From: Linda Reed--PCC West Campus CSC <lreed@west.cscwc.pima.edu>
Date: Tue, 21 Jul 1998 05:14:27 -0700 (PDT)
To: cypherpunks@toad.com
Subject: I95 - SPACE ALIENS HIDE MY DRUGS!!!
Message-ID: <009C97EF.202780A0.1@west.cscwc.pima.edu>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain


I(95)'m An Asshole - SPACE ALIENS HIDE M DRUGS!!!
__________________________________________________

  Been an asshole all my life...

  I suppose I should keep my obligation to be true to my word and provide
the RCMP with details of my life of crime, in order to help the Canadian
Justice system to compensate for the ignorant incompetence of Canada's
National Internal Police Force.
  I guess it was kind of mean of me to 'confess' to a crime I committed
over a quarter-century ago, on which the Statute Of Limitations has
undoubtedly run out.
  So I'm a belligerant, smart-alec asshole...so sue me!

  Regardless, I feel obligated to give up the Real Goods this time, by
confessing to a more recent crime for which I can undoubtedly be charged,
tried and convicted, without anything remotely resembling True Justice 
standing in the way...
  Get out the warrant and lick your pen, Dudley, because I confess to 
being guilty of none other than...Accessory After The Fact To Grand 
Theft Auto!
  Less than two years ago, nonetheless!
<Mounties across Canada cheer, and throw their hats in the air...>


  Personally, I think that Officer Besalt should get the honour of 
throwing the cuffs on me for this charge, since the actual perpetrator
of the car theft was his good BumBuddyAidsInfestedDrugAddictedInformant,
Ian Wasacase, on whose behalf Officer Besalt, a SorryScumBagPieceOfShit
ThievingPrick (TM) robbed me at gunpoint in full public view, at the
CoalDust Saloon, in Bienfait Saskatchewan.
  RCMP Officer AJ Besalt, a piece of Human Garbage who has the conscience
and intellect of a Slug, not only seems incapable of feeling any sense of
shame in dressing up in his neatly pressed uniform, with his shiny badge
and shoes, and telling a judge, with a straight face, nonetheless, that,
despite his incompetence in being able to produce the proper paperwork
on a DogAtLarge charge that he commanded the plaintiff to appear in court
on, under the threat of armed, physical violence, the case should be
continued, with a new date set, in order for him not to feel like an
incompetent moron for being able to handle a simple DogAtLarge case any
better than he did an attempted DrugBust, ending up having to retrieve
their government informant/agent's DrugBuyFrontMoney at gunpoint from
a citizen who had committed no crime.

  Oh, pardon me...I would hate for anyone to get the *wrong* impression,
here...
  OffalSir Besalt didn't actually mention the part about using a career
criminal and police informant to attempt to frame a disabled person on
a drug charge by using the threat of violence to get him to sell some of
his medication in return for marked money.
  I guess he didn't want to take up the Court's valueable time with
insignificant details.

  Lest the reader believe, Dog forbid, that I am stringing out my sincere
confession in order to torture a poor, pathetic excuse for a human being
by including facts and details that never quite seem to make it into the
Offical Police Reports, I guess I had best get on with supplying the
details of my HeinousCrime.


  I was very young as a child... <hee-hee>

  OK, really, now...

  Ian Wasacase, former preacher <typical, eh?>, had come to Estevan to
bestow his blessed presence on his brother, Gilbert, and his family.
He had driven down with his NewImprovedDrugAddictedOldLady and a couple
of friends who were apparently his apprentices in his life of crime.
  As overjoyed as Gilbert and his wife, Peggy, were to see Gilbert's
beloved brother, Ian, they nonetheless that, in the interest of saving
the life of several single children, their own, that it would be best
if Ian and his SpoonFed Roadies were to depart, and thus not further
endangering the lives of the family's children by shooting their AIDS
infested blood all over the floor, walls and ceiling of the bathroom
and the children's bedrooms.
  In consternation with the difficulty of getting the FamilyJunkie and
friends out of his home, Gilbert offered to pay my expenses to make a
trip to Regina, which he knew I needed to do anyway, in return for
leading his brother to believe that I had a medical prescription that
was waiting for me in Regina, which I would be interested in selling
to pick up a little cash.

