Life is not without a sense of irony as I always say, and this little ditty shall be a prime example of that maxim. Though I should warn you before reading on that if you are easily offended or are not too keen on hearing bone crunching truth about certain things you should curl back up in your bed of self-denial and read no further.


Freddie Gray-Human Being

Freddie Gray-Human Being

Recently I wrote an article which briefly touched on the Baltimore issue as a result of the Freddie Gray murder. If you read the article They’re All Gonna Shoot at You, you are aware that Freddie Gray was only mentioned in the opening, as the rest of the article addressed the Revolution going on in this country as a whole. Nevertheless it took about fifteen minutes for someone from social media to add their two cents on the article with an idiotic response regarding “black thugs” in this country destroying the flag and yadda, yadda, yadda. Typically I refrain from social media phallic measuring contests, but on this particular occasion I felt it was my duty to engage someone with the I.Q. of an eggplant as a public service by making an example of his douchebaggery. Below is the little back and forth he and I had, and as a favor to him I will be changing his actual last name to “Douchebag” …and because that would be funny.


Paul Douchebag: Im am more worried about being shot by a “black thug” than i am being shot by a cop period. Blacks categorize any issue they have with white people when they actually bring most of it on themselves with that being said i am tired of tip toeing around blacks because we are afraid to hurt their feelings

3 hrs · Like · 1

Daniel Louis Crumpton: When about less than ten percent of this article had anything to do with “black thugs” yet it is the only issue of a much larger issue being addressed that you chose to point out; I would have to say you are far from tip toeing around blacks but rather seem to be preoccupied with stomping as loud as you can around them. Cheerio!

3 hrs · Like

Paul Douchebag: You are right i am tired of it so now voicing it as loud as i can all the rioting and violence that they do everyone says oh we feel bad for them they have been oppressed i am 45 years old and for as long as i remember they have had the same rights if not more because of there color so yes im tired of their whining and crying

3 hrs · Like

Paul Douchebag: I see everyday of blacks killing whites and there is no mention of it no hate crime involved by the doj or any type of media or gov’t but yet it continues everyday. They kill whites because of color but to this day it has not been proven a single cop shooting was because of color but yet because of there background and we still have people bleeding heart liberals who take up for them because they are the poor old oppressed blacks

3 hrs · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: Well congratulations fella, you have successfully taken the bait on the hook of divide and conquer tossed out on the line by the federal government. Those black people you are so frustrated with happen to be American citizens just like you. You may want to view them in a different light because of the color of their skin but I choose to just see them as people and ascertain each incident of police brutality on an individual basis. The fact of the Baltimore thing is that the police killed a guy without due process and as a result American citizens protested. Perhaps a small minority of those Americans went about it in a poor way, but you can’t say they didn’t do something in the face of tyranny. That is a little more than I can say about groups claiming to protect the Constitution and the Rights of ALL MEN WHO ARE CREATED EQUAL who do absolutely nothing while the federal government pushes against us all. If you have a problem with black people who behave poorly I would suggest you order some bulk pocket Constitutions and go to the hood, pass them out, inform them of their Rights and harness the passion they have on the side of the Liberty movement.

58 mins · Like

Paul Douchebag: If you call rioting and looting and killing the path to liberty then you can keep your liberty

37 mins · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: I don’t recall saying that at all.

36 mins · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: But you are welcome to cite where I did.

36 mins · Like

Paul Douchebag: I am a war vet who has fought for this country and to see these thugs destroy the flag and do what they do sickens me and i dont have a problem with all blacks but i sure as hell do when they are thugs

36 mins · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: The Baltimore thing is about a flag being destroyed?

34 mins · Like

Paul Douchebag: This is not just about baltimore

31 mins · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: And I am sorry, I really am, but if you are 45 you have not fought for this country at all, you have fought to expand a corporation across the globe because this country hasn’t declared war since WW2…just sayin.

31 mins · Like

Paul Douchebag: Let me tell you something you neo nazi i have seen men and women die in combat for this country in iraq for whatever fucked reason we were there that was still my brothers and sisters that died there asshole

29 mins · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: I’m sorry you had to see that, I honestly am, but I am actually a Patriotic Constitutionalist that read there should be no standing army in this country two years after any declared war in the Constitution so I wasn’t fooled into fighting proxy wars for the military industrial complex that has brought this Republic to its knees. Seeing people die doesn’t justify a position and slinging unwarranted labels on people because you don’t like what they have to say doesn’t either. But just out of curiosity, were any of those brothers or sisters black?

