Posted on 05/04/2005 10:36:55 AM PDT by rface
Ajai Raj, was arrested at the Ann Coulter speech - here's a previous article written by the wack-job...
Let me begin by saying I had a pretty restful spring break. Nothing exciting- funds were low all around, and no one I knew could afford a road trip, so I went back home, hung around my house wearing boxers and aviator sunglasses, and smoked joints in the backyard. I hung out with a few old friends, and come Friday night, I headed back to Austin where I looked forward to a night of mid-grade revelry and sleeping in my dorm bed.
The Pigf#*king Establishment had other plans. My roommate and I were awakened at 3 A.M. by two grinning Austin Police Department officers and a greasy-haired fat f@ck of an RA who gets his jollies by hanging around with his thumb in his ass until he smells marijuana so he can inform the Justice League in exchange for a free raffle ticket. No shit— as the cops cuffed me for having an ounce of grass, this f&cker got a chance to win a free microwave. Or to s*ck off a sheriff, as far as I know or care.
I would go on at length about the bust, but let’s suffice it to say that I was too tired to think, and thinking is essential to prevent arrest. This will not happen again. On my way out, I passed by my friends Jeff and Nick. This proved fortunate down the line.
I was led in handcuffs into a waiting room full of crazy yelling degenerates, wife beaters, whores, thieves, and contemptible crying c%nts whose lives were obviously over because they had been led to a police station. Over the next several hours, my clothes were taken from me and replaced with black-and-white striped pajamas, my balls were fondled by leering criminals posing as representatives of justice, and I got the opportunity to sleep in awkward positions in several exciting locales. I was told I would wait for a short while to move on to the next stage of the process, and then made to sit around for hours while eavesdropping on conversations about armed robberies and vehicular assaults.
When me and the motley members of my cell block were led in front of a judge, I learned that, according to our “justice” system, a straight-A college kid holding a bag of weed is as bad a criminal as a guy who beats his wife and kid. I learned that in Texas, a cop can decide to arrest you for no reason at all and you can sit in jail for 72 hours before you’re even charged with a crime. I learned that, in Travis County jail at least, you get as many phone calls as you like—as long as you’re not calling a cell phone or a landline outside of Travis county. And you can call any one of a number of bail bondsmen to help you out with your $1500 bail, except that half the numbers don’t work and the other half will be answered by assholes who won’t help out anyone under 21. I learned that every single cop in this God-forsaken county thinks he’s the King of Sh!t Mountain, and that they missed their chance to be comedic wunderkinds. It takes a real man to make fun of a guy who’s in a futile situation and has nothing to do but take your sh!t. Why not push over a guy with crutches and have a real laugh riot?
So, having nothing on my hands but my dignity and a jail cell, I spent the next ten hours or so catching fitful sleep full of decidedly unpleasant dreams. I never really got around to worrying about my situation. I had plenty of reason to—for starters, I had a paper due Monday that I’d yet to begin, and if I get a drug conviction—whoops!—there goes my financial aid. My waking hours were filled with musings about Jeff and Nick busting me out of this place, guns blazing. Knowing them, I knew they’d do something, but I didn’t know what. My hands were tied, so I waited.
Round 7 P.M., the officer in charge—a man with lofty notions about the “free world” and a penchant for passing out baloney sandwiches like nobody’s business—knocked on my door.
“Raj!” he said. “There’s someone here to see you!”
I went out to one of the meeting rooms, where a man who looked like Al Borland from “Home Improvement” was sitting on the other side of a plastic window.
“Ajai?”
“That’s me.”
“Jeff and Nick sent me. I’m Thad Thomason, your attorney.”
Success!
My spirits perked up in a hurry. To make an already abbreviated story even more so, my attorney says he can get the charges dismissed. The law is sticking all kinds of fingers in my a$$hole right now, but with a few savvy business deals, I can plow through this shit and come out smelling like roses. Ironic, really—to get out of this drug charge, I’m forced to arrange bigger drug deals than I ever intended to. C’est la vie, non?
To quote the late, great John Lennon, life is what happens while you’re busy making plans. While we’re at it, I do indeed get by with a little help from my friends.
