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'FUCK12' 12 TIMES I'VE BEEN STOPPED BY POLICE WITHOUT PROBABLE CAUSE

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'12' SLANG FOR COPS. ALSO: FIVE-O, DICK, ROSS, BASTARDS, FAGGOTS, POLICE, PIG, ONE TIME, DT, THE MAN, THE LAW, THEM BOYS, PO PO.


"African Americans Are Soldiers Behind Enemy Lines. Like Any Good Soldier, If Captured, Provides His Name, Rank, and Serial Number. That's It." -jonathan d riley


"We Do Not Talk To 12. We Do Not Cooperate With 12. We Are Stay At War With 12. We Do Not all 12. We Do Not Respect 12. Period. Why Not?"


1. 1992. A mom called 911 on her twelve year old son. said he was 'acting up'. 'hey, come here'. 'no the kid said. and turned to walk away. but 12 grabbed him and forced him the the ground. 'get off me faggot'! the kid screamed. 'Stop resisting!' The kids legs were straight out in front of him. 12 was behind him, pushin his upper body down. when he did that, It was hard for the kid to breath. 'stop resisting'! 12 repeated. He keeps pushing down on the kids back. Cause his stomach damn near touch his thighs. That made it hard for the kid to speak. 'I'm not! Get the fuck offa me'. he manage to squeeze out. The kid realized that whenever he brought his knees up, he could breathe with no prob. But 12 realized it too. So everytime the kid tries to bring them up, the prick pushes the kids knees back down every time he started to bring them up. without enough oxygen, the kid starts to tire. And it gets harder and harder for him to breath. 12 was heavy. And a full grown man. the kid has had enough 'Alright i give'! he says. 'Stop resisting'! 12 says . Still pushing down on the kids back.

Finally, the faggot rolls the kid over on his stomach and cuffs on'em.


2. ‘03, Deerfield New Jersey. I knew this guy. Young guy. 23 years old. Hangin out on a corner in midtown manhattan. shootn the shit with a few of his friends. All of a sudden, this big red pickup truck pulls up. It got 'Carnaval' in big cursive yellow letters on the side. This white dude poked his head out the drivers side. He was like “Yo, anybody wanna work?” “Doin what?” we ask him in unison. “Travel’n around Jersey settn up carnival rides, he says. “Settn’m up and takin them down from town to town.” “How much money you talkn?” my buddy asks. “250 a week.” he says. “Plus room and board.”


Some guys turned up their noses and turned their back on the guy. But the kid and a few others agreed to the terms and hopped in the back of the truck.

A couple weeks later and the kid still works at the carnival. Travel’n around Jersey, settn up then taken down the carnival rides over and over from one town to another. It's hard labor. And the kid had to be taught to assemble the rides. Pretty soon. He Became good at it. And was one of the hardest, strongest workers there.

This week we were in some racist shit hole called Deerfield. One night. The youngin gets hungry. And decides to take a walk to the gas station a couple blocks down from the camp. The young man admits it was late. But not too late to be suspicious you know what i mean. About ten thirty or so.


It's pitch black dark outside. Coming from Kentucky I'm used to dark country roads. But living in NY for so long now. It took some time to get used to them again.


On each side of the road are large clearing. At the end of the field I can see the outline of trees that seemed to stretch for miles. Street lights are few and far between.


'Now this is the fuckin country'. The kid says in reminiscence himself bringing back a lot of memories from home.


While he's busy reminiscing, a cop car pulls up beside him. 'Whatcha doin out this late'? the kids keeps walking. 'None of your fuckn business'? is his reply. The kid knows what this is. It's the same cop car that had passed him about a block ago. The kid had an idea he would circle back around. The cop says 'Ok just checkn up on ya buddy its late'. Then the fag peels off.