23 mins · Like

Paul Douchebag: Yes they were and i dont have a problem with blacks who conduct themselves accordingly but its the ones that act as thugs that would kill you right now in a dark alley just because you are white

18 mins · Like

Paul Douchebag: They can protest all they want that doesnt bother me and it is their right to do so but we are not talking about protest ee are talking about rioting

16 mins · Like

Daniel Louis Crumpton: I live in the south, I’m more likely to be lynched by bedsheets in the woods than I am to be killed because I am white. Go back to your first comment man, we aren’t talking about rioting; we are talking about you not wanting to tip toe around a particular group of Americans, which is your right to do so as well. I just think it would be more productive for the country if we stop dividing ourselves and confront the real enemy of Liberty. And as far as flags go, they are just clothe representations of an ideal and the ideal of ours has been marred more by the cats in Washington that sent you to war more than any so called “black thug”. You want to toss titles around, toss them at your recruiter.

10 mins · Like


So there you have that little nugget of goodness, but of course the tale doesn’t end there and let us hope that Paul Douchebag is reading along with us so he too can learn how this thing should be done. For his sake, our sake and the sake of all those pesky little “black thugs”.

As I typically do on a daily basis I pop my ear buds in and go for a walk of meditation on the Wellston Trail in my town which ends at a public park for all to enjoy. It’s a beautiful trail which goes through a neighborhood and a nature walk for your viewing pleasure where I can pass by fellow citizens of my town with a smile, a nod and an occasional chat. After emerging from the forest I was pleased to see a lady friend of mine sitting on the grass watching her two little girls networking on the playground for some fellow kiddies to play with. I joined her and after a while of enjoying the evening breeze underneath the sun it was time to round the girls up. When pleas of five more minutes were offered up she and I had no choice but to be at their mercy, so we chose a nice pic-nick table to sit down for a while.

With a content smile I listened to some tunes and watched the kids playing, the birds searching for food, lovers holding hands and …uh oh…a bunch of “black thugs” playing basketball not too far away. A few moments later a silver Warner Robins police department squad car came rolling into the park to which I mumbled “Here come the po-po.” My lady friend sighed wondering if they were coming for me again but I knew better. We waited for the po-po officer to po-po pop out of his cruiser but alas; he did not until a second cruiser arrived and then it became obvious as to why. Po-po officer number one was a white guy. Po-po officer number two was black, or brown, or mocha or whatever. As the two officers crossed the bridge and headed towards the basketball court the “black thugs” began to understandably disperse and rightfully so because I’m pretty sure they were well aware that po-po’s can’t play ball for shit.

They stopped two of the “black thugs” leaving the court that both had back packs on and from where I was could tell they were probably wanting to search their effects. After a moment or two they let the first two go and headed towards the rest of the “black thugs” on the court who still scrambled to collect their gear. Clearly shaken from the intimidation tactics of the po-po-stopo they had to wet their whistle at the nearby water fountain. At this point I asked my lady friend to watch my things and told her I would be right back. With my messenger bag on my shoulder I walked towards them and started to pull out my water bottle so I could refill it at the (oh no Paul Douchebag!) the same water fountain as the “black thugs”.

“Hey guys, what was that all about?” I asked.

The two “black thugs” were young guys around 18 or 19 and obviously shaken by the intimidation tactics the white po-po had used on them.

“Man, they said they lookin’ for weed like we got weed on us or somethin’.” The one to my left answered.

“Did they try to search you?” I asked.

“Naw, but they over there tryin’ to search some of them.” Said the second young man.

I looked over to the court where the officers were already digging through a back-pack on a bench as all the other “black thugs” walked away.

“That’s messed up man. Hey listen fellas, don’t ever let a cop search you without a warrant and if they ever approach you again like that don’t say a word to them, all right.” I instructed.

The two young men looked at me a little perplexed. They had never heard this before, probably because the public education system doesn’t want young black men to know what their rights are.

“You mean I aint gotta let them search me if I don’t want to?”

“Of course not. If they don’t have a warrant with your name on it, what they want to search and what it is they are searching for signed by a judge, you don’t have to let them search a damn thing.” I said.

I pulled a pocket Constitution and flipped to the Fourth Amendment.

“Look at this fellas.” I said as both of them flanked me to read along.

“The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.” I read out loud.

