No Officers Were Hurt

Last night, a man with a pocket knife was shot dead by the LAPD on a bustling corner of Hollywood Boulevard. Of course, no officers were hurt.

“No officers were hurt.”

I’m constantly reading that sentence these days. It’s the go-to closing line for every dry and dreary news report about some poor bastard being beaten up, choked out, or gunned down by the police.

The news that no officers were hurt is supposed to be a good thing. It’s supposed to be an assurance. For me, it’s not. For me, it’s an accusation.

If no officers were hurt, then tell me why another man is lying dead in the fucking street. If no officers were hurt, tell me how you can even begin to justify the use of all that lethal force.

“No officers were hurt.”

Every time I read that line, it feels like further proof that police are trained to kill before risking even the slightest injury to themselves. I’m sorry, but I’m just not okay with that.

We give these men badges, and in exchange for that authority, we expect them to be held to a higher standard. We give these men guns, and in exchange for that power, we expect them to put the safety of others ahead of their own.

They aren’t living up to that standard — not in Los Angeles, not in New York, certainly not in Ferguson, and probably not in your neighborhood either. Time and again, all I see is evidence that the police aren’t putting anyone else’s safety ahead of their own.

Do you know how I know that?

“No officers were hurt.”

The Banality of Evil

First, watch this:

 

 

Did you watch it all? Seriously. Go back, and watch it all. Especially the part that starts at eight minutes thirty seconds.

Now take a deep breath, exhale the rage, and watch this:

 

 

Left alone to wallow in his own willful ignorance, Jesse Lee Peterson would be just another pathetic little wingnut with a head full of misogynistic nonsense. Unfortunately, he’s been given a pulpit and national airtime, and that kind of cultural quasi-legitimacy makes him dangerous.

To her credit, Kirsten Powers knows the difference between an opponent and an actual enemy. She had enough integrity to hit the pause button on the Fox News propaganda machine and share a brief on-air moment of honesty. She called Peterson out for his blatant hate speech, because her values as a woman are rightfully more important than a round of bullshit talking points.

Good for her. She did what she could, but it isn’t enough, because assholes like Sean Hannity won’t stop granting access to lunatics like Peterson until they start losing sponsors. That’s why I’m sharing this, because everyone needs to know. Everyone needs to see what the banality of evil really looks like, and everyone needs to get angry.

 

Nelson Warfield

molester

 

Look at this gerbil faced molester.

His name is Nelson Warfield, and he’s the GOP strategist who wrote and produced Rick Perry’s anti-gay, pro-Jesus, shit-kicking shit-storm of a campaign ad.

This is the asshole who needs to be getting a little more attention right now.

Let’s face it, Rick Perry is nothing but a squinty-eyed muppet made out of the same thick felt as George W. Bush. It takes an evil Jim Henson to make the candidate’s lips move, and this is the secret handshake motherfucker who puts the words in Rick’s mouth.

I guess it’s a good thing that Captain Bumblefuck McWingnut here doesn’t have a clue how painfully out of touch he is with the prevailing sentiments of American culture. There was a time when his flavor of small-minded, ultra-religious bullshit would have stuck to the side of the barn, but now even the rednecks can smell what he’s shoveling.

I suppose I should be glad that he’ll be the self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head of Rick Perry’s campaign, but still, fuck this guy. I hope he wakes up tomorrow with a tweed allergy, and may his teeth forever match his tie.

 

John Pike

pork

 

Look at this pork dumpling. I mean, just look at him — pear-shaped and slouchy, pug-nosed and stupid looking, sporting a handlebar mustache as if to hide the fact that he might have down’s syndrome.

He’s practically a cartoon of a campus cop, and this picture of him would be little more than silly if it weren’t taken moments before he walked up to a row of peaceful protesters at UC Davis and blasted them in the face with pepper spray so casually you’d think he was watering his fucking lawn.

If ever there were a poster boy for the banality of evil, it would be this guy.

For the record, his name is John Pike and he’s a Lieutenant with the UC Davis Police. Not that his name matters, because he’s unremarkable in every way.

That’s the point, really. He’s just an average schlub working for an average campus police force at an average school in an average town. He is painfully average. This guy spends his days writing reports for stolen bicycles and confiscating open cans of Four Loko. Sure, he’s got a gun and a badge, but who are we kidding? He’s one notch above mall security.

Pathetic men like John Pike are precisely why the banality of evil is such a potent concept, and it’s all those empty heads underneath those ridiculous storm trooper helmets that lead to this kind of normalization of authoritarian violence.

This is the part where I’m supposed to say “fuck the police,” but when tubs of shit like this are making the news, I honestly don’t have any more fucks to give.

At this point, I’ll be surprised if he’s even reprimanded.

 

Ziptie Handcuffs

ties

 

Maybe it’s my kink showing, but I’ve got a thing for those ziptie handcuffs that the police have been using throughout the occupation protests.

I’m fascinated by them, not just as objects, but as their potential to be a symbol. They are ‘single use only’ instruments of oppression — cheap, wasteful, and violent — and of course, they come in pink.

In a disposable plastic society, a pair of ziptie handcuffs couldn’t be a more fitting representation of the banality of evil, and if it were up to me, the wide-eyed shape of those loops of nylon would become an appropriated logo for everyone who’s fed up with living in a police state.

 

Fuck The Police

 

Imagine you are part of a small group of women walking down the street in whatever town you call home. Suddenly, a half dozen men carrying guns swarm around you with a large net and hold you captive. Without provocation or warning, two of the men rush toward you and spray weaponized chemicals into your eyes and mouth that cause searing pain like you’ve never felt before in your life. You fall to the sidewalk shrieking in agony. No one is able to help you, because the men are all still holding you against your will.

In any other context, these men are criminals engaged in a conspiracy of false imprisonment and aggravated assault. Even in the context of the current Wall Street protests, they are little more than a brute squad. Personally, I don’t care that they’re wearing a badge. They may claim to be law enforcement, but they are enforcing no laws. They are doing what storm troopers have always done in the name of order, and they act without any fear of reprisal.

Thing is, cowards like that wouldn’t know legitimate civil unrest if it was shooting at them from the rooftops. Americans used to chase down unjust authority figures and tar and feather them in the streets. The least these non-violent protestors could do is document the badge numbers of the officers committing these acts of brutality. Give us their names.

They are just men, after all.

Fuck the police.

 

Great. The TSA searched my luggage and I’m missing my favorite pair of panties. That’s not creepy or anything.

What A Monster

Gail-Posner

 

This soulless piece of leather just bequeathed an eleven million dollar estate to her pet chihuahua. That’s right, three million cash and a Miami mansion worth $8.3 million dollars.

I’m over here getting physically ill trying to imagine the sheer magnitude of malignant narcissism it would take to think that it’s okay to waste that kind of money on a little rat dog.

I don’t care if the evil cunt was a world class philanthropist (she wasn’t, by the way) because that shit is totally unacceptable.

She could have chosen to alleviate a lot of human suffering. Instead, her fucking chihuahua wears diamond necklaces and farts through pink silk.

What a monster. I hope the cancer killed her slowly.

 

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