This is a work of FICTION
I
Killing cops is easy.
You just roll up on ‘em, shoot ‘em in the head, and keep
on rolling. Ain’t nobody gonna tell on
you. First off, they figure, if you’re
shooting a cop, you must be crazy. So
they scatter. And most poor
neighborhoods, they don’t snitch.
Besides, nobody gets torn up about a cop dying except other cops and
their families.
They're never ready for it, not for real. Don’t believe that bullshit when cops tell you things
like, “they were scared for their lives.”
They’re only scared when they tell you to do something and you don’t do
it. It’s like, something short-circuits
in those tiny pig brains of theirs and they don’t know what to do.
“I told him to stand still, and he wouldn’t, so what do I
do now?”
First answer they got is violence. First answer.
Yeah, they might ask you a couple of times, or if it’s a “good” cop,
they might seriously try and talk you down.
But try talking down a cornered cat, who’s scared, who knows what’s gonna
happen to it if it gives up. Does that
shit work? Or does the cat panic and
fight back, and scratch and claw?
That’s the thing.
They always talk about, “I was scared so I had to defend myself.” Motherfucker, you don’t know scared until a
man (or woman; I don’t discriminate) rolls up on you wearing a uniform and a
badge that says “I can do whatever the fuck I want to you” and has a gun to
back it up. Oh, and there’s almost
always more than one of them. They come up and start screaming at you and guns are out and you’re like, “Oh, shit.” ‘Cause you’ve seen the videos, man. You’ve seen ‘em. Little kids getting shot in the chest. Dudes getting shot with their backs
turned. On and on. You know what these fuckers are capable of,
so you know what you’re gonna get, even if, catch this: EVEN IF YOU DO WHAT THEY SAY. They still probably gonna shoot you dead.
“I was scared for my life.”
Yeah. Right.
Time to be really scared, motherfuckers.
II
That day I got back from the doctor, the day they told me
I was gonna die, no ifs ands or buts, that day was a liberating day for
me. I was sad at first because, you
know, nobody wants to die. We all know
it’s gonna happen. We all know it’s waiting
for us, that little pot of black gold at the end of the rainbow. Death is gonna greet us one day. Sometimes we get a little say in how it goes
down, sometimes we don’t.
Me, I was pretty startled.
“Cancer is eating your guts,” or something like that, the
doctor says. You kinda stop listening
after you hear the word “Cancer” followed by the words “You have a few months
to live.”
I never knew my family.
I was an orphan, grew up half my life in a home. I was close to getting adopted once, but the
family decided I was too old for what they wanted. These couples, they all want babies to raise
up as their own, so they can pretend.
Wasn’t no pretending with me. The
other half of my young life was spent in jail.
Yeah, they call it other things for youths like me, but it’s really
jail. I had troubles. I was angry all the time. I set some fires, stole some candy from a
corner store, those kinds of things. I
guess they could have got me some mental help, but they didn’t bother. Just threw me into one of their “correctional
facilities” and let the real animals loose on me.
You learn a lot in there.
You either learn to fight or get eaten.
It’s like that cat thing I mentioned before. They back you in a corner. You either get kicked to death or you claw
their fucking eyes out. I’m proud to say
they only got to me the once, the first night I was ever in one of those
places. Four boys, all bigger than me
except one. They pinned me down in my
bunk and stuffed a nasty sock in my mouth.
They did what they wanted. I
cried and screamed. Nobody came but the
boys sticking it in me.
I learned.
Motherfucker, I learned.
I got each one of them back. Each one.
I waited and caught them alone.
One kid lost a couple fingers. One lost an
eye. I stabbed the littlest one in his
dick. The fourth one got it in the
ear. He never heard right out of that
ear again.
I learned.
When I was eighteen, my record got cleaned and I was let
go. I found out pretty quick that the world out there was
as nasty as the one inside. I got a job,
though, working register at a gas station.
You might think I’m some kind of dumb savage, an animal. You might be right. I am those things when I need to be. But I’m also smart. I can read.
And I read a lot in jail. A whole
lot. Got my hands on some good
books. I learned math, too. I took the GED and got my high school degree
and I never went to school, except in the facilities. So getting a job ringing up numbnuts was
pretty simple, especially since I no longer had a record.
I got so good, they promoted me to manager. I wasn’t rolling in money but I made enough
to get myself a small apartment. I saved
up and bought a TV and a couch that doubled as a bed. Those were out of my price range. I found a couch cheap but beds…No sir. I lived close enough so I could walk back and
forth from work. Made a nice little life
for myself.
When I was old enough, I went to the bars and clubs to
have a good time. I didn’t have much
money, but I could talk good, and that scored me a little bit of pussy. There was nobody ever serious in my life,
though. How could there be? I was dumped as a baby and never had a real
family. That leaves a motherfucker with
some trust issues, don’t it?
I started seeing how the cops treat people on the
streets. I started to see how beat the
shit out of blacks and poor whites. The
blacks got it worse, though. The cops
would hold back some on the whites. Not
the blacks. It was like they had a
special license to shit on them all the way.