The two young men looked at each other wide-eyed with a shared “Daaaaaaaaaaamn” which brought a well-earned smile to my face as I could hear light bulbs buzzing on.

“Now listen guys, cops can legally lie to you so don’t fall for their tricks that what I just showed you isn’t true, all right. Don’t let them try to get in your face and intimidate you because they’re just trying to throw you off your game, you got that?” I asked.

As both of them nodded I glanced over and saw that po-po one and po-po two had finished their search of the bag and now had their eyes on us, walking our way by the second. Knowing our time was short I knelt down to find something to write on from my bag and sat the Constitution in front of me.

“Listen guys, I’m going to give you my contact information so you can get a hold of me when we part ways. I’d like to teach you guys your Rights so you know how to deal with the cops when they approach you. They like to target young black men like you because they know you are unaware of your Rights by design so they can throw you in the system and keep you there most of your life so they can milk you for money. Sound like a plan?” I asked.

As the officers nearly approached us I looked up and saw both of them nodding with the confidence only a young black man can give the proper swagger to. As I started writing down some of my info it didn’t take too long before po-po pasty face’s voice chimed in with: “What’s in the bag?”

The two young black men froze on either side of me thinking they had jumped out of the frying pan only to find themselves in the fire. Still looking down I smiled as I thought; “Now here is a perfect teachable moment isn’t it? Thank you Universe.” Once I looked up the first thing I focused on was his name badge; J. Kemblech. The second thing I focused on was the face of the black officer who stood a few feet behind with the look on his face of ‘I’m just here because this white asshole needs a token black officer in case anything goes down and quite frankly I’m tired of this crap’ .

“What was that?” I asked.

Officer Kemblech repeated “What’s in the bag?”

“Do you have a warrant?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“I said, do you have a warrant?” I repeated.

Uh oh, I have questioned his authority and now his face contorts because I have not obeyed so I have to watch the obligatory Superman pose as his fists touch his hips.

“What’s going on here with you guys anyway?” Kemblech asks authoritatively.

“Oh, I’m just teaching these two young black men about their Constitutional Rights and how they don’t have to allow you guys to search them without a warrant.” I answered as I pointed to the Constitution in front of me.

To my pleasure the black officer behind pasty face smiled from ear to ear as the two young black men looked at me as if to say “Nigga, is you cray?”

“Oh is that right? You just come down here to teach people their rights like that’s normal or something?” Kemblech asked with arsenic in his tone.

“Well I’m down here playing with my kiddos over there if you must know but whenever I can teach someone about their Constitutional Rights I do as a matter of fact, you know the Constitution don’t you, that thing you took an oath to uphold?” I asked.

“I’m out here protecting your constitutional rights, untkay, so I think I might know it a little better than you. So let’s see some I.D.” Kemblech ordered.

“I don’t carry any.” I smirked.

He gives the look of astonishment because I don’t have any paypaz, cranes his neck and pulls out his pad and pen.

“What’s your name then?”

“I don’t have to tell you that either…sorry guy.”

His jaw opens in bewilderment as the black officer behind him drops his head in an attempt to hold back a laugh. Then like a spoiled little child who just had his lollipop taken away he exclaims “Yes you do! Georgia law says you have to provide me with your name and birthday if I ask you!”

“Would you like to read that to me in the O.C.G.A then tell me what probable cause you have that I am in the commission of a crime?” I asked.

“You’re loitering!”

“I’m in a public park and curfew isn’t until 9 p.m. so would you like to explain to me how I’m loitering?” I asked with my best return of the look of dumb-assery.

Officer Kemblech stutters and stammers for a moment, upset that his shiny badge and bat-gadgets aren’t helping him to get his little way and I make the decision to end this little back and forth.

“Look man, I’m going to go ahead and evoke my Fifth Amendment because I’m tired of answering your questions, okie dokie?” I smiled.

“So you aren’t going to give me your name?” He asked.

Silent smile.

“I said you aren’t going to give me your name?” He repeated.

Nothing but crickets. The two young black men looked at me with their  jaw to their pecs, then to me as if to say “Muhfucka, you is cray!”

“Oh, I see. You want to play the game.” Kemblech said as every officer I have ever encountered does.

That’s when I decided to activate my First Amendment with a response of “My Constitutional Rights are not a game and neither are theirs.” as I pointed to the young men beside me.

“Now” I said “am I under arrest, or am I free to go?”

With a humiliated swallow of pride he whimpered “You’re free to go.” So I stood to my feet and looked at the two young men with a wink knowing that it’s one thing to teach them their Rights but it is something completely different to show them their Rights in action.

