Get ready for an AMAZING story, fair reader. . .

cars© kalafoto –

On Sunday, a friend and I were driving up to L.A. We were detained at a routine traffic stop along with MANY other vehicles; due to the out-of-state driver’s license that my friend had, we were waved over to a more “private” area for further “questioning”….

Now you know ME — I’m not a big fan of authority, and I’m REALLY not a big fan of the FBI, which I refer to as “feebs” – as in feeble-minded Stormtroopers!

Due to a couple of smart-assed and derisive comments that I made to our detainers, we were brusquely ushered “inside” for even FURTHER “questioning”….at this point, it ain’t lookin’ good, but I’m just getting MADDER and MADDER at the bureaucratic BULLSHIT that exists here in our “free” country.

We were seated in a small bunker-like room consisting of four institutional chairs and a hard table that was bolted to the floor — all this within eyeshot of the busy freeway. It’s one of those nondescript buildings we’ve driven by a million times with never a second thought. We got to sit in there for about 20 minutes, after being FULLY stripped of all contents of our pockets, including all money, cell phones, wallets and ID.

No explanation was offered, nor were any refreshments….At this point, I guess I should have been scared — I was simply angry. Before being LOCKED into this cube, I DEMANDED ID’s from THEM, since they were taking MY ID — hey, when you are being held against your will, it seems like a pretty fair request to see something other than some FBI windbreakers, doncha think?! My request/demand was both ignored and chortled at; I was promised that soon some answers WOULD be gotten….

After the 20 minute proper “staging” interlude, in came two strongly Aryan-featured Feebs. They TOLD us to sit down, whereupon they assumed the “power position” sitting over us on the edge of the table, files and fresh computer printouts in hand.

We were then ASSAILED with two hours of questions of the most personal, intimate, and oft-times even embarrassing nature — these guys knew EVERYTHING! The window I accidentally shot out of the Johnson’s farmhouse back in ’68 with my Crosman BB gun, while shooting at pigeons; said incident duly reported and submitted by Chief Fritz Wagner.

My parents’ alcohol problems from the ’40’s & ’50’s, my National Honor Society “rejection”, etc. Terrorist connections were alluded to time and time again by our interrogators, as my financial history and certain high-dollar (guitar and amp mostly) purchases were reviewed.

National Security was clearly at risk by these two late-40-year-olds with their respective checkered pasts, CLEARLY dotted with anti-American activity. Further checks were “in order”, further detainment “necessary”. Phone calls were strictly prohibited, and LEGALLY so, due to the newly-passed security laws. We were split up and put into two smaller basement rooms, totally devoid of furniture. At this point, shoes, socks, shirt, shorts were confiscated; oddly enough, my e2U underwear raised an eyebrow or two. . .

I suggested that perhaps they should change THEIR sportswear to “KGB” windbreakers — What’s the fuckin’ difference?” was my query. . .At this point, the larger of the two men struck me with a LIGHTNING rabbit-punch behind the ear that sent me to the linoleum like a ton of Hungarian bricks — I stayed down….NOW I was S-C-A-R-E-D!

Time truly IS hard to judge without light, a watch, sound, or much else in the way of external stimuli. I would have GUESSED that my time in that room was about 16 hours; it turned out to be closer to 12. No food, no drink, no bathroom break — yeah, I pissed in the corner….

Too tired to finish the story tonight — tomorrow comes “the rest of the story….”

[The next day Dick Jones revealed that this was actually just a description of a particularly vivid dream that he had had the previous night.]


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