I shall check out the movie, Susan. Thank you.

First, why do I hold the police in such antipathy?

When I was a child I loved them.

As a teenager, I had two separate police officers speak on my behalf to judges after I committed acts of violence.

A former sparring partner of mine is a SWAT cop.

When I was a store manager I had a working alliance with members of the Eastern District Precinct.

Yet still, I hate cops. Why?

After two men and three youths attempted to kill my oldest son, and I defended him, the responding cop that came to my house investigated me instead of them. [When You’re Food]

A Vietnamese lady friend of mine was confined and tortured by a cop while thugs robbed her store. [Lesser Angels of our Nature]

One city cop actually tried—I am convinced—to rob me, after finding out I was on my way to cash my paycheck during his harassment of me. [When You’re Food]

I was once heckled by a troop of police cadets when training a female boxer at the same facility, so I know well the gutless nature of these groveling creatures of the State, and the fetid, spineless, collectivist spawning ground from which they are drawn by their master organism to be set upon me. Wood Shampoo Wannabes

A friend of mine had been gang raped by three cops when she was 14 years old, in front of her brother [a drug dealer], who they tortured, beat, and killed at a later date. The Criminal Perspective

When two thugs tried to kill me and I fought them off, and the police officer responding listened to their pleas that I attacked them, he told me that they would attack me again and to be careful. He then gave them my name and address so that they could file a report, knowing well that they may have just wanted that information to finish the job they had started or to get at my family while I was at work. [The Fighting Edge]

Two cops, off duty from different forces and at different dates, threatened to beat me up and arrest me for not giving them access to my store after hours. [When You’re Food—I think]

Three cops stalked my co-manager for not committing bank fraud on their behalf. [Taboo You]

I have been harassed by eight [I think] city and county cops for the crime of being an underdressed white pedestrian. [Taboo You] Soap-on-a-Rope Stocks Projected To Soar

Virtually every black man and youth in Baltimore has been harassed, falsely arrested, beaten, and often worse, for no reason other than that they are black. This has had the effect of black males typically regarding me with hatred on sight, since I am the same color as most cops are and they have been taught by white liberal academia and the media that white people are out to get them. [War Drums]

These same police are charged with keeping me unarmed in the face of this self-same enemy that they have as much as created and then set upon me like so many dogs.

For these reasons, I am the only white male pedestrian [Someone who logs many hours weekly travelling regular routes on foot and by bus according to a schedule they do not control, a cook for instance. So, a hipster that lives in an sky rise and only ventures out on foot on sushi night, does not count.] that I know, or know of, in Baltimore City who has yet to be successfully attacked and defeated by packs of black men or youth. The thought that—as I age and slow and weaken and remain effectively unarmed, as only firearms and edged weapons are effective against group attackers—and the fact that I will fight to the death to preserve an empty wallet, which I have done numerous times, leads me to the logical conclusion that I will die at the hands of black youth in Baltimore City at some point in the future. No other assessment is logical. However, for me, my autonomy is more important than my life, so I will remain and endure this outcome, an eventuality designed by my white slave masters and cultivated and facilitated by their slave police.

I will be open to future alliances with police. But these are only alliances. The enemy of my enemy is still my enemy.

This is nothing new. The worst police purge I can recall was in the 1990s in D.C. with numerous cops whacked in their parked cars. I think one was maimed with a rebar [iron reinforcing rod].

The police at all levels are fighting a national war against black gangs over the drug trade, which comprises the bulk of the black American economy. The recent Baltimore Purge was instigated by the same gangs that threatened to kill police. By killing police in areas where there is no unrest planned or likely, gangs keep federal heat from falling on them. Understand that these gangs are more intelligent and masculine than the police, who are neutered sheep dogs by comparison. If the Baltimore gangs shot and killed Baltimore cops during the purge then the gloves would come off and the paralyzing DOJ straight jacket would not save the purgers, as National Guard, military contractors and SWAT teams would seek and exact vengeance. By threatening to kill cops where you plan on rioting, but having an affiliate kill some cops across the country, that keeps the feds on your side and keeps the iron heel of State off your neck while you rampage with impunity before cops who are on a defensive footing.

Susan, do not expect anyone to figure this out and act on it other than the criminals.