Not even a minute later, he pulls back around and again pulls his car up beside the young man. But this time he stops. The young man says in a loud voice, “Look man, what the fuck you want? I'm walking down the fuckn street on my way to the store, and you harassing me!” The pig says. “I'm not harassing you. I don't want nothin. Just want'n to see if your alright.” The young man raises his voice slightly higher. “Man I told you I'm aight!” “ok”. The fat old 12 says. He drives off the road onto a gravel patch.


As he does so, small rocks and gray dust fly into the air under the big Crown Vics tires. Then jumps back onto the country road. And Makes a dash into the darkness from which he came.


3. Its like '05 right. Chillin wit my mans'n’em in the port authority. We all politic'n right. Its like 5 of us. Next thing u no, this family walks by no wat im sayin. some brady bunch lookn mu fukas, lookin like they aint neva had a bad day in they life right.


While choppin it up wit my mans I hear my other friend say somen to these white people who walk by. i ain even hear wat the nigga said but i no the dude he was taking to kinda laughed after he said it. Now I didn't pay that shit no mind. im like, the nigga musta said something to em like how Mayberry they look or some'n. So's i pays it no mind an keep chopp'n it up wit my mans an forget all about the shit.

Next thing u know. 12 runs up on us like 5 deep. All of'em had their guns drawn pointin straight at our faces and screaming, "All youse against the wall now! Get against the fuckn wall!"


Niggas threw they hands up mad quick. I guess niggas wasn't walkin fast enough for'em cause the crackas started grabbin niggas an throwin'em up against the wall. Once at wall 12 made me and buddies get down on our knees and place our hands against the wall.


The 12 hold'n me down crouched down behind me an put his Roscoe right against my temple. He put his face mad close to my ear and said rather calmly but forcefully, "If you move I'll blow...your...fucking...head off. I'll blow...your...head...right off. You understand me?" "Yes sir." I said. Move your hands off that fuckn wall an I'll blow your fuckn head off! You got me?"

"Yes sir I understand. I got you."


Turns out them Brady bunch lookin mufukas went an toll 12 that one of my peoples had said something about robbing them with a gun (which none of us had). After that the faggots cuffed us, dragged us all to the precinct at the rear of the Port Authority, searched us, put us in a holding pen, ran all our names through the system, then released us. Luckily, none of us had any warrants.


4. Woow. its cold! its winter of 07'. I just hopped off the subway from class and I'm exhausted. I can't wait to get in the house. Take a shower and just unwind. Luckily my place is only a couple of blocks from the station. But this wind making it seem more like a mile. im moving fast. but not running. I get to the corner that leads to my place. before i could take the turn straight to the house, a gray impala stops in front of me. I know what it is. I'd been through this many times. The make of the car, the ink black tint, the smug faces on all four passengers. Especially from the driver. Some Spanish lookin dude. He rolls his window down before he even gets in front of me. Thats what enabled me to see the three more faggs.


'Where you going'? Spanish asks. 'None a yo fuckn business!' 'Dont talk to me like that. im police'. “I know who TF you is. that's why I said it.” “You keep talkin to me like that, i'ma put you on the hood of my car?” I stand as straight up as I can and say, “lets see you do it”. He sticks his arm and elbow out the window and leans out even more. We lock eyes for a while.

I see the faggot cop passenger nudge Spanish on his side. Then Spanish says to me, “What chu wanna do?!”


“Enough of this.” I thought to myself. And relaxed my shoulders. “I wanna go home!”


5. '09. Walkin down the goddamn street. I was over my tutors house studying for school. We got hungry and I volunteered to go on a KFC run. There and back I got my earphones blastin music in my ears as usual. I'm a few houses away from my tutors home. Carry’n a large plastic KFC bag. When out the corna of my eye, I peep a maroon impala slow up then stop close behind me.


I already know what this is. I’m black. So have been through it several times before. Out the corner of the same eye I see two faggots who I know are police doin a half jog in-order to catch up to me. I hear their muffled cries of, “Hey! Hey! Stop!” Over the sound of my music. But when this shit happens, I do my best to never make it easy for these guys.


