Even though I’ve been straight for a long time, I still get a twinge whenever I see a cop. If you have ever had your name entered into the system, it never gets expunged. Most Americans don’t know this, but if you give your name to police officer and they enter it into their system, it remains forever along with whatever else that officer decides to write.

I am not talking about arrests or anything else… I am talking about any exchange of information whatsoever. I know that most of you are law-abiding citizens, but if you have been watching the news you may be aware that your local police force is an arm of a corporate-sponsored prison system that makes a great deal of money for its investors. It is essentially a hotel that charges three hundred bucks a night and is guaranteed 95% occupancy every night forever. Plus all the ancillary profit items, everything from soap to phone calls, all marked up to the highest possible margin.

If you think that you need only fear this if you’re a criminal, think again. Ask any black person if they share your view. I am here to tell you one thing: don;t talk to the police, ever. “But what if they ask me some questions?” you say. Well, here’s an example.

Cop: “Pardon, sir. You mind if I ask you some questions?”

Me: “Am I being detained?”

Cop: “No, I just want to ask you some questions. May I see your ID?”

Me: “Am I free to go? Am I being detained? I don’t answer questions.”

Cop: “No, you’re not being detained.”

Me: (walks away).

It helps if you’re filming this. And tone of voice is everything. Don’t seem belligerent or threatening. Be polite and calm, but do not answer questions no matter what they tell you. You have no idea why they stopped you or what ideas they may have. All they need is your permission and they can see every exchange you have ever had with the cops along with whatever comments might be there. In my case, it’s a felony conviction and God knows what else. In your case, who knows?

Prison is full of innocent people who said yes at the wrong moment.

 

 

I’m the first to admit I’m no oil painting. The calendar has been  hard on me. I’ve been in some fights. I’ve had months where everything I ate came out of a can or a foil pouch. Years, really.

I started out skinny. A lot of guys do. But then I got older, which also happens to a lot of guys.  I am no athlete and never was. During all that high school football stuff I was the dude under the bleachers who sold weed. It was a miracle I ever got out of high school. It’s no mystery that I never went to college.

I worked at low jobs for a long time. I still do. I’m too ham-fisted to make much good at construction, and I can’t do restaurant work since all my charm is in these notebooks (not much there, either, and that’s if you can even read my penmanship. It looks like a cat wrote it).  I don’t like people and they generally don’t like me.

And I have a felony conviction. Think what you want, but our justice system is pretty heavily tilted toward the rich. If you don’t got the scratch, you’re gonna hear the latch. A poor man has a poor man’s pleasures, namely getting drunk whenever he can. And that can lead to more police and more tough times.

Last off, my teeth are shit. I haven’t been to a dentist since the Reagan administration. Seriously, who has time for that? I’ve been lucky because my teeth seem to be made of some kind of granite. They don’t hurt, anyway, but they don’t look good. I quit smoking, but the damage was done long ago. Plus my big front incisor got a chip in it, so there’s that.

Taken all around, I am what you might call “weathered.” I have all my hair and both eyes and all four limbs, but that’s about the best you can say about me. I dress in secondhand clothes that were cheap to begin with and haven’t had the best of care.

But of course I don’t say any of that in my Tinder profile. I figure by the time a girl sees me it’s likely too late.

I hear this blog might make me rich. Who can say?