Running From a Stop and Frisk

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A Protected Criminal Class

On February 18, 2014, I was walking home on Martel Avenue in Los Angeles, CA heading north from an acting class at my union at 5757 Wilshire Boulevard at about 10:30 or 11:00 pm, which I’ve been doing for fifteen years. At Santa Monica Boulevard, Martel becomes Plummer Park for a block, and I proceeded. As I entered the park, I noticed there was a Sheriff’s patrol car idling to the right of the path that cut through the park. As I passed the vehicle, the Sheriff nodded to me and I nodded back. Once I passed, the Sheriff started inching towards me on the path. I thought he wanted to move on to the path, which was paved and wide enough for a vehicle. I stopped, stepped off the path, and waved for him to pass.

He didn’t want to pass. He stopped. He didn’t say anything. When I could see that he didn’t want to get on the path, I got back on and started walking again. As far as I could tell, I was proceeding into the park with his permission. He started following me again, exhibiting predatory behavior. What I did not know, and what the Sheriff did not tell me, was that the park closed at ten.

When I started walking again, the Sheriff pulled up next to me and began asking me questions. He did not say why he was asking me questions. The Sheriff didn’t tell me the park was closed because he wanted me in the park to create probable cause to “stop and frisk” me. He was corrupting the law for his own unconstitutional purposes. He had two opportunities to tell me the law, but he didn’t want me to know the law.

 “Where are you going?” He asked.

“Home,” I said.

“Where’s that?”

I told him the name of the street.

Then he asked me another question. I can’t tell you what it was. He was violating my fourth amendment rights. I had stopped listening. He repeated the question. He had not identified any probable cause to question me. This was an unconstitutional “stop and frisk.” I ran.

Why did I run? I hadn’t really done anything, but it’s been my experience, after living in Los Angeles for over twenty years, that innocence or guilt really doesn’t matter.  In Los Angeles, you’re either a policeman or a suspect. Not all, but a lot of the police in Los Angeles are just bullies with badges. West Hollywood Sheriffs start out as county prison guards, and some regard everyone as their prisoners. They do their job if you’re guilty, but they do the same job if you’re innocent, because everyone is their prisoner. To them, the City of West Hollywood is an extension of the county jail.

            I did not have the intent to run. I just found myself running.  It was an involuntary reaction to a perceived danger. I’ve been traumatized by the police in Los Angeles. I did not feel safe. Running was instinctual.

            The Sheriff later told me he profiled me because I had long hair and was wearing a long coat. He was convinced I had drugs. But while he was profiling me, I was profiling him. The last time I got “stopped and frisked” by the West Hollywood Sheriff’s Department, the Sheriff got friskier than a TSA agent.

            During this “stop and frisk,” I was sexually assaulted. It was more of a “stop and molest.” My civil rights weren’t the only thing being violated. During this “stop and frisk,” the Sheriff asked me a series of questions that were similar to the questions the Sheriff in the park was asking. I was wearing a back-pack and he asked to search it. I let him. I was also wearing a penis and he asked to search that, but not in those words. He said, “I’m going to frisk you now.”

            When he put his hand in my left pocket, he went right. He was fondling me long enough to know I didn’t have testicular cancer. The West Hollywood Sheriff’s Department had a new slogan that day: “to protect and service.”

            Once I had escaped the danger in the park and crossed Fountain Street, I stopped running and resumed my path on Martel. As I said, it was a fight or flight panic response. When I felt safe again, I stopped running. It was a flashback to a sexual assault by a West Hollywood Sheriff.

About three quarters of the way down this block of Martel, between Fountain and Sunset, the West Hollywood Sheriff’s patrol car from the park pulled up next to me in a screeching halt. The Sheriff jumped out of his vehicle and seemed extremely emotionally distressed.

I remained still. The Sheriff grabbed my right arm from behind and pushed me towards the back hood of the nearest car. He said, “Move to the car and stand up against it.” He pushed me down on the hood. I broke the fall with my left hand. A second Sheriff had arrived and he told me to spread my legs.

At this point other Sheriffs were arriving. Eventually there would be up to ten Sheriff’s patrol cars swarming the street. They parked across both lanes with their lights flashing and shut down traffic.

While one Sheriff held my right cuffed arm behind my back, the one from the park was on my left side and he had his hand around my wrist. He said, “Put your left hand behind your back.”

I was suffering from a long standing painful injury in my left shoulder. I had already scheduled a doctor’s appointment regarding it for the following Tuesday. I said, “I have a shoulder injury.”

He then emptied half a bottle of pepper spray into my eyes, onto my glasses, my face, my hair, and my clothes. He then repeated his order: “Put your left hand behind your back.”

