The Truth Shall Set You Free

Proud Boys

I got an impressive e-mail from PUDFARB REC with the subject line, “The Truth Shall Set You Free.” Wrong. Their truth is that I am more evil than Voldemort. Every misery they suffer is attributable to something I did or am. All the candles lit, rituals performed, and incantations spoken against me don’t reach me.

The e-mail declared that PUDFARB has a warrant for my arrest. My destination is a ReEducation Camp. So that I can be put right and assume my position as a Cadre Leader. PUDFARB has five retired Crown Victoria New York taxicabs decorated in New Woke Order themes with house paint. Cheap dish tubs lettered with vinyl electrician’s table serve as taxi lights.

Where they found mechanical taxi meters and someone to maintain them is something of a mystery. But they did. These progressives reached into 1984 and demanded their Taxi Unlimited back. I’m the only surviving member from that time period. Toxic living and addiction killed Bear, Lenore, Cheryll, and Malloy. Norm died of old age, basically. PUDFARB tried to arrest Ginny but she made a call and instead, they fell to the floor and begged for mercy. Senior Party Members are very equal.

Rusty Checker Cab The Truth Shall Set You Free

Lies, Damned Lies, and Freedom

I left Taxi Unlimited in 1986. My first stop was the California Hotel on Shattuck Avenue near Addison. I was still a member but now I had a hotel room. This is where things started to go south for PUDFARB. Taxi Unlimited wasn’t making the money I needed. Licensed Oakland Cab drivers were earning double what I made as a member of the Collective.

Taxi Taxi was a new cab company started by Dianne Wallace. It took a bit to get my cab driver’s license from Oakland. PUDFARB accused me of being a white privileged capitalist pig. Oakland looked into it and decided they didn’t care. Funny thing about being hungry—it’s motivating. So when PUDFARB threatened me with ruin if I left well . . . I was already ruined so . . .

I became an enemy of PUDFARB. When the social worker at the homeless shelter offered me coaching on how to qualify for Psychiatric Disability the expected answer was, “Sign me up”. I said, “I’d rather work.” Wrong answer. It’s still the better answer.

Your Under Arrest The Truth Shall Set You Free

DIE Marshalls

No, not what you think. Our US Marshalls and other law enforcement do incredible and necessary work. PUDFARB marshalls have my sympathy. They are law enforcement so their status with the Party isn’t stable. Standards and practices change with the weather. It’s Sunday after church and I’m in line waiting to order my usual Grande Pike with Cream.

In front of me is a 5’4″ guy wearing a navy blue jumper, a white long-sleeved blouse, white tights, and Doc Martin boots. His hair is in two buns that began as braids. The jumper has a velvet patch that sort of resembles a police badge. No equipment belt. Instead, he has a clear book bag with his Newton MessagePad 2100 and other gear. On his left shoulder is a Jean Bison Pocket Hobo purse. It’s the Uniform of the Day for PUDFARB marshalls.

It is an amazing mix of signals from the getup and the cop. Without the uniform [cough] costume the cop is an average-looking dude. A little short, maybe 130 pounds, but squared away (except for the hair [cough] wig). WileyX Saber Advanced sunglasses The only thing trans about him is the uniform [cough] costume. Another detail: he has one of those clear vinyl coiled cord earbuds that you see on FBI and Secret Service.

Long Black CoffeeThe Truth Shall Set You Free

The Usual

Officer Krupky is ahead of me in line. I was expecting him to order a triple shot Caramel Macchiato with whipped cream. I was wrong. Venti Pike, Black. I know that order. It’s as close as you can get from Starbucks to shipboard Navy coffee. There is more to this cop than the appearances. He orders and moves to the counter where orders are placed for pickup.

I’m waiting for my Grande Pike. The etiquette in this situation is to mind your own business. Focus on getting your order. Social Distancing is still a thing in the SF Bay Area so keep your distance. It took me a moment to understand that he was talking to me, “S’up.”

“Nothing. What about you?”
“I recognize you. You are wanted. I don’t want to make a scene. Can we step outside?”
I have more sense about cops than that PUDFARB bureaucrat that got himself hauled away in a hobble, “Sure.”

We sit down at a table outside, “What’s up?”
“I should arrest you and take you to be processed. You are number one on the Most Wanted list.”
“You should. I won’t resist.”
“I know. But there is something else.”
“I want to defect.” Wait. WHAT!? “Why?”
Cops don’t cry, do they? Tears started to well up, “Don’t make me explain. Eyes are everywhere. Do you know Ophie?” I do. But it’s not something I brag about. And Ophie’s idea that the Goochland farm would be an easy thing turns out to be a fantasy. The renovation work is only one of the hornet’s nests exposed when she took it over. But . . . that’s a story for another day, “Give me your phone.” I dunno. But he’s a cop and he’s not moving to take me into custody, “Ok.”

Not So Usual

I unlock it for him and hand my phone to him. He does something and hands it back, “I added my number. Give it to Ophie.” Officer Krupky gets up from the table, takes his coffee with him, and leaves.

Officer Krupky (not his real name) lives in San Lorenzo and has a wife and two kids. His address is a house in a quieter neighborhood dominated by Central Americans. The week following our encounter the Daily Californian was obsessed with a narrative detailing a secret cabal conspiring to sabotage the tranquility and freedom of the citizens of PUDFARB. So they said, a dedicated advocate of good citizenship and equitable implementation of reasonable law was kidnapped by an enemy of the state: me.

Now the hunt is on for Officer Krupky. PUDFARB REC is again claiming that they redoubled efforts to bring me home. This time to put me in front of a tribunal and accuse me of treasonous and mortal sins. Meh. I was born this way and Jesus loves me.

All Quiet Here

It’s Saturday afternoon. I bought a used laptop from eBay. While I type this I’m moving myself from my old laptop to this one. Facebook keeps pushing notifications with the latest headline of one other thing I did to shake the foundations of city hall. My biggest accomplishment today is finishing my laundry. It’s amusing to watch the PUDFARB pundits spin tales of the things I am accused of doing.

Officer Krupky did make the connect with Ophie. I know this because a recent Daily Californian headline claimed I’d mass murdered him, his wife, and two children in a bloody massacre with an illegal assault rife. The paper published front-page photos of the San Lorenzo home smoldering after a CS gas grenade ignited the living room carpet. It seems I’m also an arson and that I burned the house to cover up the murders. Woo.

No word on Officer Krupky and his family. I’m sure they are safe. It’s better that I don’t know where they are or how they are doing. PUDFARB is stupid in many ways but even they have moments of brilliance that could be trouble for Krupky and his family. In the meantime, my lawn needs attention.