One 12 runs up and pushes me against the iron fence next door to my tutors yard. Here we go. I take off my head phones. “Yo what the fuck is this shit?! The fuck u doin?!” “We told you to stop several times.” “You see these headphones in my ear faggot?” I began to struggle “TF you stoppin me for muthafucka?” He gives me the ol, “We've had burglaries in the area and you fit the description.” The oldest, dumbest excuse for stoppin brothas that every cop on earth uses. An excuse that if I had a dollar for every time I've heard, then I wouldn't be eating KFC. Over the years it seems to me that I fit the description of every criminal on earth! And just happened to be in the same ‘area’ as each of them.


“A robber with a KFC bag full of food?” I try again to walk away. but two of them tightened their grip on my arms. “Ima ask you one more time for your ID, or i'ma run you down to the precinct'. 'Do what you gotta do faggot. Cause I ain't givin you shit!”


“Name and ID.” They kept repeating. ”Man, I ain giving you shit muthafuka! Suck my dick!” I kept repeating. Still pressin me against the fence. One of the white faggots says AGAIN! “If you do not give us your name or ID, we are going to take you down to the station.” I could see that my tutors window on the second floor of his brownstone was wide open. “Man, y'all aint taken me nowhere!” I start screaming my tutors name. “Brian! Brian! Brian!” As loud as I could. But he did not come.


Turns out there were three of them. One stayed by the car. The white boy leader told the other two to cuff me. I resisted just enough to remain standing as straight and upright as I possibly could. They cuffed me. Took my bag of food, and through me in the back of the Impala.


The faggot who stayed by the car the whole time jumps in the back with me. But there was another person back there as well. Some Spanish kid. He couldn't have been any older than 18,19 years old and he was handcuffed as well. I guess you fit the description too? I asked him. But he did not answer.


One faggots in the back seat with us. Its crowded. So after a while it gets hot. The biggest dickhead in the front seat turns around an says to his partner in the back, 'Hey! roll that window down! this one stinks!'


We got to the precinct. They separated me and the kid. I get placed in one pen. Then they take the kid upstairs. Through the whole indecent, 12 kept comin back and forth askin me my name. An over and over each time I tell them to, “Eat a dick!”


I guess they had enough of that. Cause two of them pull me out the bull pen. Still cuffed, two of then started goin through my pockets. then big dickhead started going through my pockets. I resist somewhat. Say a few words of protest. But in my experience, I know that in the end, they will get what they want. They find my ID. run my name. Find out I ain't got no warrants. Then let me go.


6. Its like 04' 05' right. im chilllin wit my mans 41st an eight avenue right. We just standin on the corna kickin it. Then out ah nowhere right, these two D's run up on us on foot. A dude and some blonde haired blue eyed chick DT. That bitch was the first to say som’em. Talkin bout, “What are you guys doing out here.” Me an my mans look at each other and laugh. Then I say. “Mindin my business. What you doin out hai?”


The under-covers were mad young. Bout me an my mans age 24, 25 years old. The bitch was like, “You know youes guys are in a high crime area right?” And my mans is like “So. what that got to do with us? we just standing here?”


The whole time, we’re talkin we make no eye contact with the cops. We just look around, have lil side conversations with each other. Trying to carry on what we were doin before the faggots got there and started fuckin wit us. Then the dude cop is like, “Any of you live around here?” “Nope.” Me and my guy say at the same time. “Well you guys…” he's cut off mid-sentence by my cell phone ringing. My mans bent over crackin up. “Yo! this nigga phone is ringin!” He thought it was so funny, and so priceless. And so did I. I laugh too. And he laughs even harder when I slap him five then walk off to have a conversation.


We turn our backs to the two rooks walking casually away. They didn't say anything else to us. We just left'm stinkin. Look’n stupid.


