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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.