Georgia’s FEMAgency: A Tour of the Pit in the Peach

Dorian Flagg

Dorian Flagg is a journalist, satirist, and political activist currently in the 8th congressional district of Georgia.

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For me there is nothing more therapeutic than enclosing myself within the modern equivalent of a sacred cave, the car, and riding the spine of our state’s highways and byways. With an arsenal of music, a lot of mile markers to zip past, and a bright enough day you can pretty much clean out your karma closet of all those cob webs you’ve been neglecting toot sweet. You can take in the beauty of our state’s landscape with its rolling hills, vast plains, green forests and dirt paths and appreciate where you live,…except for once in a while you see a cancer cell in the lungs of Liberty. It’s usually hiding behind a billboard or tucked nicely behind a bush at the top of an on ramp while beaming its radar down below where it is not seen for a distance of at least five hundred feet for all surrounding traffic to see. It certainly does bring you down a bit whilst seeking nirvana on the road when a revenue generating vulture fly’s by your eyes. It reminds you that society still has a long way to go with that evolving thing when you see that a majority of the people think its sane to put people in cages for victimless “crimes” and this act is tax payer funded. So, if seeing that Smokey brings you down a bit, then what would the following trek through Georgia do to your psyche?

BANE

You click it or ticket and turn the key. The box comes to life and the neon digital readout on the stereo says “Single Serving Jack”. The head begins to bop but not so much as to knock the steaming cup of coffee at your lips onto your lap. Seat aligned. Steering wheel adjusted and its out the driveway and down I-75 for a lap to Tifton from Warner Robins. This is roughly 83 exits and a handful of counties, yet making this trip on a weekly basis I notice something different today. There are no less than three cruisers from each county I have to cut through lining the interstate as black and congregated like the black vultures picking the bones from a deer’s corpse to the side. “How odd” I think, “What are the chances that for the past week or so every county from Houston to Tift just so happens to be doing speed enforcement on the interstate …at the exact same time? Surely this isn’t coordinated and I quickly shake it off because obviously this is to protect me from evil Muslims…and really smart “Dark Knight” fans who have the ability to transmute from Bane to the Joker in less than 48 hours…and former veterans that specialized in psychological operations in the military. Yep, pretty sure that escalade with its hatch opened and all the owners bags on the road had a weapon of mass destruction in the back so thank goodness 5.0 rolls like that. Of course after counting more police on the interstate than actual exits I have to go through, I decide to take some back roads on the way back, maybe even swing through Cordele to grab a coffee.

THE JOKER…EASY TO MIX UP I KNOW

 

Besides the creepy fact that woodland camo trucks of all sorts having been passing into this area with “Highway Patrol” stenciled on the side, what other reason would I not have to cruise down highway 300 a stones throw, and oh my! What’s that? What are they turning the former Highway patrol complex (basically a bay door garage and an office)into? Nothing nefarious I’m sure. Just the “Crisp County Emergency Management and Detention Center” complete with double razor wired fencing. Gee, sure is warm as a teddy bear fresh from the drier to know that GEMA made a baby with DHS smack dab in the middle of this rural farming community…intersected on two major highways…near an active train track facility…kinda like Germany did…you know…during Dub Dub Deuce…when all those people were rounded up…member?…in big trucks?…and trains?…and taken to …detention facilities?…and…and well you know the rest. I have to giggle at my momentary paranoia and turn on a little Hannity so I can be reassured that that detention center is for radical islamisist as opposed to radical fundamentalists such as himself and normal people such as myself. Whew, that was close because I was starting to think we were living in a socialistic society for a second.

Take some more back roads and before you know it I pass by the brand spanking new Bleckley County Law Enforcement Center out in the middle of the friggin boonies in a town which basically is as one horse as you can get these days. So in a county with more cows than people it makes sense to spend millions of tax payers’ dollars on a facility to make damn sure no cow thieves go a puttin’ shoes on bovine and throwing ole Barney off the trail. Those are some nice looking razor wires guys. Shiny as the tracks near the local train depot too.

I start to wonder if my own town is just as safe from cow thieves and islamisisisisis and as I drive into town at the end of the day I’m comforted to see nearly unmarked, black cruisers with the words “field supervision team” on them patrolling my streets. Yay,… and to double my pleasure there are almost matching SUVs with lights, bumper bars and “WRAFB Emergency Response team” creeping around too. Feeling like that teddy bear again because my insides are just getting warm and fuzzed knowing how safe I am all of a sudden. If only we had one of those dete….Law Enforcement centers. Oh wait! Happy days! Happy days indeed for what do I see at the end of the main strip which has recently been lined with very sophisticated cameras paid for by Homeland Security? Go on. Guess. That’s right masculine’s and feminine’s, coming along nicely on what once was called First Street but now called Armed Forces BLVD is the future Warner Robins Law Enforcement Center. Complete with a forensics lab and a holding facility for all the maniacal criminals that have our town in total anarchy with their relentless crime sprees.

As I look at it while I drive over the bumps of the …wait for it…railroad track, I just grin because I live in a Republic and don’t have to fear that my rights will be taken from me by force by government for its own gain to my own detriment. Wishing to know more about this Law Enforcement Center I boot up the magic internet machine and go to my cities public website. I try to see the page regarding this center and shucks, it tells me I’m not authorized to view that page. No problem. Maybe I can glean its purpose by reading some articles from the local news outlets? Perhaps I’ll get all the details from this article which tells me that the mayor of my town, Chuck Shaheen, says he would use eminent domain to take the land from a property owner being bullish over selling before ground broke at the facility. Go Shaheen! It tickles my nethers to know my town has such a stand up guy willing to take from each according to their ability so that all can be given according to their need. Because if there is anything this town needs its more detectives and detention cells. See a guy who looks like his genetics are so screwed up he copulated with himself and conceived himself can make a real difference for the country after all.

As I pull back into my driveway from a long days trek I have no problem feeling safe within the confines of my home knowing my smart meter outside is probably making sure that Janet Napolitano knows right away if a brown skin person sneaks into my house to kill me because I am free. My state is doing so much to protect me, I think the next time I see a public official I will tell them how much I appreciate their service. Coincidently I just so happen to be up for a drivers license renewal. Perhaps I’ll thank the DMV after I give them my original birth certificate, social security number, proof of marriage, and two proofs of residence for the new Real ID licenses being phased in. Better yet, maybe I’ll call guvna Deal and thank him for allowing all these safety protocols to kick in by not evoking the tenth amendment and putting a stop to it all.
I lay my head on my pillow and drift right off to the sounds of choppers buzzing by my house at all hours of the night to rest for the next day’s drive. Nite, Nite Georgia. It’s time to go to sleep.

Order Then Came the Flood Here

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