A Sunday drive is rudely interrupted by an armed zombie in blue and the mayhem that ensues.
So I’m riding along in my overtaxed, completely tracked vehicle. I’m on my way home from another day slaving away to make federal reserve notes when I notice that some jerk with blue and red flashing lights on top of his car keeps following me.
I pull over and a large artificial human in a strange blue costume quickly gets out of his extortion-funded vehicle. He has a trendy handlebar moustache and has an arrogant air about him as he approaches my hard-earned car.
The ignorant, roided-out stooge comes up to my window and I stare off blankly into space. He knocks on the glass and I pretend not to hear it. He knocks louder and I decide to go ahead and humor him.
He gives me a less than friendly look and asks, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
I ponder for a moment, turn my head, look him in the eye, and answer, “Well, off the top of my head, I imagine that the bare minimum reason for this violation of my natural right to travel is that you’ve got to rob me of some of my hard earned federal reserve slave tokens in order to appease your psychopathic bosses. A secondary reason could be that you’d like to steal whatever cash I have on me in order to supplement your own income and satisfy your dark passion for dominating others.”
He starts turning beet red and asks, “Have you been drinking?”
I respond with a deadpan face, “I am not obligated to answer your frivolous questions. However, just for kicks, have you been drinking?”
He huffs and puffs and says, “License and registration and then step out of the vehicle if you know what’s good for you.”
I respond spryly, “So you’d like to see my papers that were issued by the coercive institution known as government, you’re hallucinating that you have authority over me and can force me out of my vehicle by way of a threat of violence?”
He stoops down real low, lowers his voice, and says, “I dunno what you’re on, or what you’ve been doing, or what the hell you’re talking about, but if you’re not out of that car in ten seconds, I’m gonna take you out myself.”
I give a thunderous applause and say with a smile, “Wow, how predictable and detestable! You’ve managed to threaten me once again on the false premise that you have authority over me. How many hours of TV do you watch a week?”
He then slings the door open, yanks me out of the car, and throws me on the ground. The next thing I know, there’s a boot on my back and I’m under attack. “Stop resisting!” he yells.
This gets my blood boiling a bit and I yell, “The only thing I’m resisting is tyranny, you overgrown biological robot! You mindless order-followers are the reason humanity is sinking in to the pits of hell! Bloodsucker!”
So now I’m sitting in a cage that’s funded by extortion and I have a huge welt on my head. I slowly and painfully turn my head and take a look around. I’m in a solitary holding cell and have no clue as to what day or hour it is. I check my pockets to find that they’re empty. I guess my cash, phone, and plant rolled in a paper have been ganked by some belligerent brute of the state.
They’re probably out living it up while I rot in this dark corner. At least I did the right thing.
I take a nap and am rudely awakened by a butch in blue. He scowls at me and says, “Your bail is 1,000 and you’ve got a court date next month.”
I giggle at the absurdity facing me and say, “Can’t the money that was already stolen out of my pocket cover the extortion necessary to let me out of this cage? I’m sure I had at least a grand in my pocket. And when you say court date, you mean a strange goon in a gown is going to plunder me further while pretending to represent some benevolent rule of law administered by the state?”
Butch folds his arms and threatens me further, “We’re going to ruin your life.”
“You already are ruining my life. However, what's worse, is that you're ruining your soul. I was driving along, minding my own business, and then I was attacked mercilessly by a psycho in a strange costume, much like the one you’re donning at the moment.”
“We can make it worse.”
“You’re going to make my life worse because I’m sitting here telling you the truth?”
He walks out and slams the door. I pat myself on the back and wonder how much longer I’ll be in this cage.
A couple hours later and butch is back. “Come with me,” he barks as he opens the cage of coercion.
I follow him into an office where there’s a bird-faced bureaucrat banging away at a keyboard and smacking some gum. Butch hands me my wallet and I quickly take inventory. All is empty except for my plastic payment slave card.
Bird-face looks up at me through coke bottle glasses and says, “What method of payment will you be using?”
I look back at butch who is staring at me with vicious eyes. It appears he’s getting his jollies off on a serious power trip. I glance at the pistol on his hip and say, “Based on my observations, it sure looks like you two state zombies are robbing me at gunpoint.”
The bureaucrat smirks and says, “Method of payment.” As if the parasite didn’t know I only had one card in my wallet.
I hand Lucifer’s little helper my slave card and she runs it through the machine.
I sign the receipt, “Free mind, slave body”, much to the chagrin of the violent stooges.
Doing the right thing and resisting the zombies can be difficult and costly, but I wouldn’t trade my conscience for anything.
AKA - Todd Borho