“You fellas want to follow me and get this information I’m preaching?” I asked.

“Hell to the yeah.” They both reply as they give officer Kemblech their best chin snub.

“Let’s step.” I say as we turn our backs to them and walk to my lady friend and her kiddos with our best gangsta walk.

“By the way, whoever’s bag that is over there, you can go back and get it now. We found a little weed in there but I’m not worried about a little residue. If it’s yours you might want to grab it, there’s a nice pair of shoes in there. Wouldn’t want you to leave them behind.” Kemblech couldn’t help but baiting. We just kept walking.

My lady friend was sitting at the pic-nick table shaking her head with a smile as the three of us rolled up on a sista. I finished giving them my contact information and threw the Constitution down on the table for them to keep.

“You see how it’s done now fellas?” I asked.

My chest filled up with pride as I saw the look of empowerment on their face at having learned a most valuable lesson this day, a lesson they would never forget for the rest of their lives. They had seen first-hand how every American, black, white and everything in between should exert the God given Rights they are endowed with in the face of authoritarian oppression from a police state masquerading as protectors. I felt privileged having been the messenger of this most Holy message to two young men who have their whole lives ahead of them. I instructed them to contact me as soon as they got home and I would teach them how to use those Rights backwards and forwards under the condition that in turn they teach as many young black men the knowledge I would pass along to them; to which they agreed.

As they walked on their way my lady friend took her youngest one’s hand as her oldest hopped on my back and we made our way to her car. As she strapped the kids in their seats I watched as the police cruisers dispersed the area. Before she got in the car I gave her a peck on the cheek and told her I was going to walk back home and I would see her later to which she nodded and told me to be careful. So I put my earbuds back in and as the sun quickly faded and gave way to the dark I gangsta walked my way down the trail. Just before entering the woods leading to my house I looked over at the bench where the back-pack still sat. I looked around for a minute and with Geto Boys playing in my ear I walked over and snatched the bag up… like a boss.

So if you happen to be reading this Paul Douchebag, I would have you take note and realize that if you see young black men as “black thugs” it’s because you haven’t done your duty as an American patriot and shared with them the Rights you claim to have fought for. You are right in not wanting to tip toe around blacks because in all actuality you should be marching alongside of them. As for the Warner Robins police department, how about instead of looking for victimless crimes and racking up on quota arrests and citations you start looking for citizens performing good deeds and public services and uplift them. How about every cruiser is equipped with pocket Constitutions to be passed out rather than being equipped with military grade weapons? How about instead of We the people being expected to bow to your badge, your badge be so loaded with integrity and honor its heavy enough to make you bow to us; the people you made an oath to protect and serve?



As for the owner of the bag, please contact me on Facebook on a private message and I will be happy to return it to you. It still contains your kicks, house key, Chap Stick, gold chain, .87 cents and some receipts from fast food joints. I didn’t find any weed though.








Warner Robins Mayor Chucky Shaheen and Po Po Chief Bret Evans have successfully slipped the resolution for the Lenco B.E.A.R.C.A.T. through with the help of a unanimous vote from city council. Though this vehicle is a actually a tank being passed off as a “rescue vehicle” to the people of Warner Robins, the chief of police is more than happy to allow the smoke and mirrors of semantics to misguide his employers (We the People) so that his boys might get their new Tonka truck. In the following episode of ZEN IN THE CAR T.V., Daniel Louis Crumpton and Jason Patrick discuss the atmosphere at city hall and the actual machinations of how city government works in the international city.


Hoco 4 Liberty Raises Awareness of Lenco B.E.A.R.C.A.T.



I don’t think that most people pay attention to those chance meetings as much as they should when doing this thing we all call life. I don’t think that most people appreciate that when certain people or things cross your path they aren’t just random encounters. Those random moments are actually doorways into a brand new world that most of us are afraid to open, or on the other spectrum, answer. We live comfortable lives and we try to convince ourselves that we can surround ourselves with certain people, objects or places that can protect us from change and the truth of the matter is; nothing could be further from the actuality of what really is. Life is change. Life is fluid and either we move with it or it cascades over us, filling our nostrils and our lungs until we drown.

