National Law Enforcement Day

It’s National Law Enforcement Day. Or as I always call it: fuck the police day.

I’m actually quasi less upset with the police over this. I don’t blame them entirely. Just mostly.

In my case, I think they had the best intentions to start with—and then they played politics with it. They handled it badly. They fucked up.

Like why the fuck was the chief of investigations writing an administrative synopsis about this? What the fuck, for real? Why was it being treated like an administrative situation instead of a criminal one?

And now I can’t even get any help.

This motherfucker is still fucking with me. That video being retweeted on Christmas Day—was it random, really? I know he has fucked with me on dating sites. I know he is still fucking with me. And he is also still here, on my website that I own.

And then he has the audacity to accuse me of stalking him with my analytics. Don’t come here if you don’t want me to know you’re reading at your girlfriend’s kid’s hockey game, dumbass. I figure these things out. Just like I figure out when you rape her at night—because for some sick reason, she always comes here afterwards.

The police mishandled this. They made it political and not criminal. I never should have allowed them to look at my phone. I never should have done it. I’ve been published on the Fourth Amendment for fucks sake. I fucking know better.

I go through the reports and emails and all of it, and I see little things like: “we wouldn’t want Metro (police) to get involved in this.” The whole “accidentally” telling me he was being arrested while they were right there with him—that wasn’t a fucking accident. Something happened. Something changed.

And this is the pattern I can’t unsee: they took it seriously and affirmed what I already knew, then it quietly shifted from criminal to political, then the focus moved onto me—my phone, my behavior, how I “look,” what I “should do”—and then they just… stopped. Like the solution was for me to go away and get smaller and be easier to deal with.

There are accidents. There are screw-ups. There are mistakes. You can’t expect an investigation to go perfectly. There will always be mistakes.

These were not mistakes though.

There are too many inconsistencies. Too many mishaps. Too many missing pieces. Too many “oopsies” for this to be honest. This has to be calculated.

No one—not even a cop—is that big of a fuck up.

So happy law enforcement day, Nevada State Police. You completely fucked me up by taking it seriously and affirming what I thought it was—and then just not. You just didn’t.

And Sergeant Halligan was nice enough to let me know that I wasn’t making myself look good. When he told me that, he also said I needed more therapy. Judgmental dick. It was about a year ago and I was in full-day therapy at the time, and someone had reported to them that I was contacting her from multiple numbers when that never happened. Thanks for that shit, young lady.

I literally have to go back through Metro to do this. That’s bullshit. I hate Metro. They scarred me for life already. May as well go for another fucking round, right?

Fuck the police. They don’t protect people. They don’t help people. They’re overpaid. Violent. Oversupplied with the means of killing. They have too much power. Too much pull.

So yeah—fuck the police today.