love too be SLANDERED and LIBELED as a rabid fucking animal by members of my own community that I have roamed around in for two-and-a-half years because someone APPARENTLY left out some fucking crabapples gone sour and me and Fred got caught stumbling around all disoriented. you call officers scarberry and withers instead of walk us back to the runoff drain on mason and let us sleep it off? what has happened in america. i haven’t felt this betrayed since reagan closed the state hospital for anorexic chicks.
what is the big deal anyway man. even if we did, and im not even saying we did, eat those prison wine apples on purpose, what fucking business is it of yours if fred and me wanna get a buzz going before the sun comes up after a long night’s work? oh yeah, work. you guys don’t even appreciate all the shit me and fred do and don’t act like this is the first time we’ve run into scarberry and withers. fuck those guys. but you pick up the phone every time you see some glowing eyes in the night and that’s bullshit. like rich people seeing black trick or treaters but year round. you’re all bitches. look at this shit we do for you.
- keep your cats skinny by eating the food they didn’t even eat yet. do you want diabetes cats? fred and me tangled with a diabetic cat before. wrangle that grumpy motherfucker a couple times for his insulin shots and you’ll want your vet to be conrad murray. just doing you and mittens a favor.
- sort your trash! how hard is it to put the plastics in a different bin? fred and me spend most nights just trying to reuse and recycle and maybe find a banana that you didn’t want to finish because it got bruised, and you scare us out of that side yard you let your dog take a shit in before we’re done. that’s why there’s trash all over the place in the morning. i was gonna put it back. in the bin where it was supposed to be. because you don’t know how to sort. fucking idiot.
- literally form anti-coyote gangs to fight coyotes that want to eat your cats and dogs. do you know how many coyotes i have fought with my friends? you think we run away. straight up you don’t know shit about the night. never see you call scarberry and withers on coyotes OH WAIT because you never see them. because we fight them off or you’re too busy sleeping somehow lightly enough to hear me and fred going through your trash. man fuck you.
- not even go through your dog door even though me and fred have poked our heads through and thought about it tbh. it’s a violation of neighborly trust, which is evidently not a two way fucking street.
the other thing that is lame as hell is how many of you are filming raccoons like me and fred a little tipsy and putting it online.
like it’s all fun and games and yeah, let’s have a laugh ha ha ha, he was scavenging for sustenance to survive another day on this hellish planet you’ve squandered the potential of and are rapidly running into the ground by killing of 60% of animal populations in like fifty years but whatever, yeah I’m the asshole. biodiversity who needs it. life is trash. you wonder why fred and me drink or eat prison wine fruits. that’s right. i know the smell. i eat those fruits anyway.
i will have the last laugh. scarberry and withers will boil alive, either in one of your nuclear holocausts or when the sun gets too hot and their brains bake after you can’t grow your trash food anymore. fred and me live in the sewers we will stay cool and venture out at night to eat your faces until equilibrium is restored across the biomes and then the raccoon gangs will form a real society. not like your trash society. where you hit me and fred with brooms because i’m in your garage trying to drink your WD-40.
the unabomber was right.
Very early Monday morning in Aurora, Colorado, 73-year-old Richard “Gary” Black woke up to find a woman on his porch attempting to retrieve her 26-year-old son, who she said was on drugs and not likely in control of his actions. Black raced upstairs, where he found that a nude man, later identified as the 26-year-old Dajon Harper, had dragged his 11-year-old grandson from the living room into a bathroom, where he was strangling and attempting to drown the boy. Black, a Vietnam combat veteran, started to beat the man and reportedly tried to gouge out one of his eyes in an effort to free his grandson to no avail, went and retrieved a handgun, and shot Harper dead.
Black’s wife had been on the phone with 911 and police reported hearing gunshots as they approached the house. Black walked into his living room, where police shot him dead through a window from outside the house. Police reportedly didn’t identify themselves but claimed for “around thirteen seconds” they screamed at Black five times to drop his weapon. The whereabouts of Harper’s mother during the incident are presently unknown. Black reportedly suffered hearing damage from his time in Vietnam, as well as further degradation due to old age, and also likely had very little auditory function after firing a handgun inside of a bathroom. Aurora Chief of Police Nick Metz has blamed Mr. Black’s actions for his death, despite the as-of-yet unnamed police officer being involved in a fatal shooting in June and recently returned to duty.
The same police department that took in Aurora theater shooter James Holmes into custody alive murdered a man defending his family in his own home, from outside the house, who was an entirely different ethnicity and wearing specifically described clothing than the suspect detailed during the emergency phone call. That’s an indictment of incompetence and poor training that underscores the “fearful”, wanton bloodlust of police culture in America, where academies constantly drill a shoot-first-ask-question-later mentality with phrases like “better to be judged by twelve than carried out by six.” Anyone paying attention in the last thirty years knows that phrase is far accurately “better to get several weeks of ‘paid administrative leave’ and no charges.”
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noun: highwayman; plural noun: highwaymen
a man, typically on horseback, who held up travelers at gunpoint in order to rob them.
When you get back on a sub-par metropolitan public transit system, especially after a brief respite, there’s sometimes new nuances and customs to learn. I’ve detailed the bad taste in my mouth Colorado’s Regional Transportation District has left after thirteen years of residency and service before, but my most recent return to this town’s buses and trains during arguably the hottest summer this city has ever seen has left me shaking my head in a puzzled, Kafkaesque bewilderment. As the city pushes more and more poor and working class people out, forcing longer commutes, RTD is pushing another fare hike and aggressively pursuing so-called “fare dodgers” on the light rail lines. I don’t know why I even let myself be surprised anymore.
I’ve prepared a graph.
Anecdotally speaking, the vast majority of people I’ve seen ticketed are either underage kids with expired transfers who would be riding on economically negligible fares anyhow, commuters who chanced it instead of missing a train because of slow ticket kiosks and validation processes, and regular, every day people who paid for the “wrong fare.” Armed men, sometimes uniformed security contractors and sometimes plainclothes city police, will board the trains from “random” stops and like hall monitors checking to make sure you’re allowed to be going to the bathroom, pace the aisles checking tickets. If you’re not squared away, they take your identification, take your picture, and put you in a database with a warning. If you’re already in there, you’ll get a ticket for more than $100.
Of course this happened to me.
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