7. 04', Greyhound station. Ft. Lauderdale FL. I looks up from reading. Man it's hot out this bitch. But it was even hotta in dat greyhound station. Let me go out smoke a stogie right quick while I wait on this bus to come. I leave my bag here. I ain't currin dat heavy shit outside. They some suspect jitts runnin roun. But they ain big enough to carry that heavy shit off.


Outside. There's two crackas, a bitch and a dude standin against the wall of the bus station. Off top, I know They 12. But I ain payin'em no mine. A nigga aint got shit own'm anyway.


This crack head rolls up and starts a conversation wit me. He wads cool at first. But then he starts trippin on some government conspiracy shit. White folks love that shit. Gettin real passionate about it. This guys gettin louder an louder. Hes spittin, stinkin, getting closer an closer to me. Takes a pause from his insanity only to ask for the rest of my cigarette, and really starts to get on my nerves. Finally, I tell homeboy (in a louder voice than intended) Calm TF down! it’s not that serious. Leave me TF alone!


Back in the bus station. I grab my book an pick up where I left off.

Several minutes later. Out of no fuckn where. Somebody throws a big brown fur coat over my bag. I don't trip until I see the ‘coat’ start to move and walk. I let out a scream and jump on top of the metal bus station bench. It’s when I get the birds eye view that I realize that the fur ‘coat’ is a big ass German shepherd sniffin all over my bag. I look over to see whos holding the leash and its the same mutha fuckn white boy that was standing outside with the bitch. I says to myself, “I knew them muffuckas was 12.”


After the shock wore off I say to the faggot cop. “Yo! what the fuck is you doin?” He doesn't answer. He juss keeps point'n his finger to different parts of my bag. And wherever he points the dog sticks his nose and sniffs.


Now i'm gettin pissed. Still on top of the bench with my book in my hand, I yells, “Man! get that dirty ass dog away from my shit!


Aint nothin even in there but my clothes dummy!” The cop finally says somethin. “Yeah? How do I know that?”


“Cause I just told you mutha fucka! And the dog aint even barkin. If there was something illegal in there, he'd be going off!”


The faggot ass cop pointed to a couple more spots on my bag before pulling the leash back an calling the dog off. “Man, you look stupid now muthafucka! I was just sittn here reading! Minding my own business fuckin prick”


“Oh what you a bookworm or something?” Like a nigga can’t read a fuckn book.


8. It be like 03' son, NYC. I ain'gon lie. A niggas still selling that babylove around this time. Killenm tho. Rentin a room right on 45th street in the middle'a everythang. I was nickel an dimer but it added up. Everyone where I hung out shmoked trees.


But the tourists were the best. Whenever I caught a tourist looking for weed, those nickels and dimes became 20’s real quick. I been doing this shit for a minute. always stuffed my bags, respected the custise, and most importantly, I'm alway on. No sometime hustler ova ha. My custies knew i always had.

Speakina custies, ones hittn up my line. Telln me to meet’em own 46st.. He need three nicks. Im like, “Aight, bet, i'm on my way.”


So I start walkin up 8th avenue. Now this is when stop and frisk is in full effect in NYC. The NYPD stop'm and friskin every nigga they see. But not me. I’d never gotten hemmed up like yet.


Until that night I hit 45st. a block away from where I'm supposed to meet this guy.

While i'm walking I start gatherin up all the nicks I got in my pocket to separate the customer's order.


Just as i'm about to separate the 3 nicks from the rest of my stash, A yellow cab rolls right up on the corner I'm standing on, stops right in front of me. I already know what it is. Three of the yellow cab doors spring open at once then three big white boys jump out. They head straight for ya boy. They were obviously undercover Ds'. I can tell cuz two of them got Met jerseys on. And the third had a detective badge swingin on a ball chain around his neck...faggot.


Once they approached me, one of them said. “Stop and frisk.” And started to pat me down. I didn't protest. Because I got every bag of weed in my pocket in both hands. So I simply put a tight grip on the bags. Then raise my hands above my head in ‘submission’. The faggot starts pattin me down. Starts asking me the same stupid questions that all cops ask, 'Got any drugs or weapons on you?” “Where do you live?” “What are you doing in Manhattan?” “Oh yeah? Where does your friend live?” “O.k. have a good night.”