I myself, a student of the human mind and of human experience have always tried to be open to the doors of opportunity that present themselves and this is especially true when you find yourself in an American diner around 3:33 A.M. and there is some strange bloke in the corner scribbling poetry with dangly bits of iconography hanging from his neck. Knowing full well that each and every icon represented some fragment of his psyche I had to indulge in his offer to discuss psychology over a cup of coffee. I suppose this is how Daniel Louis Crumpton tempted me to become a contributor to ZENINTHECAR.COM. A discussion ensues and before you know it I’m neck deep in the philosophy of mixing spirituality with politics, and for the first time since I moved to the states I can see the connection between the two. “No commitments and no obligations” he says as he passes a folded sheet of notebook paper with his contact information on it. Before you know it he has me convinced that somehow or another I can make a contribution to this website and the Great Work he and his fellow patriots are working towards.

So here I am, tasked with writing a foreword for ZEN IN THE CAR T.V. and the recent push in Warner Robins to oppose the purchase of a $250,000.00 assault tank. Though I am new at this sort of thing, I have been assured that whatever I say will be acceptable and edited to shine my crazy diamond despite typos and intellectual fallacies; therefore I will do my best and hope not to disappoint you.


Recently the Warner Robins City Council had a resolution brought before them which would allocate the above funds to purchase what has been described as a “rescue vehicle”; however Jason Patrick, Daniel Louis Crumpton, Valerie Sargent Martin and Curtis Sirmans understood that this language was vague and deceptive. They being Liberty Activists already knew that this vehicle was anything but one for rescuing and decided it was time to make a stand in the channels of public authority. It was time for someone to stand in opposition to the militarization of peace officers in the land of the free and the home of the brave. As someone that has come from a place in the world where the idea of Freedom has been diluted to the constituency of water; I have to say they inspired me greatly in the area of lending my expertise and my voice. As the latest member of the ZENINTHECAR.COM family, I am happy to present to you the freshest of information from the 8th congressional district of Georgia. And I hope and pray that each and every one of you welcome me and my voice to the site. So enjoy the following ZEN IN THE CAR T.V. and please lend your support to those fighting in the fray.

Houston County For Liberty Raises Awareness of Lenco B.E.A.R.C.A.T.

Next: Warner Robins Councilman Justifies Bearcat

Daniel Louis Crumpton: Public Enemy Number…Whah? Part One


Daniel Louis Crumpton released

Ho la, all you Zenners in the 8th congressional district of Georgia, Daniel Louis Crumpton here at the keyboard to tap some keys and fill you in on my weekend adventure with the Houston County Sheriff’s department. You guys might want to take some notes on this one and put my story in the back of your mind for future reference because there is no doubt in my own two hemispheres that any of you out there calling yourselves Liberty Activists are sure to have similar experiences in the near future as our state and federal government continues to suck us all dry of our resources like the over-bloated tick, vampires that they are.

Okay, so Friday night (June 7th 2013) I was tucked neatly away in my bedroom in front of the computer at my mom’s pad…yes, I’m currently living with my mom…don’t judge, and what I call my Spidey sense goes off. You see I was attempting to write an article about a recent conversation Jason Patrick and me had over drinks down at my local watering hole inside Gold Cup bowling alley and at the time was also enjoying a snort of Mr. Williams with a tad bit of the soda to the side. Now I make no bones about having once been a raging alcoholic, in fact overcoming that vice has been one of the badges I wear on my sleeve. Having eliminated the chemical addiction through vitamin supplementation, sunlight, yoga and meditation I now have the ability to enjoy a calm drink now and then. Helps to loosen the fingertips and grease the wheels when it feels like the whole world is on your shoulders…quite literally. I was halfway through the piece, and man it was going to be a good one, when all of a sudden an incident occurs in my domicile regarding my siblings and some barbeque chicken stains on the floor.

Now the condiment stains on the floor may or may not have been my fault which is really neither here nor there, but nevertheless when you are packed like a sardine in a small space with in laws, outlaws and lunatics like me, sparks are always bound to fly. In my personal life as of the past few months your friendly neighborhood author has had to juggle many hats and many duties to get his life on track (which is a story unto itself) and it is only inevitable for tempers to flare. Which they did because after all if you are going to have a knock down drag out Jerry Springer session with your sister and her live in lover it might as well be over a barbeque chicken stain on the kitchen floor…because that only makes sense right?