So, my cop enemies—for they would surely harass me if I walked down their Texas street wearing 15-year-old clothes—are taking casualties in their sector of the State’s War on Drugs.

As the soldiers of the Evil State, charged with keeping me in line, I do not mourn them. However, waxing gleeful over the death of a man who was not killed by my hand, is to me, something a gutless mangina would do. I do not even believe in celebrating the demise of my enemies anymore than I take pleasure in the bad ending of an opponent in a sporting fight, for once we fight each other, we are the same in a sense. That cop fought the drug war and died by the drug war, reaping what his pitiless masters sowed, being ground between the twin engines of State and Crime.

If I see a cop being attacked by my enemies I will go to his aid, not because he is a friend, or because I care about him—for I do not—but because it would be an excuse to strike a blow against my enemies, for any thug who will attack a cop will certainly attack me after all of the sissy boy cops have been run to ground. And, if I save that cop, he will remain my enemy, a respected one that I would still be willing to ally with for short term tactical advantage.

Given a choice, I would rather see the cop kill a thug, as the cops are outnumbered and are slightly less likely to attack me than are the thugs.

In any situation where a lone white man is in a combat with police, I have always rooted for his cause, hoping he would kill as many pigs as possible. So, the only time I wish to see harm come to police are when they attack a friend of mine [like one of my black fighters] or when they attack a man I identify with along age, class or race lines.

I do think that these assassinations of cops are ‘considerations’ between associated criminal enterprises who deal with the same wholesalers yet are so far apart geographically they do not compete for the same market. Here is what I think might be happening.

1. Tyrone and the Might Macks, over in Shithole U.S.A. have the same heroin connect as Binky and the Beans over in Dirtwater U.S.A.

2. Tyrone tells their connect that he plans on acquiring all medication in 36 pharmacies in his home town. He just needs to be able to make credible threats against the cops—without actually dropping a porker and bringing down major heat—so they will lay low while his crews hit the pharmacies. If Binky and the Beans would off a cop over in Dirtwater so that Shithole cops would be afraid to combat looting in the coming Shitwater Purge, then Binky could bank a consideration, such as a kidnapped Russian slave girl shipped to his Dirtwater row home, or, perhaps, the assassination of a fugitive dealer who skipped town with Binky’s shit and is known to be living on the outskirts of Shithole.

This, might sound crazy, Babe [I have to call you Babe to maintain my masculinity cred], but consider that I was a friend to, and trained the sons of, a man who fought in Vietnam, where he met a Chinese heroin dealer, who had operations set up all over the U.S. through returning U.S. servicemen. When a dude needed killed in Arizona, did The Prince [which is all they knew this guy as] have some meathead from Arizona kill him? No. They sent Banno. That story is in my book, The Logic of Steel.

Just as the police across the U.S. have reciprocal relationships with distant departments, and fly across the country and drive multiple states to attend police funerals, so do the allied networks of their criminal enemies, fighting over the very same space and very same dollars as those cops, have nationwide connections.

Susan, I hope every cop stays home the next time Baltimore breaks its chains, so that I will be free to defend myself without fear of arrest. I could care less who is getting high, who is selling dope to who. I have relatives who have died from drug overdoses and am fine with their suicide, as I would not hold them prisoner on a planet they cannot tolerate. Ever since Nixon declared The War on Drugs, and then that actor escalated it, we have all known that this nation is the scene of a never ending fight, a fight in which I have no stake.

As for Deputy Goforth, he was slain in a war that was declared by an American President and reaffirmed by numerous American Presidents, supported by the American People and by the Citizens of his home state. He should be given the honors of a warrior, and buried at Arlington National Cemetery, for he died as a soldier in a Declared War, a war more openly declared and publically supported than the “conflicts” in Korea and Vietnam.

Every president who has been elected in this nation since the reviled Carter has sworn to fight The War on Drugs, and have been so elected by the people, for the people. So, who am I to go against the will of the American people, my 300 million slave masters, who, obviously want, and forever reaffirm through their votes, their desire for a never ending War on Drugs?

My masters say with their words and actions, “Give war a chance and let the bodies drop where they may.”

Who am I to say, “Nay?”

Thanks for getting me in trouble, Susan.

-James