  It worked like a charm...
  Ian and the SpoonFed Roadies had their belongings packed and were 
waiting outside, by the vehicles, in 32-seconds flat. (A new world
record!)
  Ian's old lady and two friends climbed into my motorhome, explaining
that the heater in the car they had brought didn't work very well, and
we proceeded down the highway, toward Regina, with me following Ian's
car with my motorhome.

  Well, not exactly...
  It turns out that it wasn't Ian's car. It wasn't his old lady's car.
It wasn't either of his friends' car.
  I pretty much figured that out when he pulled over by the side of the
road, motioning for me to stop, and then turned onto a small snow-filled
side road which received no winter maintenance, and proceeded to put the
pedal to the metal, going up and over a railway crossing, and down the
other side into a deep snowbank where the car would be hidden until spring
thaw. My instincts were further confirmed when he appeared, walking back,
with a hammer, a large screwdriver, and the license plates off the car.

  Did I inform the police of this? Did I turn him in?
  Nope...I'm AnAccessoryAfterTheFact.

  To tell the truth, being AnAccessoryAfterTheFact has, thus far, resulted
in far less jail time than any of the attempts I have made during my life
to provide information and/or assistance to those who are officially sworn
to uphold the law.
  It always seems that those who perpetrate crimes are much more informed
on the legal technicalities regarding crimes and criminal proceedings than
those who happen to be standing nearby with their thumb up their ass,
committing crimes only against themselves.
  In the end, it always seems to end up that the person who murdered a
few hundred babies in their crib gets probation in return for turning
State's Evidence against the person who wanders into the room and says,
"Uuuhhh...I really don't think you should be doing this."

  Cynical? Moi?
  Eat my shorts...I'm talking about Real Life (TM) here, boys and girls,
not about Matlock, OK?

  So, there you have it, Dudley.
  A full confession that can be used to convict me, coming from my own
lips (so to speak, although I actually type with my tongue).
  No longer will you have to haul my ass repeatedly into court in vain
attempts to convict me of crimes of which I am not guilty, as a result
of sloppy investigative work and a propensity to ignore the fact that
your witnesses are lying scumbag sacks of shit who would testify against
their own mothers to get out of their own criminal charges.

[EditWhore's Gnote: Since the confession, per se, is complete, members of
 Royal Canadian Mounted Police may want to forgoe reading the rest of my
 diatribe, since it will merely fill in a few small details regarding
 the incompetent, criminal and unconsionable actions of Officer Besalt.]

  Upon reaching Regina, after the commission of my Heinous Crime of
AnAccessoryAfterTheFactToGrandTheftAuto, I decided that I would drop
the GrandTheftAutoPerpetrator, et al, off at their place of residence,
purporting to go pick up my medications and return, to make my fortune
selling them my medications at outrageously low prices.
  Instead, I seemed to get stuck in the driveway behind their house, even
though the snow was not very deep, and I had little trouble driving in.
  After going in the house to warm up and get a shovel, which it turns 
out they didn't have, Ian took my winter coat to go get a shovel, or some
friends to help, or somesuch. He soon returned without the jacket, without
a shovel, and without any friends. Since it was thirty or forty below zero
and they had no phone, I quickly began to suspect that, since I obviously
wasn't going anywhere, Ian & Company had come to the conclusion that a
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and that once they were in
possession of the medication I currently had, then they could look forward
to a bright future in which there might actually be another bird out there
somewhere, in the form of a prescription for further medication.

  Although I would be the last one to heap praise upon Ian for the choices
he has made in his life, neither would I be the first to heap huge amounts
of abuse on him for his character, or lack thereof.
  The reason for this is quite simple...he didn't kill me.