9. Son it's like 03 an a nigga was poppin. Id been on the block killin'em for like six months now and both my name and my product ringin bells. One thing about me. I never let myself run out before going uptown to reup. One night same thing. I had about 2,3 bags left so I hop on the trizzy to see my plug. This Jamaican kid on 145st.


I hit him up. Goes up there. Cop. Then hops back on the train like clock work. Sep this time, the fuckn train aint movin. Im thinkin theres some type of delay up ahead like there always os on this fuckin A train. Doors open an shit. All of a sudden. This cracka peeks his head through the car door. Looks around. Spots me. And was like 'Step off the train'. I knew he was Ds' before he even spoke. But just to break his ball I ask him, who the fuck is you? He pulls out his lil detective badge from under his shirt and repeats himself. I hesitate for a moment. Thinkin, damn. Where the fuck did I go wrong. I question him again. Man WTF do you want me for. I get the same story I've heard a million times. "You fit the description of a suspect."


Now, there's several people on the train which made me feel pressured to leave. I know the faggot cop wasn't going anywhere so I hops off the train. “Damn!” Im thinkin. Here I am with an ounce of bud in each pocket and this BS is goin down? An for what?”


I follow the faggot and he takes me along the platform, through the turn styles an up to street level. The whole time Im given this cracka DT the business about racial profiling an how much I hate cops. Freedom of speech.


So we get up to the street an there's like 8 cop cars. All wit they lights flashing. It looks like a major crime scene. I was surprised to hear a uniformed pig give a command to the faggot undercover that took me off the train. I always thought plain clothes cops were in charge. But this uniformed faggot was talkn to the D like a fuckn boss. While I was givin both faggots hell about racial profilin for takin a nigga off the train for no reason, The uniform fagg says to me, “Somebody just got shot. The perpetrator fit your description.”


I wave my hand in the air in dismissal an say, “Get the fuck out of here wit that shit. Im like, What the fuck that got to do with me?” The faggot says. “If that was someone you knew who got shot, wouldn't you want to know who did it?”

The next part makes me nervous. Cause after I said that to him, I overheard the uniformed faggot ask the plain clothes faggot, “Have you searched him?” The plain clothes faggot mumble something I couldn't hear. But I'm sure it was about not having probable cause to do so yet. That's when saw my opening to raise more hell. “Aye yo! come guys! I got shit to do. ya’ll wasting my fuckin time! WTF am I doin hai?


The uniformed supervisor was like, “Look. There's an eye witness to the shooting. They're being transported from the location of the incident. Once the witness get here they're gonna look you over to say if you were the person or not if not.

A few minutes after he said that, a red DT. car pulls up. It's got the darkest tint I've ever seen on a car. The uniform cop tells me to look towards the red car. All of a sudden the faggot cop drivin turned on that bright ass light then pointed it straight at my face. I stood tall.


After speaking briefly on his radio. The uninformed cops goes 'Alright, that's it. Your free to go. The shit that stick wit me tho. was the cop expected me to pay in order to get back on the train. And seemed annoyed that he had to walk me back down and let me through the turnstile. Once he opened the emergency door and let me through. He just turns around and walks away. No i'm sorry, no my bad for waiting your time, no fuck you no nothin. He never even looked back.


Once I got back to 42 st. I went through my normal routine. Going straight to the Port Authority restroom, then start yaggin that shit up in one of the stalls. When I hit the block, niggas was waiting for me. They was like, "Nigga why you take so long?" Then I told them what had happened.


10. Its 07' or some shit dig. Me my roun red was headn to the sto own a munchy run. We out hai own the east side in New Orleans. So I ain gotta tell ya how these boys get down roun ha! But what'eva so. Me an my round get like a block away from the sto. Then this here van roll up see? And two cops jump out. Talkin bout, "Stop!" We turn to see w’sup. Two black po po. One a bitch. Walk towards us.


