Police State Gazette
Post-Halloween, Pre-Thanksgiving, 2010 Edition
We depart from our normal mode of posting a rogues gallery of Cops crimes for you to look at for something even more evil...read on
The Escort and the Mini-Gun
Stumbling around on the internet, I ran into an alarming, albeit short, video, that sat me back on my heels. It took me only a few moments to realize that while touted as this great patriotic "thing", this was just one more example of exactly how far down the tubes we as a people had fallen under a demonic spell. At this point I suggest you go watch the video, and read the very short article. Then you'll have some idea of what I mean here, about this mini, the “savior” of the Prez....
Bear in mind we've heard lately the Prez is heading overseas during our November elections, taking some forty air planes and eleven armored vehicles with him...
http://news.cnet.com/8301-13639_3-9761803-42.html
From the article: "The GMC-mounted mini-gun accompanies the presidential cavalcade, at least here at home.. Apparently it's not a welcome guest in some host countries. England, for instance, asked the Prez to leave his mini-guns at home. Note the rotating turret."
Now hopefully you've gone there, seen it, read it, come back, and are asking: What's the big deal? Our guys are going to protect the Prez like they are sworn to do... take the bullet for the guy and all that... right? Let’s try this scenario, and be advised, I will ask you a question at the end of it.
Lets play "just pretend" OK?... Today the Prez of the USA is going to FurherGestapoMotorcade through your town, and that for some oddball reason, you and the spouse decided to take the kiddos out of school and go watch the spectacle. Or maybe its the grandkiddos; or maybe you teach in a government school; or even Sunday School, and take a busload of OPKs (Other Peoples Kiddos) out to see the President of the United States drive through your locality. Perhaps your parents watched good ol' JFK drive it in Dallas once upon a time.
So there you guys are, all standing there on the sidewalk in your Sunday go-to-meetin'-best, almost ready to bust a gut with pride. You are just a grinnin' from ear to ear and otherwise all aglow with shinin' glory patriotism and waving those illegal American flags made in red China, when uh oh, you hear some "unfriendly" noise.
About the time the Prez is within a hundred or so yards of you, some crazy son of a bitch in the crowd, or up in a building, or close by elsewhere (or perhaps some paid fanatical son of a bitch became alarmed the Prez was even further down in the polls than normal), decided to shoot off a cherry bomb or an M-80, maybe several, with cigarette fuses...
Boom. Boomety Boom Boom Boom.
Mass confusion reigns, and that's when maybe you duck, maybe you don't, because don't forget, you have all your friends/relatives/OPKs to worry about first, and just as you were starting to figure out it was all a prank, the rescue partiers start to arrive.
You first hear, then see, this black van (the Escort) behind the Presidential FurherMobile spitting fire off its roof, and coming up fast.... too late to hit the dirt at this point since you already were handed six in the belly from Sgt. Markoff. The kiddos, the spouse, even the school/church bus proceeds to get themselves shot full of holes from those same 147grain hardball .308 NATO bullets (abbreviated from this point on as ".308"), just like you. We've all heard our lives flash before our lives right before we die. In the two microseconds you have left, the following is part of what runs through your mind:
- Remembering a pathetically minuscule detail (you heard while dining on your tofu chicken delight and listening to the MSMnews dailies of the Ruby Ridge massacre back in '92) that there is a big difference in the size of hole that a .308 from an M-14 makes to that from a .223 M-16, you also begin to deduce with a glance around that a .308 can shoot thru 5 to 8 people, while the .223 maybe will shoot though one or two, if they are not too big... like kids.
- Loss of blood starts to make you delirious, and you begin to deduce: since the sidewalks are lined up to six persons deep, its not very much of a stretch to figure a ten second burst from this U.S. Secret Service Urban Assault SUV, that there are going to be dead and dying, still smilin', still flag wavin' guts now hanging out (but not busted with pride as you were so recently feeling), patriots everywhere... all under the guise of saving one man, and I use the term "man" loosely. After all, what man would want this death and destruction merely to keep himself alive? A lizard maybe, not a man.
- Your taxes have been paid on time and faithfully for your entire earning life, for lizard protection... so far.
- Then it dawns on you as your lights are dimming, that those same tax dollars have been used to produce another résumé-enhancing tool for the "suited shooters", and this time your lives have been added to the kitty to boot... You have paid for your family's and your own destruction, for the benefit of a lizard, er, man.
- While you lay there trying to die, you overhear a couple of the ninjas now on location discussing the ins and outs of the .308 vs. the .223. "With the .308 using military hardball, a torso hit, you can bleed out a "perp" in less than two minutes if death isn't immediate, nor aid either", whereas the .223 is a fine cartridge for shooting at "perps" down in an enclosed like "stadium" structure, where they can't get away, and they have little means of self defense from a hundred yards away. You can take all day playing shooting gallery with a .223 at an unarmed citizenry, and still have a pretty good chance of keeping them alive if you want." Titters and laughter follow.
- It hits you that in this scenario aid will not be forthcoming. If you live you can file a lawsuit… why would they want that?
- In your final moments you remember those at fault absolutely will NOT pay for the funerals nor clean up the mess. The funeral cost will be borne by your estate, the mess will be cleaned up rather rapidly by the city clean up crews, after all, isn't that what fire hydrants are made for??
- As you die, you remember a poem from your high school literature class:
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
by Randall Jarrell
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
I have personally been told that these "suited shooters" will sweep the crowd with deadly force, if not with this gun then with handhelds, and contemptibly mow down innocent men, women and children by the dozens to protect "their client" Yep. Client was the term, and if you don't believe that, I'm sorry. I'm merely repeating what "they" told me twenty or so years ago. By now though, these "suited shooters” are probably going to be "contractors", and like in Afghanistan, Iraq, etc, answer to no one.
Are you ready for the question I told you I was going to ask? Here it comes.
What gives these "suited shooters" the right, the legal, moral or whatever right, to kill us, our wives, our husbands, our children, to keep themselves alive? Is it in the U.S. Constitution somewhere? Does it actually say our lives are not worth theirs, regardless of the numbers involved? But then again, it doesn't have to be, for as W put it so plainly, "…it’s just a God-Damned piece of paper." Our lives aren't worth even that much to them.
Perhaps bringing back the old law of kneeling down before the king as he approaches, remaining until after he has passed will be the new rule of the land before this is over, as it kinda makes sense now... stay low, hug the ground, and don't let the King's men see you.
”GET MISSED" should perhaps be the new slogan of the day.