  Ian is a drug addict, with a ferocious habit to feed, and little stength
of character left with which to attempt to avoid falling into total moral
depravity. However, he chose to scam me, steal from me while I slept, and
the like, over the course of several days, instead of just whacking me
over the head with an axe and taking all of my medication.
  This small bit of self-restraint on his part allowed me to split my
supply of medication into small stashes which I could allow him to find
and steal at a rate suitable for keeping his habit in check, and buy me
time for the temperature to rise to a scorching twenty below zero, at
which time I made a break for a friend's house some distance away, and
suffered only minor frostbite in the process.

  As far as Officer Besalt, RCMP, is concerned, however...Fuck That
Sorry Criminal ScumSucking Piece Of Crap In His Dirty Little Asshole!
  Officer Besalt, too ignorant to realize who was grinding the organ,
and who was dancing with the funny hat and the tin cup, brought Ian
down to Estevan in an attempt to bust me for selling my medication.
  ou see, Ian had been working as an informant for the RCMP in other
Saskatchewan districts, enabling the Mounties to arrest and convict
a number of desperados, some of whose crime seemed to be wanting to
kick Ian's ass for fucking their sisters while being AIDS infested,
without telling them. 
 {In all fairness to the Mounties, Ian's bragging about the people who
  he had screwed over as a police informant indicated that half of them
  were probably guilty of *something*...}

  Thus it was that Ian and his old lady appeared on my doorstep in the
small hamlet of Bienfait, late one night, wanting to purchase some of
my medication. He pulled a wad of money out of his pocket, and seemed
fully prepared to make a buy...

 [Note by AnEditorToBeBustedLater: What it is essential to understand,
  here, is that any individual on the face of the earth, no matter how
  dim-witted, could immediately take one look at Ian, seeing him for
  the first time, and instinctively realize that no matter how desperate
  he was for a fix, even if he had a million dollars in his pocket, he
  would first try every scam in the world to steal whatever drugs a 
  person had before he would finally break down and actually *buy* them
  in an honest, straightforward deal.]

  I stood there looking at the cash in his hand, mentally visualizing
a picture of Dudley DoRight where the Queen's picture normally is, and
immediately came to three quick conclusions:
1) The motherfucker *owed* me for the several hundred dollars that it
took for me to replace my tires and get my motorhome mobile again.
(Not to mention the thousand or so dollars of damage he did to the
 interior while tearing it apart, looking for drugs.)
2) Ian was only holding forth $ 40.00, out of the several hundred in
his possession, obviously intending to purchase a couple of pills,
stash the rest of the money in his sock, and pick up a couple of hundred
bucks in spare change, over and above what the RCMP were paying him to
help frame innocent people.
3) Since Ian was totally incapable of going more than a few hours without
drugs, he undoubtedly had some in his possession (probably provided by
the Dudley DoRight Pharmacutical Company), and that if I didn't do a
deal with him, he might very well stash the forty bucks in my house on
his way out, and turn over a few pills of his private stash as evidence
against me.

  I don't like jail...never have...never will...
  Regardless, there was not a snowball's chance in hell that I was going
to pass up an opportunity to fuck Ian out of forty bucks.
  I snatched the $ 40.00 out of his hand, and said, "OK! I'll meet you
at the CoalDust Saloon in ten minutes. I've got the shit stashed outside."

  Ian knew I was scamming him, but he wasn't sure how. Neither was I, but
I had ten minutes to figure it out...

Basic Rules Of Life #238:
If your's is the strength of ten, because your heart is pure, and you are
working for the Forces of Light...never pull your scams in a dark alley.
Dark alleys are for criminals, and the criminal with the badge and the
gun invariably win the battle.