The fact that he had assaulted me with half a can of pepper spray did not change the fact that my shoulder was in pain. I said, “I have a shoulder injury.”

He emptied the rest of the can into my eyes, on my glasses, my face, my hair, and my clothes.  Then he grabbed my arm and put it behind my back anyway, which he could have done without emptying a can of pepper spray into my face. I never resisted. This was just something he wanted to do. I’m sure if he had more pepper spray, he would have asked me again. This is what bullies do. It’s what thugs and cowards do. It’s what the police in America do to subjugate the population.

For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being assaulted by your local police, when you are assaulted with pepper spray, you are immediately blinded. Mucus glands are stimulated to try to relieve the body of the alien chemical combination that has attacked their host. My eyes teared up and my nose started to run.

They already had me in cuffs so I said, “Is somebody going to wash these chemicals out of my eyes?”

One of the Sheriffs, I couldn’t tell you which one because I was blinded, said, “The fire department is coming. They’ll wash it out.” This seemed reasonable. The fire department often administered first aid and there was a station a couple of blocks over.

Chemical weapons are frowned on in warfare, but I say kudos to the West Hollywood Sheriff’s Department for not reading the Geneva Convention. They’re still working on the Constitution, particularly Amendments IV and XIII.

            I was thrown into the back seat of the patrol car and the doors and windows were closed. Not even a window was cracked, which a civilized person wouldn’t do to a dog, although they might do it to a squirrel in the park after ten.

            The thing you should know about pepper spray in an enclosed space is that it recirculates and intensifies. It does not dissipate. The Sheriffs knew this. They were deliberately torturing me, which is a violation of the eighth amendment.

To further exemplify this violation of my eighth amendment rights, the back seat door on the driver’s side opened up, and one of the Sheriffs sat next to me, I assume it was the punk from the park, although, through his amazing grace, I was blind and could not see. He proceeded to ask me a series of questions culminating with, “Were you in the park?” He was essentially questioning me under torture to get me to say I was in the park after ten.

I answered his first couple of questions, which I do not recall---either the questions or the answers. My senses were still reeling from the shock and awe of the police swarm and the gas attack. It’s very much like what happens to the memory in an accident. The purpose of shock and awe is to stun and traumatize. I told him, “I cannot make a statement in this condition.”

At no time during my incarceration was I read my Miranda rights.  They just kept saying over and over again that I was a drug dealer. “Where are the drugs? People who look like you usually have drugs!”

I said, “I’m just a citizen,” which became my mantra throughout the booking process. “I’m just a citizen!”

Profiling is not probable cause. Any spider can catch a fly if it spins a web.

The longer I remained in the car, the more torturous the recirculating gas became. We must have remained in that area for over an hour. As I said, the Sheriffs swarmed. They were probably canvassing the area for the stash they thought I had dropped. They were stupid, but they were honestly stupid. They couldn’t fathom why anyone would run from a “stop and frisk.” ‘Don’t you like to be molested?’

At one point two Sheriffs got in the front seat, I couldn’t say who because I was still blind, and they taunted me for being handcuffed in the confines of the back seat of the patrol car with recirculating gas. “Gee I’d hate to be in here. It smells like pepper in here. I’d hate to be in here.” They were like a couple of giggling stupid high school jock bullies.

So being the only adult in the car, I said, “That’s real nice guys. Mock me. That’s very professional.”

This flustered them. After all, I’m a fifty-two year old man and these were children---punks with guns, tazers and pepper spray. They acted like punks, punks who had been caught. They tried to act like they were talking about something else: “Ooh, this pepper candy is hot.”

“Yea, pepper candy.” They jumped out of the car.

At some point another Sheriff opened up the front door and stuck his head in and I repeated my request to have my eyes washed out. “A medic is coming,” he said. No medic was coming.

At another point I wanted to kick out one of the windows, but that would not have helped my situation.  All I could do was scream and that is what I did. It wasn’t a scream to accomplish anything. It was not a call for help, it was a venting.

The screaming didn’t do anything, so I decided to pretend I was having a seizure. If I pretended to have a seizure, they’d have to open the doors and let in some fresh air. I pretended to have a seizure. They didn’t open the back door or crack the windows. At one point, a Sheriff stuck her head in the front door and said, “Are you all right?” I didn’t respond. Nobody opened the back door or rolled down a window.

After a short interval, I pretended to have a second seizure with similar results.

I asked for a third time for someone to wash the pepper spray out of my eyes. I was still blind, so I couldn’t tell you who said, “You can wash it out when you get to the station.”

I said, “That’s great. You bring the disease, but you don’t bring the cure. That’s very professional.” This became my second mantra.