20130611_201355Either way I had to make the choice of either loading my trusty Walther P99 (and yes my Dad specifically bought me that gun on my birthday because it’s the signature firearm of 007…jeez my Dad and I are such fanatics) and emptying the clip in my big, overbearing brother in whatchamacallit or …sigh…calling the po-po. And you guys know how much calling the po-po leaves a taste in my mouth like sucking on a dirty penny. So, not wanting to enflame the situation by hearing my piece shout in the night with all its 40 caliber glory, I opted to call 911. By the end of the story you and I will both agree that I probably should have just called Dr. Phil or Oprah or somebody. Hindsight is 2020 though.

When the police arrived a very large Houston County Sheriff’s officer by the name of Depty’ James did his best impression of Marshal Dillon from Gun smoke (which would’ve made my Dad slap his forehead in disgust) when he walked into the house to assess the situation. Now granted I had been drinking, but was very far from being naughty D, so I walked outside and flipped on the trusty smart phone camera to ensure everything was recorded for any possible court date that may or may not be in the future. Now I don’t want to get too much into the details of what the domestic squabble was all about in order to protect the innocent and befuddled but let’s just say that when Depty Dawg left the scene the episode only escalated further. I was not content to deal with seeing as how I was frothing at the mouth to get back to the keyboard and deliver to you the Jason Patrick goodness I had intended to a few days ago, so I simply called them back to have the offending party removed from the premises. When they did return, Depty Dawg James proceeded to march into the house and snap orders at my 70 year old mother, informing her to sit in the living room while I was escorted outside and given brand new, shiny arm bands to go with my leather ones. That would be handcuffs.

So your friendly neighborhood author was once again (that makes twice in a matter of three months) placed in the back of a cruiser with no shoes or socks and escorted down to the police department and thrown in a cage when no victim could be found in this zip code or any other. Obviously being an ardent Constitutionalist and Liberty activist, this pissed me off. I was charged with disorderly conduct and the arresting officer put down, as it was relayed to me, that my own mother and sister had filed the charges (lie number 1) and thrown behind bars.

I tried lying on the wooden bench and cooling off and for a while that worked. I tried meditating, but let’s face it; when you’ve already pulled a Dr. McCoy and had your Kentucky bourbon rush through the veins, meditating is kind of the last thing you want to do. However I did manage to do a few yoga stretches on the itchy blue blanket they provided. Then it struck me that I was being deprived of my freedom before any due process of law. I had been enjoying a drink, as all of you oft do and that is not a crime; in my own domicile no doubt. Yet there I was sitting on the floor of a sticky cell because Depty Dawg had to leave his cruiser more than twice in a night. So in Irish tradition I stood my ground and found the nearest surveillance camera, to which I eye balled it with my best all Seeing Eye and gave the biggest, longest William Wallace speech I could regarding the Constitution and the natural Rights all of us have. I probably threw in some threats of suing the city and the state, to which were obviously not idle. Of course I heard a few chuckles from the control desk regarding my passion of the ten amendments all the officers down at the Warner Robins pledged an oath to and heard nothing but crickets. Too bad you guys weren’t there. It was a really good speech. I promise.

african-american-man-in-handcuffs-300x198Then I sat back down on the bench and shortly after that I watched as the a typical happened. The po-po dragged a young black male into the cells and slammed him into a cubicle smaller than mine. Me being me, I proceeded to walk to his cell and ask him his story through a six by six window of rebar. The young black male was no older than 18 or 19 and scared white. It was the first time he had been brought in and the reason he had been brought in was because he and his girlfriend happened to pull up into an apartment complex where another young black male had been arrested. That’s it. That’s why he was arrested. So I commenced to inform him of his Rights and told him to keep his mouth shut and demand a jury trial after pleading not guilty. When the officer on duty came to break it up I asked for my one phone call. Now pay attention because this part is funny.

He escorted me out of the cells and to the phone. He stood me in front of the phone and told me to make my phone call, to which I smiled and replied “Okie Dokie”. So me being me, I dialed 911 and when dispatch answered I told them I had been kidnapped by the Warner Robins Police Department and was being held against my will without due process of law. Ain’t I a stinker? The deputy on duty quickly snatched the phone from me and hung it up. All I could do was muster an ear to ear grin because after all I was telling the truth.

Things went down hill from there as you can imagine. Depty Dawg James swaggered in the cells and threw more shackles on me to take me out to Perry where the Houston County Detention Center resides behind the courthouse. My time there is an entirely different story, so for now I will leave you with this little diddy of my week. Glad all of you are reading. Namaste.
Spider-Man Fights for Mary Jane

Spider-Man Revealed

Next: Daniel Louis Crumpton: Public Enemy Number…Whah? Part Two