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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!