I stayed away from it. I remembered how the guards used to treat us
in the facilities. Us white boys got a
little bit of a break, but that didn’t matter too much. If they wanted to beat you, they would. If they wanted to stick their cock in your mouth and make you suck it, they would.
Mostly they did that to the blacks, like I said. They loved to rape the black boys. But some of us whites got it, too. They left me alone, other than the occasional
beating. I had gotten a reputation as a
boy who did not give a fuck. And I
didn’t. How could anyone, in a place
like that?
So I saw what they did inside and outside. I saw how the cops didn’t give a fuck,
either. Why should they? Shoot down kids, shoot down unarmed people,
choke a man to death for selling loosies, kneel on a man’s neck until he dies. They can do whatever the fuck they want. Yeah, they might get fired or reprimanded, or
maybe even go to jail. But that’s what,
one out of thousands of them? The rest
literally get away with murder.
I used to watch the TV and burn with anger at all of
it. I used to go to the protests. I’d yell and holler and scream and
chant. It didn’t do a damn bit of
good. All they did was call in more cops
or the National Guard and they’d remind us of who was in charge. They’d beat our heads in and arrest us and
guess what? They got away with it. They always get away with it.
So I stopped going, and I tried to ignore it. But I couldn’t. It ate me up inside. So I went to this gun’s rights group. Bunch of other whites like me, sitting in a
room, talking about how we need our guns to protect ourselves from
tyranny. “We might need to overthrow our
government someday!”
I stood up in their group, a bunch of nodding fat boys,
and told them like it is.
“The tyranny is here,” I said. And I told them what was happening on the
streets. I told them about blacks
getting killed by cops, and whites too.
They argued with me.
Can you believe that shit?
They argued with me.
Told me people should listen to the cops and do what they’re told. Said there wouldn’t be any problems if they
did that.
I told ‘em again how it really was. They didn’t want to hear it.
“You all are a cowards,” I said. “You talk about freedom and your rights, and
you won’t even go out and protect those that need protecting.”
This got ‘em mad, of course. They started yelling at me and they got
together to kick me out. Well, the old
me got riled and I popped a couple upside their heads on the way through the
doors. They didn’t like that much,
either. I got a good stomping that day,
but I gave some back. In the end, I
stumbled away, my nose busted, and I called them all cowards again.
“You chickenshits,” I said. “You talk and talk, but you don’t do a damned
thing.”
That’s when I gave up on those Second Amendment
types. They’re worthless. They like to stroke their guns like their
little dicks and talk about how tough they are.
They ain’t. They’re cowards.
And then the day came, when I went to the doctor ‘cause I was shitting blood and my guts hurt. And the doctor told me the most liberating thing ever.
I was walking home, feeling sorry for myself, when I saw
this kid on his bike. He was riding hard
down the street. This man was running
after him, shouting “Thief! Thief!”
The kid was laughing, having a good old time. His mouth was full of bubblegum and he was
sweating hard. He was going to get away,
too, until a cop car pulled around the corner and cut him off. The kid swerved and wrecked into a light pole
and went tumbling. He came up on his
feet, though, and was getting ready to run when the cops closed in.
Of course they had their guns out.
They told him to put his hands up and he did.
“It was just some candy,” the kid yelled.
“He’s got a gun!” one of the pigs shouted.
Bam!
Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!
I saw a piece of that kid’s skull fly off and most of his
stomach was ripped open. The kid danced
a jitterbug and hit the ground.
The pigs?
Well, they felt real awful about it. You could tell. One of them started crying and the other
patted his partner on the back.
“We had no choice,” the one said. “We were in fear for our lives.”
More cops came, and an ambulance. And then the funniest fucking thing ever
happened. One of the cops went to the
corner and bought a pizza. He brought it
out and the cops that shot the kid were standing to the side, eating pizza and
laughing while the crime scene people came along and was doing their thing.
My stomach ached, reminding me how my guts were eating
themselves. Reminding me I didn’t have
long to live.
That’s when I knew what I had to do.
III
So it’s really easy, see.
You just slide up behind ‘em, while they sit in their
piggy cars, with their fat arm hanging out.
You walk up, pull your shotgun, and start blasting. They die quick. Sometimes they squeal.
It helps that I’m white.
They’re a little bit less suspicious of me. But if you’re black, you can do it, too.
I’ve killed four cops so far. They got no leads. The pigs are in a panic. To get them really scared, I composed a
letter and sent it to the paper. Yes, a
real letter, not some email bullshit.
They know you’re serious if you take a pen and paper and write that shit
down.
Now they’re really riled up.
It’s gotten harder to kill them.
But that’s no big thing. I’ll
just move on to another city and start killing them there. Write another note, say I’m inspired by the
guy in Chicago. When that city gets too
hot, I’ll move on to another one and do the same. They’ll think it’s a movement, and then those
piggy fucks will get BIG TIME scared.
They’ll get me eventually. But that’s okay. Hopefully I’m planting a seed. Hopefully others will see what I did and
think there’s more of me out there, and that they’re not alone.
Here’s the thing:
We outnumber the pigs.
And they can’t get us all.
