helicopters

every time i think that phoenix has taught me a new lesson in intolerance, they throw helicopters at me. i'm sitting outside in a predominantly Mexican occupied trailer-park and a copter hovers overhead, shining a spotlight. i was under a canopy (word to you copter idiots) and couldn't be seen but i'm annoyed. so i stand in the yard and wait and when they flash me, i represent america with a single finger. like nodding at a jehovah's witness, they take the bait. within minutes i'm surrounded by jackbooted thugs and cans of pepper spray.
who are you? what are you doing here (in America shouldn't I be asking that question?)
do you live here? um, maybe, who's asking.
may we approach?
no, you're close enough.
we are concerned that you may be harboring fugitives.
so get a warrant and come back. i'll be asleep and the fugitives that aren't here now probably won't be here then. in the meantime, stay off my property.
they converse, and Cpt. darth vader nods. they leave. mumbling like a gaggle of pure retards.
as they do, i mention the Wafflehouse on McKellips has a cook with M13 tatts. go fuck with him, but not until after you have your eggs, because he's a very good cook. and the waitress will make a fresh pot. if you're nice.