"Justice Does Not Wait for Monday"

 by John Gotheborg

  

I was stuck in traffic late last night, having already taken three detours. They've been blocking off the roads here one at a time for months now, and I'm convinced that soon there will be just one road. That road will lead us straight to a concentration camp.

My head was spinning as I sat thinking over all that's happened in the past few weeks. As some of my readers may recall, I was recently dosed with mescaline and had a most harrowing experience involving Daylight Savings Time. My face still hasn't healed from that drugged-out attempt at shaving my beard. Thankfully, a small piece of it still remains intact. It feels quite natural, actually, twisting the long strand of gray hair in my fingers. I think it makes me look like an Asian scholar, a sort of New Age Christian Confucius, but Sunny does not like it one bit.

It had immediately occurred to me that my adopted son Kevin must have been the one who put that mescaline in my holy water. I know what you're thinking. How did I know it was mescaline? Well, Kevin's done this before. He thinks he's amusing, but he wasn't laughing when I turned him into the police.

Oh, I thought they'd teach him a lesson. Can you imagine my surprise when they accused me of drugging myself? I tried to explain to the officer that I would never do such a thing. Holy water is sacred, and a minister would never defile a sacrament. Then he had the gall to ask why I was drinking holy water in the first place.

After the events of the past few days, though, I am extremely grateful that Kevin was spared from that Hell Hole they call the County Jail.

#

I was sitting for nearly an hour, right behind a semi. I couldn't even see past it. All I could see was the big blue sticker that read: OUR DRIVING FORCE IS PEOPLE.

OUR DRIVING FORCE

IS PEOPLE

My God, I thought... Driving force means fuel. Right there -- as clear as day -- bragging -- they use people for fuel!

I rushed home and immediately went to the computer. I had to get to the bottom of this. Sunny tried to stop me, yelling something about my "ridiculous half-beard” in that damned Korean wail of hers, but I had no time.

Just look at what I found on the company website:

"At Averitt Express, our philosophy of 'Our Driving Force is People' extends beyond our customers and associates"

Do you see???

They're not just using their customers and associates. It extends far beyond them. Their mission is to turn everyone into fuel -- and they operate a major plant right near my home in Saratoga. That’s Saratoga, Wisconsin, mind you, not Saratoga, California. I briefly lived in that state during the 1980s and will not ever go back. The sooner California falls into the ocean, the better off we’ll all be.

Well, I rushed out to the car so fast I forgot to remove my youth ministry insignia from the side door. It crossed my mind that maybe I should get out and take it off, but I decided the site of a youth minister on their trail would strike fear into their damnable satanic hearts.

I kept an eye out for those damn harbingers of death until I reached the plant, 30 miles away at a huge plant of some kind. It lies on the outskirts of the city, right off the Interstate, just outside view and yet attached by an artery to the heart of downtown. There were Averitt trucks everywhere, so I knew it had to be the place.

I staked out the plant for hours before heading home. I knew I would need more equipment for any investigation to be truly worthwhile. I needed hard evidence.

#

I returned the next day -- last Friday, November 7th -- with a pair of binoculars, a camera, and a pocket recording device designed to be concealed in my pants pocket. (Thank God for that ingenious device, or I would never have been able to gather evidence of the police corruption that aids and abets these foul criminals.)

I arrived early, around 0400 hours. It's hard to be certain, because I spilled holy water all over my notepad, and so the ink is a little smudged. I waited there like a giant wild cat on the hunt.

Slowly, the Averitt Express trucks began to arrive. They parked outside what I presumed to be the main fuel processing plant. The drivers waltzed inside, some of them even whistling. As other -- more sinister -- workers fueled their vehicles.

Then my real quarry began to arrive. They drove normal citizen vehicles and dressed casually. Some may think they were just office workers, and I imagine most of them were. Those poor souls... Ordinary office workers, most of them with families, all of them with mothers, walking to their doom...

I waited out there for six hours. Would you believe not one of them came out alive? They just walked in, alive and breathing, and they never walked out.

It was then that I spilled the holy water. I was so shocked when I looked at my watch. Six hours! God, what heinous torture must they have experienced? This was big – big! I revved the Volvo’s engine and flew out of there on wings of eagles.

#

I returned the next day, Saturday, at 0800 hours. I had my photos developed, and my detailed notes in hand. I didn't want to go in there half-cocked, mind you. I gave this serious thought.

I first checked the lot, and sure enough, all of the cars I had seen arrive the day before were now gone. They must have sold them for scrap after turning their owners into fuel, the Devils.

I slammed the front doors wide open and yelled at the flabbergasted secretarial pool, "Where is your Satanic master, you foul hordes!"

The secretaries were clearly startled. One of them -- an elderly woman whom one would never expect to be a Satanist -- came charging right at me. "Who the hell are you,” the harpy screamed. "And who are you to call us whores?"

"No, you damnable harpy! I said hordes! Now get your damn paws off of me!"

I pushed the She-Devil down and proceeded to march right into the heart of the beast. Oh, they tried to stop me. How they tried.

"You fools,” I shouted. "I am a minister of God, and no demon can stop me!"

