The Final Showdown

Are you on the side of Justice or the side of chains?

There I was yesterday, enjoying my day as I usually do, sitting at the foot of The Cross while dumping Tito’s Handmade Vodka down my throat until I was gracefully relieved of my ability to think about the world in which I am condemned to live.

Then I did something I never do; I answered a phone call from a number I did not know. Next thing I know, there’s some Columbus pig on the other end of the line jibber jabbering about “threats [I] made against Secretary of State Frank LaRose.”

I said, first of all, that was three days ago, so who gives a fuck? Secondly, you need to go learn the definition of a threat. I simply invited the Secretary to my landlord’s spare house to come get a taste of my famous Figure-4 leg lock.

He said, well, I have a job to do.

I said that’s where you’re wrong, pig, being police is not a job.

He said, sir, please be amicable with me otherwise I have to let my colleagues do what they’re going to do.

I laughed. I said, sir, I stand with the King of Zion. The Holy Redeemer. The Man of Trinity. Because he is on the side of Justice and you are on the side of chains.

He said is this how you want to play it, Rainbow Comandanté? You’re leaving me no choice but to let slip the dogs of war.

I said, little Honkey, you think I’m scared of a couple of pigs coming to the Bottoms to shake me down? Go ahead and let the leash off your puppies. Just be sure to tell them they will have a piece of my mind coming at them shortly.

After that, things get a little hazy. I remember telling my Landlord and girlfriend (two separate people for the record) to leave the bar immediately. Last thing I needed is for them to die under a fusillade of fire on account of my personal jihad against the local police.

They were perturbed. They said, DJ, it’s not worth it. Well, maybe not to you two. But to me it is. It was an inelegant response that I regret but I will apologize to both of them in the next life. Meanwhile, I decided to have one last drink at the Last Chance Saloon.

I woke up from a blackout at 3 o’clock in the morning and decided to write this letter. Now that I think about it, I had no proof the man on the other end of that phone call was an actual police officer.

But maybe he was, considering the fact he was dumb enough to call the target of an investigation and ask, sir, did you really threaten to put the Secretary of State into a Figure-4 leg lock?

I don’t know what will happen next. All I know is it won’t be me apologizing to some random pig for the high crime of wanting to make the odious Frank LaRose submit in the middle of Sullivant Avenue.

There is a fight afoot in America. On one side you have the fascist pigs and the folks who lick their boots clean. On the other side, you have the famous RAINBOW COALITION.

If the pigs want to make an example of me, well, I ain’t hard to find. I’m at the foot of The Cross and I’ve seen enough of this poxed world. I'm ready to reckon my balance with The Lord. Can the other side say the same? I guess we’ll soon find out.

If I don’t send a dispatch tomorrow in a timely manner, just assume the U.S. Marshals threw a flashbang through my landlord’s spare window and shot me dead. Don’t cry for me, either. I’ll have died with a smile on my face.