple dynastic cycle...
But that's the best case scenario. The boys down in Washington have heard of the intelligent compelling speaker, and they know a Kennedy case when they hear one. They know my probabtion is almost up, and they couldn't stand to let a premptive chance go by (hell, they never let one pass anyway).
Somewhere on the highway I'll be pulled over, for the same probable cause that compells them to pull over black men in rural Alabama and arrest them for crack-cocaine possesion; they just can't stand letting a liberal pass through their jurisdiction. With their eminent domain search and seisure rights, brought to you by the same people who put Bush into office (SCOTUS), they will "find" a kilo of smack in my trunk. Later in court they will claim to have found the smack in my computer case, conspicuously without my own fingerprints on it. Hell, for a well known "terrorist" like me they were lucky to make the find, and stop those pesky opium dealers scoring money for al queda.
OF course they would - hell Nixon had a shorter list of enemies and Rove than his digenerate bunch of swine.
Somewhere in the middle of my interogation, two men introduced as special agents Thatch and Liddy will join, with a few questions of their own. Of course they keep on asking me who I know that's trying to kill the president - they were trained under Hoover to spot commie infilTRAITORS like me (or at least they thought). When I tell them about Al Sharpton they put their cigarettes butts out in my crotch - YE GODS MAN - and when I say instead that it was Harry Reid they just laugh in my face while they rape my mother. Somewhere around me screaming out loud that Al Franken wanted to cruxify the Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell alongside the president, "swear to god" he told me so himself, they left the room only mentioning gang bangs from those leftist hollywood lawyers and activist judges they put away earlier.
When I come out I may very well join the sort of revolution they wanted to prevent me from being part of. Prison makes you that way. I'll probably just go right back in with the rest of the potential yuppies nailed for possesion of marajuanna (15 years in these parts). That is, if there is anything really to come back to.
These are sick days we live in. Christ I wish I was born under Nixon instead of King George. At least then you knew it was only about politics, and not some crusade or revalations or even a simple dynastic cycle...