I flung holy water on them, and when the holy water ran dry, I spat on them. Now maybe you skeptics understand why I drink holy water. Hmm??? I'd like to see how you react when I spit my Holy Venom on you, Skeptic Dogs!

I was nearly to the door of the factory -- ready to fling it open and take pictures to shock the world -- when they finally got me. The red-faced Devil at my knees, desperately trying to drag me to the ground, identified himself as the plant foreman. Yes, the plant foreman himself.

He called up to me, "Please stop, sir!” He spoke with a British accent. Now, I ask you, skeptic, please think about this. Use science! Why would anyone in the Midwest have a British accent???

Well, I had to see this. I pretended to let him tackle me, but it was really just so I could get a closer look at him. God, what a horrifying visage. The Children of Satan truly are horrid. His nose was tapered like a weasel’s pinched snout; he had huge floppy ears and his incisors were hideously malformed.

I was so terrified that I began laughing. Yes, laughing! I've lived through two wars, divorce, and parenthood. When you get to be my age, you too will laugh at the face of evil.

#

It was with great shock that I realized I was suddenly completely powerless. I collapsed and began to hyperventilate. The dark master of that plant must have put some kind of spell on me. I couldn't even laugh as he dragged my limp body to the lobby and placed me in a chair like a zombie doll.

It was as though I had become a mere observer of my own demise. I sat there, waiting and watching as the police arrived.

They spoke to the old harpy first. She was crying, and I wanted so badly to scream, "No fool will fall for those crocodile tears!” Alas, I had become mute under the foul spell of the Devil and could only sit there as she told her vicious lies. She claimed that I had burst in and called the secretaries "whores!” Can you believe that??? And they believed her!

I struggled with all my might to free myself from this trance I was in. It took all my strength and prayers just to open my bag and remove the frying pan. A tinfoil hat works better, but I was in a hurry, for crying out loud! You can't expect a simple hardworking youth minister to make time for these things.

I placed the frying pan on my head and two cigarettes in each nostril. Despite what those damn Leftist activists will tell you, cigarette filters are extremely effective for blocking out noxious fumes and chemicals.

I was just placing the old gym sneaker over my mouth and nose when I heard the police officer say, "Which one is he?"

And then the witch said, "Which one is he?! He's the one with the frying pan on his head! Does anybody else here look crazy to you???"

That damned woman... I'll remember that, and I promise you she will be the one who's called crazy when my evidence hits the airwaves.

#

The officers took me by the elbows and practically carried me out to the waiting patrol car. Then they had the nerve to slam my head into the frame of the car as they tossed me inside. Like a lump of cabbage! Is that any way to treat a Youth Minister???

Well, try as I might, I could not convince them that they were the ones who should be arrested. "Just look inside the plant,” I yelled in vain.

I was nearly hoarse by the time we arrived back in town and they dragged me out of the car into the station. These "police officers” were clearly MIB. They were in on the whole thing, or why else would they not listen to my evidence?!

More frustrating still is the knowledge that these words fall on deaf ears even in cyberspace. Though it troubles me deeply as a man of God, I know that there are skeptics out there who don't realize the obvious:

AVERITT --> AVERISS --> AVARICE

AVARICE IS THE TOOL OF THE DEVIL. AVARICE IS THE DRIVING FORCE OF EVIL. AVARICE IS WHAT MAKES EVIL CORPORATIONS TURN HUMAN BEINGS INTO FUEL!!!

It's so obvious, and yet I got tossed into a cell with criminals. It's hard to believe now, but at the time I still harbored thoughts of turning Kevin into the police. "While you're at it, go get my adopted son Kevin,” I hoarsely yelled. "He put mescaline in my holy water!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure he did,” the MIB sarcastically said. "I think you've had a little too much holy water today, pal..."

And then he slammed shut the iron gate and I was left with the scum of the earth. Illegal Mexican immigrants, a drug-addicted Vietnam veteran, several large black men, and more crazy people than I have ever seen in one tiny concrete room.

#

I must have been there twelve hours before anyone would speak to me. The cries of madness were deafening, and yet extremely lonely. The inmates yelled for the guards constantly, and yelled to themselves, but they did not speak to one another. It was a fellow prisoner who first broke the odd, loud silence of this loneliness.

"Have you ever been abducted,” he asked.

"Of course I have! I was abducted just now! This is an illegal arrest!” I was tempted to start screaming again, but I had realized -- at that point -- that protest was futile. Nobody in this damned jail gave a rat's ass about human rights.

Then I noticed how the man stared at me. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated. He was nearly drooling, and for a moment I feared the worst.

"They took me too,” he said.

"Really? And why did they abduct you? For some deviant sexual act I imagine!"

The man appeared confused. He twisted the belt of his bathrobe in his hands, and his face twitched as he said to me in a pained, mournful tone, "No... The aliens aren't like that. I tried to explain it to the police officers, but they think I'm crazy. Why would I stick a plunger up my own ass??? That's disgusting!!!"

My God, I thought. This man is really insane. I had never met a real paranoid psychotic before, but let me tell you I know now from firsthand experience that they are out there. The so-called aliens are clearly demons from Hell, working in concert with the United States Air Force.