After being tortured in the back seat for an hour or more, the Sheriff got in the car and took me to the West Hollywood Sheriff’s jail for processing. I asked to wash the pepper spray off, but they told me I could wash it off when I was put in a cell.

I got put in a holding area while the arresting officer interviewed me from behind a glass barrier. He said I was lucky it wasn’t before the Rodney King beating because then they would have beaten me. The Sheriff who processed my release gave me a similar warning that I was lucky I wasn’t beaten---typical bully behavior.

They put me in a cell and I tried to wash off the pepper spray with no success. There was a tiny push button cold water sink that was set up to be more of a drinking fountain. Trying to wash off the chemical just reactivated it. They would not let me take a shower until the next afternoon, shortly before they released me. I had to sleep on my back. If I slept on my face or side, I would just be inhaling the pepper spray. It was freezing in the unheated cell and I couldn’t use my coat because it had been doused in the chemical.

I grew up in a different America. I doubt if Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, James Madison or Benjamin Franklin ever envisioned a country where the state regularly molests citizens, whether in “stop and frisks” or the TSA. This is what occupying armies do. This is how you terrorize a population into submission. Maybe we should amend the third amendment to include “no officer of the law shall molest the citizens.”

Perhaps my interpretation of the constitution is out of fashion, but if it doesn’t come back, this country will not last long. I acted like a citizen with constitutional rights. The West Hollywood Sheriff’s Department acted like I was a prisoner in their county jail. I’m a citizen, not a suspect, or a prisoner. I am a free man. My rights are unalienable and not granted by the state.

The West Hollywood Sheriffs are a protected criminal class of prison guard thugs. They have no regard for the constitution or civil rights. They are the Hells Angels at Altamont. I was assaulted, mugged, tortured and kidnapped and my property was destroyed. I now have a record and my fingerprints are on file because I was walking home through a public park.

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Trippitorial - "Polls" - May 4, 2012

"Comedy Nation This Week" - March 16, 2012

Here's today's podcast with me, Laurie Buckley, Dave Plunkett and host Bill Bronner:

The panel discuss the recent GOP primaries, the War on Women, Sudan and more.

Trippitorial - Southern Strategy

I have never eaten grits. I’m not opposed to eating grits, but I’m not going out of my way to eat grits. And I’m certainly not going to eat cheese grits. With all apologies to my farming constituency, dairy is not always my friend, but that’s another story.

I don’t even know…what are grits? I know what “true grit” is, but I don’t think that applies in this situation, although in the movie, I think there was a scene where somebody was eating grits, but it might have been just mush, although then it would have been “True Mush,” and that’s a different movie altogether. I never had mush either. Is there a mush constituency? I know mush has a consistency.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that I don’t have a southern strategy. I have nothing against saying y’all, as a matter of fact, I just said it. It’s just that I typically don’t say it. I once said, “Blimey,” but that was in southern England. “Blimey!” It was kind of a Dick Van Dyke interpretation. But if I was to run for president, and I want to make it perfectly clear, I am not running, I don’t think I would change who I am.

Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich like to pander. Newt’s better at it, probably because he looks like a panda. When Mitt panders, you just don’t believe him. If a presidential candidate talks to you like you're a redneck and it doesn’t bother you, you might be a redneck. If you know the Ten Commandments better than you know the bill of rights, you might be a redneck. Wait a minute. That’s not my act. That’s an act?

The Republican candidates in the race I am not in have had their fun in the South and now they’re on to Missouri, Puerto Rico and Illinois. I wonder if Mitt Romney knows the owner of the Cubs. Rick Santorum, on the other hand, is not too good at pandering. He told a newspaper in Puerto Rico that if the territory wants to become a state, they’re going to have to speak English, just like Jesus.  I guess that’s one way to court the Catholic vote.

Of course, maybe his real audience for that remarkable remark was in the States. Maybe he’s not as dumb as his religious beliefs. Of course, you have to be dope to listen to a Pope.

It’s like LBJ said when he signed civil rights legislation, “we’re gonna lose the south until the 2012 election.

"Breaking Taboo" - February 20, 2012

Here's today's podcast with me, Allan Coberly, Steven Forrest and host Lakota Phillips:

"The War On Women"

"Comedy Nation This Week" - January 27, 2012

Here's today's episode of "Comedy Nation This Week" with me, Laurie Buckley, and host Bill Bronner:

The Panel Discusses the State of the Union, the GOP Florida debates and more.

Trippitorial: Class Warfare

When Rick Perry pulled out of the Republican race, I expected him to endorse me, but instead he endorsed a Newt. I don’t blame him though. Newt probably yelled at him, and we know how mean Newt can be. Maybe he thinks he can be Newt’s Vice President. He could be the new Dan Quayle. