Basic Safety Lesson

[The purpose of this post is to convince you to watch the video at the bottom. Feel free to ignore me, scroll down, and watch. Watch the whole damn thing. It’s worth your time.]

When I was a young whippersnapper, society hoped to guide goofball kids like me toward role as self-reliant, moral, adult citizens. I humbly think it worked. That was long time ago in a galaxy far far away.

Society in 2020 selects against self-reliant, moral, adults. My mailbox is filled with census reminders. They urge me to fill out the form. Why? To apportion representatives and maintain the legitimate workings of a Republic? Nope! That’s thinking from a different time. I’m told the purpose of a census is to maximize the routing of Federal funds to my area. That’s bullshit and I worry about the thinking that generates such bullshit!

Imagine a society that trains its people to think of themselves as helpless! Less like self-reliant citizens and more like livestock on a vote farm.

What’s the endgame of that? Look out your window.

But I’m not writing to piss and moan about things. I’m here to discuss what you can personally do about it. This ‘aint about society, it’s about you. Assuming you’re a self-reliant, moral, adult you must protect your freedom and you must do it yourself. One thing you must manage is the overreach that gradually turns everyone into a criminal. When everyone is a criminal, the only thing that keeps you from punishment is the benevolence of your overlord. Who decides if you’re a criminal? Your overlord. The only thing that stands in the way are words on paper. When the words are respected, you can trust folks with authority. When the words aren’t respected, you can’t trust folks with authority. Among those who can’t trust; the police.

It’s a cliche, so forgive me. It’s also true. Life will throw risks at you and among those risks are mistreatment at the hands of Law Enforcement (or their supporting bureaucracies). The most dangerous form of oppression is not a roided up human tank in battle rattle “hut hut hut”ing about. It’s not MRAPs and body armor. The biggest risk is a snake in a suit.

Every interaction with every person even remotely connected to law enforcement is now (and maybe always has been) risky. Never trust them. A cop might seem very nice. He might be nice. Maybe he’s a hero that’ll save your bacon in times of terror. But he’s not the entire system. He (or she) works within a framework that can, will, and has, wrecked people who were innocent.

You’re never dealing with just one individual. You’re dealing with the system. A person can be moral, a system has no morals. You can meet a cop that’s sweeter than Andy Griffith, but if he hands his paperwork to Dolores Umbridge you’ve taken a huge risk.

Maybe this is the guy you meet. Great guy!

Maybe this is the one that’ll torture you mercilessly. Total bitch!

Lucky for us, life gives periodic warnings and lessons. This week had a great one.

I’m talking about Michael Flynn. I hesitate to mention Flynn. I don’t want people to get into a cycle of Orange Man Bad; if you hate Trump and everything that touches him… that’s not my business in this post. What I want to do is use Flynn as a reminder. He’s proof that nobody is safe when lawyers and law enforcement are unfettered. Flynn is simply a recent and concrete example of that effect. For contrast I also included hapless loser Richard Jewell… who wasn’t prosecuted but did get screwed over.

Again, I’m not trying to discuss politics. I neither want to celebrate “Flynn is off the hook , yay Merica!” or whine “CNN says he’s a bastard, prosecute him on grounds of being icky”. I just want to reflect on what can be learned from observation. I’ll draw with a broad brush and try to pick a few characters from all over the spectrum. This post is not about Flynn… it’s about you. Whether you’re rolling in patchouli or think Darth Vader was insufficiently authoritarian, the things I’m saying are basically things to keep in mind as you go about your day:

Fact: Innocents DO Get Harassed: Flynn’s case has been dropped by the Department of Justice. That’s as close to “clean bill of health” one can get. Once the case is dropped, Flynn is officially innocent. Furthermore, the things done to him, a man officially legally innocent, were painful and unjust. If you’re so blinded by hate for Trump that you just can’t live with Flynn as an innocent, fine. Try Richard Jewell as alternative example. There are many examples but those two ought to do for now.

Lesson: Victory Against False Prosecution Is Often Hollow. You don’t so much win a fight against immoral / illegal law enforcement as you survive. “Dropping the case” could be rephrased as “we’re going to temporarily stop punching you in the face for now.” Flynn just won a gangbusters victory; real David versus Goliath stuff. Yet there’s no ticker tape parade for Flynn. He may or may not get recompense for his expensive legal defense, the whole of the last three years was hell for the man, and his career was destroyed. There’s no real upside for Flynn. It’s like surviving leukemia, it’s nice to have lived but the whole process was terrifying and painful.

Lesson: There’s No Going Back: Flynn, like him or not, was injured and reduced. Consider his post as National Security Advisor. He worked a lifetime to get there but served only 21 days. He’s officially innocent. So is there a do-over for the innocent and mistreated? Nope. He will never regain the career he once had. Even if you’re found innocent, at some point you may not survive attack by lawyer and cop. Flynn was a well accomplished man and tough as nails. He barely held out. Richard Jewell fell into depression and eventually committed suicide.

Fact: Getting Harassed Is Not Limited To The Underclass: Flynn was not acting like a hooligan or thug. He had a job, brushed his teeth, and ate his vegetables. He doesn’t have a neck tattoo, sketchy investments, drug habits, or friends in seedy neighborhoods.

Lesson: You Can’t Live A Life So Pure That You’re Safe: Nobody has a lifestyle so tame and boring that abuse under the name of law will leave them alone. Flynn seems a bit of a stick in the mud. Richard Jewell is (or was) as threatening as a hamster.

Lesson: Some Behaviors May Help: Modesto Manifesto was a set of standards for religious leaders. Originally authored by Billy Graham it’s ridiculously strict; famously including never ever eating dinner alone with a woman who is not your wife. Vice President Pence adapted this practice (hence its nickname as the Pence Rule). Before we laugh at a grown man following uptight rules meant for pastors, observe that among the presidential and vice presidential candidates available in 2020, Pence uniquely hasn’t been accused of impropriety. Pence is boring as dirt but also immune to “honey trap” spycraft.

Heartwarming moment or a honey trap about to nail a dipshit Mountie to the wall? You decide.

Lesson: You Cannot Be Socially Powerful Enough To Be Safe: Flynn is a retired United States Army Lieutenant General. You know who’s not a retired Lieutenant General? You! The “social standing” pecking order puts you and I waaaaaaay down the list. Yet investigative overreach has affected not only Flynn but Trump. Yeah I said it. Here’s my money quote:

“If neither a respected lieutenant general nor a famous billionaire presidential candidate can protect themselves against prosecutorial misconduct, the rest of us are fucked.”

Lesson: Power Corrupts And Attracts The Corrupted: President Obama clearly hated Flynn. Trump hired Flynn on his campaign and later as National Security Advisor. There is no single human that could interact with both Trump and Obama in an honorable manner without annoying one or the other. In a properly managed lawful world that would be OK. In 2020 America, it’s unsafe. It’s my understanding that Flynn only started having troubles when Obama started not liking the guy. Even then he might have sailed safely into the sunset but he was framed, railroaded, and flung into a perjury trap because  he hired on with Trump.

Lesson: Obscurity Won’t Protect You: Sadly, the lesson here can’t be “avoid the powerful” because, as I mentioned before Richard Jewell was mistreated too. Perhaps the best lesson is, if you’re going to deal in 2020 at the Flynn level, someone will eventually go Game of Thrones on your ass (and the modern analogue to a knife in the ribs is a well funded lawyer that cheats). If you’re a nobody like Jewell, it’s just a reverse lottery win.

Fact: Exculpatory Evidence Gets Hidden: A prosecutor is supposed to reveal all exculpatory evidence. It’s not a suggestion, it’s the law. It’s necessary to protect the innocent. Flynn’s case finally fell apart when exculpatory evidence finally came out. It was  years late. They lied in court about the lack of exculpatory evidence. Brandon Van Grack, part of the DOJ team that pulled that shit, is no longer handling the case. He’s no longer handling any cases. Ideally, he’ll be disbarred and possibly do time. (I’m sure he’s a bit nervous right now.) Regardless, we have clear, obvious, evidence that the FBI didn’t follow the law. This wasn’t a mistake, it was a crime. I suspect, such things happen more than anyone wants to admit. Scout the news and you’ll find hints of hidden exculpatory evidence; key moments when body cams are off, security footage of a prison hallway disappears for a crucial moment, missing brass at Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, every single FBI interview is done without a tape recorder, etc… Patterns of sketchy behavior have been coming out in dribs and drabs but the amount seems to be on the rise. Besides, the FBI has been involved in shady crap since they were hassling Martin Luther King Jr. There’s no reason to think the FBI (or any organization) is honorable.

Fact: Perjury Traps Happen: The Flynn case shows the FBI specifically set out to coax Flynn into lying so they could spring what’s called a perjury trap. Anything you say to a law enforcement officer can be used to spring such a trap. Suppose you’re asked “is the sky blue” and you say yes. Suppose later, in court you think “gosh, it was kinda’ cloudy that day”. Bam! That’s the basic setup. You baited the trap when you talked to them in the first place. The proper answer to “is the sky blue” is “I want my lawyer”. Before you think Flynn was a fool to fall for such a rinky-dink tactic, it’s lying under oath that got Former President Clinton impeached. Everyone seems to associate it with sexual behavior but it’s  not illegal get a hummer. Clinton talked when “Fuck off and I want my lawyer” would’ve led to a different fate.

Fact: You Need A Lawyer: Before meeting with the FBI, Flynn asked “do I need my lawyer”. The FBI said “nah”. Three years later an unemployed and broke man was just found innocent. Never speak to a snake without your own snake present.


THE BIG FAT HONKING LESSON OF BOTH RICHARD JEWELL AND MICHAEL FLYNN:

Never talk to the cops.


A SECOND LESSON FROM THE CURMUDGEON:

Once each year, watch this 40 minute video. Don’t watch it once and forget. You’re not smarter or more powerful than Flynn, or Trump, or Clinton. You might be smarter than Jewell but that’s no excuse… you should add watching this video to whatever Pence Rule behavior you adapt. “Once per year I’ll watch the funny video about not talking to cops.” Don’t forget. Tattoo it on your ass. Watch it every year until YouTube censors it. If you watched it last year, watch it again this year. Never skip a year. There may come a time when you’re glad you did.

Remember, even if you’re paranoid, they might really be out to get you.

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Happy Kid

Knuckledraggin My Life Away had a photo that will make anyone smile.

P.S. Knuckledragging is temporarily at an alternate location. Check it out here.

P.S. I tried to skirt around politics but failed. Sorry about that. If you’re avoiding politics (which is a very wise idea in general and damn near essential for sanity right now) feel free to skip my next post. (I promise I won’t mind.)

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 7

The bike was mine! It was strapped in the truck; ready to form a Dodge/Yamaha two-piece team for continental backcountry exploration.

The day was young. All that was left to do was leave the city and drive many hours back to our snowbound redoubt in the hinterland.

This is when I said words I’ll always remember. It was laden with the unintentional irony of people who’ve no idea what’s about to happen:

“There’s this thing going down in China. It’s probably nothing.” I paused. “What worries me is that the press constantly lies and everything China says is bullshit… so who knows?”

“Yeah?” Mrs. Curmudgeon had heard the news too. The situation in China was, at the time, an ignored undercurrent. At the moment the press was still cheerleading fears over a military conflict with Iran. Sick people in China was a distant ship on the horizon.

“Well, you never know.” I continued. “People are primed to go apeshit. It’s that social media thing again. Folks are super twitchy. Plus, it’s already flu season and they’re slobbering over each other like usual. If there’s a second flu right now, it’ll spread until things get warm in summer. But I was wrong about Ebola so…”

“I remember when you got H1N1… that sucked!” Mrs. Curmudgeon recalled.

I winced, remembering a flu that was just a flu but also traveled clear from nowhere to my body. It wasn’t life threatening but it was a week-long shit sandwich. The undeniable fact remains; humanity dragged that damn contagion over, though, and past any barriers; clear from Asian pigs to our house. “Well…” I paused at the foolish thing I was about to say. “Just in case, lets pick up a few extra groceries while we’re here.” I felt silly saying it. “But it’s almost certainly nothing…”

Mrs. Curmudgeon is no fool. “Relax. That’s a great idea. Food’s cheaper here anyway.”

We stopped at a city grocery store and were reminded how much extra we pay in the country. Everything was a good 10% cheaper! I basked in the selection and savings. If you’re not impressed with a modern grocery store, you’re not paying attention. We generally maintain a well-stocked larder; that’s just proper household planning. But we picked up a few bags of mostly cans and dry goods to fill in empty spots. We really enjoyed the cheaper prices.

I wasn’t particularly worried about whatever was coming out of China. I was more worried about people. They seemed so tightly wound. They appeared to be searching; searching for a reason to lose it. Any excuse to go zombie horde and they’d be off like a shot. Sooner or later everyone would mainline CNN and social media until they lost perspective and things would get out of hand. They might block highways and screw up the supply chains. Or they might trash half of Baltimore. Or it could hit everywhere all at once! With reason in short supply, who knows what would stop it? I doubted a flu would light the fuse but only a fool could deny the fuse was ready to be lit.

I couldn’t imagine the people would hold their shit together all the way to November. Maybe they needed to freak out. Maybe that’s part of human nature I don’t quite understand. There’s been times when I’ve needed to get good and drunk. Who knows if that scales up?

For those who paying attention to such things, was I wrong? Think back to February 2020. Am I wrong in this? Am I biased by future events? I know damn well I really did buy extra groceries. Faulty memory or not, it was the right call. Yet contagion in China wasn’t a big deal back then. Nobody else was buying canned goods. I just picked up the sense that a shitstorm was fixing to self-ignite.

What did it feel like before a Medieval pogrom? What’s a cult look like from the inside? Can you sense an oncoming riot? There’s always stupid out there but can one feel the stupid outgrowing its host? There are always a few freaks but in small quantities they’re part of the colorful magic of humanity. Someone dresses up like a vagina and screams in front of a TV camera, or a ghetto full of losers burns a Volkswagen in the streets, but sometimes things hit critical mass. Can you smell it on the wind?

Who, on the cusp of the French Revolution, glanced about and thought “everyone is about to do something nasty”? Did they quietly haul ass for Germany? Did they die, leaving their concerns unrecorded? Did they join the crowd and build the guillotine, knowing they might be next?

Lemming off a cliff. That’s what I was thinking, not “flu”. I was also thinking I had time. It would happen later in the year… when the warm weather made prancing about the streets more fun.

Regardless, it was a good time to restock the pantry. What else can you do?

I felt silly entertaining such ideas but I’ve learned to trust my instinct. And you can’t really go wrong picking up a can of beans while they’re on sale.

That was just 2 months ago. I knew something was up but didn’t know the form of the destroyer. You never expect the Spanish Inquisition… or the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

We did not buy extra toilet paper. That would’ve been ridiculous.

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 6

It was time to go home.

The shiny new bike perched proudly in the truck bed and it was glorious! It fit just right. Tailgate closed and everything. I had brand new ties with which it was solidly secured. It rode like the lead float in a small-town parade. It was vibrating with potential awesome. It had 0.1 miles on the odometer.

Damn that’s a special moment! Everyone pause and take it in. Just close your eyes and think of it. For a certain personality this is a treasured inflection point of pure joy. Remember your first car, or your favorite car, or a beloved motorcycle, or a boat, or whatever the hell it is that made you happy. Remember when you and that machine met. Remember that time in your life.

It’s all about possibilities!

A factory in Japan had birthed this anachronistic machine and I was going to flog it mercilessly all over the American outback. What fun we would have together!

Mrs. Curmudgeon smiled at my childish excitement. She wants nothing to do with falling off cliffs on a mechanical death trap. If I want to careen around some God forsaken wasteland; crawling with scorpions and bears, getting frostbit and sunburned, well that’s just an untreatable malady which her husband possesses at the molecular level. No need to fight it; just send him off on his own and hope he doesn’t get too stupid while unsupervised. She’s a wise woman. Also, she enjoys seeing me do the things that I love. What man could ask for more? So long as I don’t get myself killed out there, she’s pretty supportive.

I was starry eyed like a child on Christmas morning. I already had a list of “mods” to make the thing from a chunky minimalist blank slate to a beefed up mini-mule. I’d tweak it here or there (but not too much, just enough to meet specific needs without endangering reliability; hot rodding engines is not my game). After 6 months of attacking it with a wrench I’d probably never alter anything again. I’d do oil changes and maintenance but almost never wash it. I’d consider every dent and scratch a delightful chapter in an adventure story. It would become tough and grizzled, like it’s owner.

I sipped overpriced coffee and smiled.

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 5

[I rewrote this part several times but could never truly capture what happened. This is the best I could do.]

The motorcycle I’d agreed to buy was a long way from my home. I decided to make an overnight “mini-vacation” of it. Mrs. Curmudgeon and I traveled together and that was excellent.

The rest happened entirely unlike this: The long trip to get to the dealer was uneventful. I arrived with plenty of time to go every detail of the bike with the dealer. The paperwork was relaxed and unhurried. Dinner afterwards was cheap and excellent. Our hotel was well appointed, quiet, and I got a great night’s sleep.

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 4

The Death Valley Trail maps were now useless too. They were stashed in the box with the Lake Powell maps. Salt Lake City was out, Barstow was out, the new destination was in western Texas. Was I unknowingly involved in a geographic lottery?

I was already on phase #3 of plan C. At first, I decided to take the time to drive to Utah and play in terrain I already knew. Then I decided it wasn’t a great season for my old stomping grounds near Moab so I’d been researching somewhere lower elevation and further south. Meanwhile, my dog had died, my heart had broken, and an ATV had turned into a motorcycle. Phase #3 was a stack of blogs and reports from the Utah Backcountry Discovery Route (UTBDR). I was just about to buy an overpriced UTBDR map.

The phone rang…

Oh, dear God, not again! I picked up the phone.

“How’s $4500 out the door sound?”

“I’m in!”

I’d just agreed to buy a motorcycle I’d never seen, of a type I’d never ridden, without a test drive. It was a long drive to pick it up. I was delighted. The loss of my dog had been a big blow and I needed a little “pick me up”. If I could play in the canyonlands, adequately supported with the cheapest thing legally allowed to have a plate… I sighed contentedly

Maybe things were going my way!

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 3

I’ve only been to Barstow once. I dimly remember a blistering hot highway and a ridgeline with windmills. There was lots of dust as my motorcycle and I were sandblasted by hot desert winds. It was hot. I don’t know if Barstow can ever be cold. All I remembered was wind and sand and air hotter than the balls of a scorpion in a frying pan.

It was -18f outside my window and I was pulling out all the stops to keep the room where I was working a barely tolerable 61f. Heat exhaustion sounded like bliss.

I had a new pile of maps to supplant the old. Trails in Death Valley. I’ve ridden my street bike across Death Valley and it was wonderful. I’ve never gone into the backcountry. I was delighted with the prospect.

Next to the maps was a pile of ATV sales brochures. This new ATV was going to get a maiden voyage for the ages! A small stack of camping gear had started coalescing in the corner.

Then, the phone rang again…

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 2

There was a pile of maps on my desk. Most involved Lake Powell. Camping writeups and wind / climate data. Was I really going to mess with that inland sea using only my 8’ box boat and my limited seamanship skills?

Meh… it would be warmer than my current snowbound misery. I’d figure something out.

The phone rang. Ten minutes later I’d swept the maps into a box. They were useless now. The situation had shifted to Barstow.

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Trailride Vignettes: Part 1

[Things don’t always go as planned. My first 2020 Walkabout was conceived in good faith and pursued with diligence. It didn’t come together well. It was a reasonable idea but it got pancaked by the truck of external factors. What follows are vignettes from the oft-interrupted process.]

Vignette #1:

It was dark out; not because it was late but because the northern climate spends half the year trying to kill us. That includes blizzards so dense they blot out the sun. The wind was howling and I was shivering.

I was in my workshop (not the one with wood heat). It’s well insulated but a standard 1500-watt heater just wasn’t up to the task. I had a generator outside humming away and a second auxiliary heater going. The two combined were only barely adequate. The window panes were frosting up. Through them I could see no more than ten feet into the maelstrom. I saw nothing but misery and the snowdrift that used to be my truck.

I usually like working from home but this day I was miserable. I was talking to someone on the phone. They were in a clean, properly heated, well-lit office. Imagine the unparalleled luxury of heating that’s provided entirely by unseen forces you can ignore! For once, I was jealous.

“So, we’re going to need some poor sap to go to all the way to Salt Lake and do this job. It’s a lot of work so I won’t ask you but if you know someone who can…”

I glanced at the thermometer. It was -22f. It had warmed to -22f over a long unpleasant day. It was sure to drop to -35f by midnight.

“I’m in.”

“WHAT?”

“I’ll do it. E-mail me the details.”

I hung up the phone. I’d just agreed to a less than ideal work situation. I didn’t care. It was just so damn cold. I’d have driven 2,000 miles to submit to a proctology exam on live TV if it happened where the ambient temperature was above 50.

I’d figure out a way to make a silk purse of this sow’s ear.

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More Satire

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