-Ajai out
But I'm sure you are perfectly okay with denying student aid to a guy caught with a joint while allowing it to a convicted rapist.
LOL! Or a journalist. Err America's hirin'...but they ain't payin'...
IX. CLOSE CALL IN KANSAS/A POST-SCRIPT
We’ve once again been harassed by John Law, this time in that ever-unpleasant asshole of the United States: Kansas.
Mo finally gave out and crashed in the back, where Allen was already dead to the world. Salem was dozing in shotgun, and that left none other than yours truly at the helm. I’ll go ahead and admit that, had an officer actually witnessed the way I was driving, I would have deserved to get pulled over; like any sane man, my only objective was to get the fuck out of Kansas. To that end, I was pushing a hundred the whole way, weaving around eighteen-wheelers with reckless abandon, and holding up a pair of too-dark sunglasses up with one hand to keep the sun from boring into my vision. There were no cops around, so I was safe - or so I thought. It turns out that the motorists of Kansas are degenerate, puerile, shit-nosed little narcs, one and all.
And so it happened that some skittish Kansas scum summoned THE MAN to swoop down upon me. The officer darted out from the scene of another accident- tricky bugger- and pulled me over. My heart sunk as I saw him approach. He was a lawman in the true Kansas tradition, sporting a park ranger’s hat and the slack-jawed, snaggle-toothed aspect of a man who is generally distrustful of all things unfamiliar. His belly bounced with appropriate portent as he waddled to my window. As he blinked and recoiled at my appearance, I knew that as a long-haired, earring-having, hoodie-wearing brown kid with a bandana tied around my head, I didn’t stand a chance. As surely as I knew the words to the Led Zeppelin song blasting from the stereo, I knew my ass was sunk.
“What’s the problem, Officer?” I asked him, fully conscious of the not-too-subtle way he was checking my eyes and sniffing my breath.
“We got a report from another motorist about four or five miles back, that you was driving erratically,” he replied, half-sneering.
“Is that right? Well, maybe, I don’t know- this is the first time I’ve ever driven an SUV. I’m trying to get the hang of it.”
“That right?”
I nodded.
“You been drinking son?”
“It’s ten in the morning!” I replied.
He got my license and registration, and then had me get out of the car, where he patted me down for drugs and weapons after asking whether I had either on my person. For the first time I was thankful that we couldn’t get our hands on anything harder than grass before we left Austin. I let him defile me with his grubby hands, confident that I had nothing on me.
“What’s this?” he asked, referring to my left jeans pocket.
My heart dropped yet again. I pulled out a Ziploc bag containing an Aderol pill, for which I have no prescription, and a marble, which I found and thought was pretty.
He peered ominously at the contents of the bag.
“What is this?”
“Oh, that’s for my ADD,” I lied. “It’s an Aderol. I have a prescription.”
He grunted. “What’s this…ball?”
“That’s a marble.”
“You go sit in the passenger seat of my car.”
We sat in his car and he interrogated me, asking me several times if I had drugs or weapons in the car, trying to get me to admit I’d been speeding or weaving, asking me where I was headed and waiting for my story to change, generally making a ham-fisted effort to find something to arrest me for. Finally, he led me back to our car, where he told me to stay while he checked up on the other guys’ licenses. Allen, awakened by the pullover, was quick to hide the pot. However, when the cop came back, he leaned into the back and pointed at a brown bag by Mo’s feet, which happened to contain the white rum.
“What’s in that bag?”
Allen, however, didn’t waste a second. He grabbed the garbage bag at his feet and waved it in the officer’s face.
“THIS bag?” he asked. “This bag has all our muddy shoes in it, and I think a couple shirts. You want to take a look?”
No way is the cop that dumb, I thought. I was wrong.
“No, that’s alright, I believe you. Can you drive this thing properly, son?” he asked me.
“Sure thing, officer.”
“Alright then, you guys can go. Oh, wait- I forgot your pill.”
He went back to his car and grabbed the Ziploc bag, then went over to another cop car parked on the median. My heart sunk a third time.
