Dear Piper Strong,
Looks like Deadwood is still the same in some regards, the shitty ones. The Bullocks of the place have a strong hold here and the freedom lovin’ American (immigrant) in search of the American dream will find nothing but nightmares.
Lulu and I got pulled over for the first time on our trip. The offense: “Swerving in own lane.” Turns out the officer had been following us for several miles. This “protector” of freedom explained that the bikers had pointed us out. He suggested that our “unsafe” driving was of much concern to these free-wheeling “outlaws” all assembling every-which-where as if some kind of Harley Davidson factory was stamping these fuckers out by the thousands, and not just the same old uninspired bikes, but most of the riders too. What was once an outlaw culture has now become homogenized-safety-soup?
Were we the true- outlaws?
Following all sorts of “protocol” he asked me to step outside the vehicle. He asked if I was armed. He patted me down. He demanded to know why I didn’t identify my Leatherman multi-tool as a weapon. He asked me to accompany him to his cruiser.
I complied with all demands through this uncertain and obvious breach of my “rights”.
Quickly the line of questioning turned to drugs. Did I ever use drugs? Which drugs did I use? For how long? When was the last time I used drugs? Then all out of nowhere he gave me an ultimatum: I can tell him where the drugs are in my car and save myself from being persecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Not being a fan of entrapment, and being familiar with the (quasi-suspension) of 4th Amendment rights, I continued an attitude of compliance. It was either, he impounds the car under suspicion of “possession”, puts us in a holding cell, gets a warrant to search the car, searches the car, and finds the drugs (for he was certain they were abound in our vehicle), Or he can do the search now with my permission.
I decided that I would take my “chances”. What other logical variants does a pilgrim have? This civil servant was obviously out to serve.
I mean what other options did we have? Pull his gun out of his holster…? Krav-maga him in the balls and burn down the cruiser? Find his family and take them all hostage? Pull a John Rambo? No, we are non-violent, completely submissive types just like you.
“Search away,” said I –my blood pressure beginning to spike. Lulu had to step out of the car at this point, her disgust, rage, and confusion seeping out of her face.
So there he was, rifling through our jam-packed automobile and all the carefully stowed belongings which were, up until this point , our “private” property.
Now, I will say this and nothing more on the matter; whether or not there were unlawful substances in the vehicle is up to you to decide. I mean, who is to say what is unlawful and what one should and shouldn’t put inside ones’ own body? I’ve always been under the impression that these sort of things are an “individuals’” own decision and god given rights. These thought patterns are often a side-effect of Libertarian conferences, meditation, studies of philosophy and psychology, and good American Patriotism.
Our Star-Relatives, Arroyo and company, were looking out for us. The officer of the law, came up short.
He did of course, give me the “opportunity” to tell him one more time where I had stashed the drugs that he was certain I had driven from New York to sell to the seedy bikers (most of whom were middle-aged or older moms and dads [hard-working-Americans]). I don’t know which side of stupid he thought I was on. I played dumb to this remark but not his parting words, “what’s with all the knives in the car?”
“Officer, I did not know that there was a limit or a law to the amount of knives a private citizen can have in his vehicle.” spoke I.
“There isn’t. But that sure is a lot of knives for two people.” He blurted confused and disappointed by the outcome of the search.
When we got to downtown Deadwood I walked down to the river and I made an offering to the Gods. We are truly blessed. We are truly thankful.
The star-spangled-saga continues.
Loving you with our hands upon our heads [triggers],
Your blood brother and sister,
Marlo Escobar Swearengin & Luludes High as the Mooncake
P.S. you owe us a sweat lodge and we are looking to collect.