I tried to back away from the disturbed man, only to bump into the crazed Vietnam veteran's wheelchair. I knew he was a veteran because he wore his Army jacket and constantly yelled for his "medicine” -- which no doubt meant heroin. A lot of the men I served with had fallen to that evil drug. The government denied it, but I firmly believe to this day that soldiers were deliberately addicted. Vietnam was a Communist war -- and both sides were Communist.

Well, now the poor man began popping wheelies in his chair, yelling, "Give me my dope! Give me my dope!"

I was again engulfed in the lonely silence that comes from being surrounded by the cries of the insane.

#

I was stuck in that Hell Hole for nearly three days!

What kind of treatment is that???

I got no phone call, no lawyer, no one read me my rights. I had no rights!!! I didn't even know what I had been charged with. Every time I got the guard's attention, I was lied to. According to them -- the courts aren't "open for business” on weekends. Can you believe that??? They think justice has to wait for Monday, like a goddamned banker! JUSTICE DOES NOT WAIT FOR MONDAY!!!

I apologize for taking the Lord's name in vain. I know I should be cursing myself now, but goddamnit! This "justice system” is a farce!!!

For three days, I had to endure this torture. And for what??? For trying to find the truth??? For trying to protect you from being turned into fuel???

If Jesus were here today, do you think he would stand by and let Averitt Express get away with this? Not a chance. No way. The Jesus Christ I know would not tolerate this.

Well, I'm ranting a bit. I realize that, but gosh this makes me so angry.

You try finding candy on your pillow, and see how you react. How was I supposed to know not to eat the candy??? What, I eat some Laffy Taffy and suddenly that makes me a large black man's property?! It's ludicrous!

#

It wasn't until well into Monday afternoon that Sunny came to bail me out. I don't know how she even knew I was trapped in that Hell Hole, but God bless her, somehow my lovely Suu Ni came to rescue me.

I could hear her voice from the cell. She was pleading for my release. Oh, how I love that brave woman. But would you believe those corrupt, racist bastards wouldn't even listen to her?? Just because she doesn't speak English, that makes her some kind of second-class citizen!?

And oh how terrifying it must have been for my new friend the Vietnam veteran to hear an Asian woman screaming her lungs out like that. He had another fit the moment she began crying.

"Stop torturing that poor woman,” he yelled. "I'm reporting you to the C.O.! You won't get away with this, you bastards!!!"

I felt for the man, I really did, but I was so glad to hear him in pain at that moment. You see, the guards always arrive when the crippled veteran starts to wail. I only hoped that I could get a word in as they sedate him.

Sunny screamed at the front desk, the cripple screamed in the cell, and now the Mexican immigrants began to scream as well.

I don't speak fluent Spanish, but I know what "el Diablo” means. The raucous cries of those Mexicans was like music to my ears.

I yelled with them, "Yes! Ci! Policia est el Diablo!!!"

Then the veteran fell from his chair and simply repeated the cry several times like a wounded animal, "Court marshal..."

Finally the guard arrived. I clutched his arm and told him, "That's my wife out there! She doesn't speak English, but she's here to bail me out! You have to let me interpret for her!"

The insane man in the tattered bathrobe clutched the guard's other arm. He said, "They're coming for me. Let me out of here before they kill us all!"

Well, I guess he could only take one of us, but thank God he chose me.

#

I wrapped my arms around Sunny the moment I saw her. She was upset, and unfortunately my kisses and cooing did nothing to calm her raging Korean spirit. She hasn't lived in this country long, so I imagine there will be many more times like this, when I have to patiently explain to her the way things work in America. I'm sure Korea is a paradise of Justice and Fairness, but America is quite a different place indeed.

The officer at the front desk informed me that my friend the psychiatrist had called, and that they agreed to drop all charges. In a fascist society, it really does pay to have connections.

"But,” he ominously warned me, "We'll be keeping our eyes on you."

God how those words chilled me to the bone.

The MIB are everywhere, even in the hallowed halls of Justice. They do all they can to stop soldiers of Christ like me from exposing the truth. You may laugh, skeptics, but don't think you're safe for even a moment. What do you think will happen when you discover the truth?

#

I have a lot of notes to go through, and unfortunately the police confiscated my photographs. The damned liars claim that the camera contained "child pornography” -- can you believe the gall??? Suu Ni may look 14, but that's why I love her so dearly. We've been married 30 years, and she's still every bit the sprightly young nymph I met that day in the rice paddies outside Seoul, though she has gained a bit of weight in the past few months.

Well, the last laugh is on them.

You see, I had the pocket tape recording device in my pocket the whole time. I have all the evidence I need. Soon those bastards will face Federal Civil Rights Abuse charges for what they've done to that poor mentally ill man, and the Vietnam veteran they've drugged into near-catatonia. Sure, I would like to sue them for $6,000,000, but this isn't about me. This is about you, and the many other innocent victims out there.

My fingers are still shaking -- just a little bit -- as I prepare to call Art Bell and blow the lid off this whole conspiracy.