Faggot was like, “Yall live around here? I'm like “Nigga ain nun a yo business if we live around here! The fuck y'all want?”The faggot was like, “Y'all fit the description of two suspects.” I’m like, “Ah mu fucka now I know use lie'n! Dat shit y'alls favit shit ta say. Juss to for stop a nigga!” “Yo just chill dog.” My roun said to me.


Cop is like, 'If yall live aroun her show me some I.D.' . I tol da pig, I live roun her but he juss visitin. Then the bitch cop is like, 'If y'all don give up y'all I.D. we gone search y'all.


Foe wat dough?! We aint did shit! I'm bout to go off. Till my friend is like, “Yo man juss go head and give them yo I.D. bro.”


I only do it to make him happy. He a white boy in a black hood and kind enough to come visit his roun from time to time. I didn't want to cause trouble will he was wit me.


After we gave the faggot ass cops our I.D.s the dude is like. "Now we's gon pat cha'lls down, but we ain goin in nobodys pockets."


These mufuckas got me an my dawg leaning against the police van wit our hands on its side with our legs spread.


Now while this dude cop runnin his hands all up an down my man, the bitch cop pattin me all up an down mine. Once she gets close to my side pocket I'm like, “Move a little to the left bitch. You gone fine somethin there you gon like.”


11. I'm in Harlem right. It's 03' and I'm still killin'em in the streets wit the bud. Me an my mans made an arraignment with this dope head to stay at his house as long as we hit'em with a buck ($100) or some a week. Bet!


It ain't that late. It's like 10, 10:30. We come out the train station on 145 and head towards the dope heads spot on 142. We go down the steps that lead to the big ass public swimming pool by the park. Me and my mans bout to come out on the other side on my block when these three crackas wit bullet proof vests on come outta nowhere. Talkin bout, "Where the guns?" We laughin like, GTFOH! They get tight an pat us down. We both got bags of bud on us. They pull the bags out. Look at them. Shmell’em. Then shove’m back in our pockets. "Is that all you got? We don't give a fuck about weed. All we want is the guns." Then the faggots turn an walk off.


12. 03' Me and a chick Im fuckn wit at the Port Authority in NYC. I'm buying a bus ticket for us to go to Jersey just for the bus ride. We both live in separate homeless shelters. I've been treatin her bad for a while. Cheatin on her an shit. Callin the bitch names. I felt bad. Sos' one night I take her out to eat buy her some flowers and some perfume.


We have a good time re-connection and don't both of us don't want to go back to our respective shelters. Both of which have curfews of 10 pm.


Back in those days. If you were young and living on the street or in a shelter. Had a lil money, but not enough for a hotel. You buy a ticket to somewhere deep in Jersey. Like Paterson or AC or something. So youes can catch some zzz during the ride. On the bus you can stay warm, talk, chill, drink if you were careful. And if youes were more careful, even get some head or some ass from a bitch.


But before any of that could happen i'm at the machine buying our tickets. All of a sudden this dick head Port Authority cop, comes up to me outta nowhere and says "Going to Jersey?"


It's Woods. A dick who I've had issues with in the past. He busted me for weed a few times. "Where the fuck does it look like I'm goin? Fuck outta my face."


The faggot grabs me around the arm. "O you comin with me to the back." Then starts escorting me in the direction of a precinct they have at the rear of the Port Authority. I'm not sweatin shit. I aint got nothin on me. No warrants and I know he's just being a dick cause I mouthed off.


Like a half dozen times before. He gonna take me back there, pat me down, find nothin, put me in a holdin cell, run my name, find nothin, then let me go.


When I come out. My bitch is waitin right outside the precincts. We laugh and shake our heads about it. Then catch our bus to Jersey.



All true stories written by -jonathan 'deez nuts' riley

In Memory of Korryn Gaines. 'Pushed to the point.'

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