He returned to my car with the bag in hand.
“Thank you for being honest, son.”
It took a concentrated effort not to laugh in his face.
“You know, it’s illegal to carry this without a prescription.”
“I didn’t think I’d need it for a short trip,” I said lamely, waiting for the hammer to fall. It didn’t.
“Well, here you are. Drive safely now, you hear?”
He handed the bag to me and we went on our way -- four longhaired hippies who had had the good luck to run into the dumbest cop in the most backwards state in our union.
I think Hunter S. just might have been proud.
-Ajai out
http://www.partycampus.com/article.php?id=177
name: Joe Bob - school: Kuntry
Bout time one o' you haji's lernt english. What's yor elephants name?
Could be his mouth. It appears it is an intercahgable part with his a$$hole.
All the liberals care about is their 15 minutes of fame.
They know if they say the most outrageous things about and against The President, the mainstream media rat pack will come stampeding to their press conference. Fame is more intoxicating than any other rhyme or reason. They call that, "Building their legacy." In another time, people would build skyscrapers as monuments to their having lived; now, if you have videotape denouncing The President, obviously that makes one superior to him -- in their Pulitzer Prize-winning fantasies.
It takes one to know one.
I think Hunter S. just might have been proud.
I think Hunter S. just might have puked.
Looks like we've found the new Hustler S. Thompson!
What type of idiot posts this, using his real name, before the the deal is finalized, the sting performed, and a conviction and sentence handed down by the court? A total moron. Worthless to the world. As far as his writing goes, he's just another Gonzo retread. Dime a dozen.
I don't believe people should be arrested for small quantities of marijuana. I don't like how drug convictions can ruin financial aid status.
This guy is an idiot. On so many levels. It mind boggling.
If a Prosecutor sees this, moron will lose his plea bargain/NARC deal, lose his financial aid, lose on campus housing, possibly go to jail, and probably be thrown out of Uni.
If the moron had any sense, none of this would of happened, and he has no one but him self to blame.
That's nothing. Imagine if one of the potential targets of his narcing sees it....
Mr. Raj gets my contempt.
Oh, yes. It's all about me.
To be fair, you are quoting his profile. It would odd to click on someone's profile and NOT read about them!
That being said, he's a idiot.
Oh I love all the comments he is getting to his articles now, especially the "Busted" article.
Why don't you read and heed the quote on your home page...you have no idea what I am, and am not OK with.
Why don't you read and heed the quote on your home page...you have no idea what I am, and am not OK with.
Why don't you read and heed the quote on your home page...you have no idea what I am, and am not OK with.
1- Isn't it funny that suddnly Dr. Gonzo moonroofs himself with a .45 auto and now every stoned-out hippy douche wants to revive "gonzo journalism"?
2- Notice he says: "I've turned my interests towards journalism, with the (perhaps naive) idea that maybe I can make some kind of a difference"
and not
"I've turned my interests towards journalism, with the (perhaps naive) idea that maybe I can make some kind of a difference report the facts"
WOW! So this Dr. Gonzo wanna-be takes a trip across Kansas in mommy & daddy's SUV, with 1 Aderol pill and a bottle of rum and suddenly he's the next incarnation of the Good Doctor Thompson?
A real Gonzo road trip is when you've just been released from a federal holding cell at the Canadian border where you were detained and strip-searched for having a 3 foot glass bong stashed in the trunk wrapped up in birthday wrapping paper, getting the Hell out of there by doing 120+ MPH across southern Ontario on the Queens Expressway slugging Jack Daniels out of the bottle while your passenger reclines the seat so he can put his feet out the window and more comfortably smoke some of the 1/4lb of weed you stashed in the engine compartment (that, thankfully, the Canadian feds didn't find,) on the 4 hour trip to Toronto where you'll be doing various unspeakable acts of debauchery with tattoo artists, their Hell's Angels customers, and other undesireables on a 4 day rollercoaster of various low-level (we're crazy, but cocaine and handfulls of pills are for those wackos, not for us!) intoxicants.
Like my passenger says, "as your attorney I advise you not to try this at home".
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