Basic Rules Of Life #239:
Criminals are afraid of the light...even criminals with badges and guns.
"Sunshine is the best disinfectant." ~ Judge Louis Brandeis


  I went to the CoalDust Saloon, and used one of the twenties to buy a
beer for myself and Ian. Ian wanted me to give him the drugs, and I told
him to hold on for a minute.
  I walked over to the change machine by the Video Lottery Terminals and
put the other twenty and the beer change in, turning them into loonies.
I gave Ian ten of the Loonies.
  I proceeded to put the rest of the Loonies into a VLT machine and begin
gambling.

  Ian asked me where the drugs were. I told him to fuck off. He looked
hurt and hung around like a kicked puppy, while his old lady made a call
on the pay phone.
  Officer Besalt walked through the door of the CoalDust Saloon a few
minutes later.

[eah, yeah, it's me again: The RCMP cover a lot of territory in a thinly
 populated area, around Estevan, and thus it takes them a considerable 
 amount of time to respond to calls. It may take them several hours to
 respond to a traffic accident, or thirty minutes to an hour to respond 
 to serious crimes late at night. If they walk through the door five
 minutes after being called, it is because they were sitting around
 the corner, and waited for four minutes before getting out of their
 vehicle and coming in.]

  Officer Besalt needed to get the Mountie's DrugFrontMoney back while
pretending it was Ian's money.
  Lottsa luck...

  We discussed the situation, as I sat playing the VLT, and I quite simply
told the OffalSir that Ian had offered me money to buy drugs from me and
that I had taken it, since he owed me hundreds of dollars for having 
slashed my tires in order to hold me hostage and steal my drugs in Regina.
  Unfortunately, I didn't use the word 'taken.' I told OffalSir Besalt
that I had 'snatched' the money from Ian's hand, whereupon both Besalt
and I knew that he was now free to fuck with me if I did not return the
money, since I had implied that Ian might not have relinquished the money
totally voluntarily.
  Although I was between a rock and a hard place, not having the money,
there *is* a Dog! I hit a minor jackpot that gave me forty bucks.

  As I waited for the barmaid to cash in my ticket and bring me the money,
I made a point of going into great detail, loud enough for everyone nearby
to hear, about how the person on whose behalf the RCMP Officer was shaking
me down was a drug addict who was attempting to make a drug buy from me,
and how I was unwilling to commit the crime, desiring only to receive the
money that he owed me for slashing my tires and holding me hostage in
severe winter conditions in the BigCity.
  "Sunshine is the best disinfectant."

The Bottom Line:
  OffalSir Besalt is a sorry, scumbag Nazi piece of shit with no better
morals or conscience than to try to use a lying, conniving criminal scam-
artist who has provided countless Canadian youth with hard drugs while
working as a paid RCMP agent/informant, to attempt to entrap a mentally
disabled individual into committing a crime by selling his medications
in order to prevent once again being victimized by a lifetime criminal.

  Oh, yeah...and *I* have never murdered anyone by giving them AIDS
while being under the legal protection of the RCMP.

_____________________
Non-Adobe PostScript:
  One of the more humorous aspects of the Ian Wasacase Saga was a news
story in the Regina Leader Post in regard to the RCMP's ultra-secret
informant/witness in the trial of four(?) men accused of armed robbery
(and murder?). 
  After describing the individual's identity being cloaked by his
participation in the Witness Protection Program, the Leader Post, toward
the end of the article, revealed Ian's name.
  Duuhhh...

  Ian is now serving hard time in a Manitoba prison as a result of a
multitude of armed robberies he committed while working under the
protective umbrella of the RCMP.
{Undoubtedly hoping that his cellmates don't have a subscription to
 the Regina Leader Post.}

  Officer Besalt is serving hard time as a result of being trapped in
the mind and body of an Ignorant Nazi Fuck (TM).
{Undoubtedly too fucking ignorant to realize that he would be much better
 off being Ian Wasacase.}

Attention Law Enforcement Agents:
"Smoke 'em if you confiscated 'em..."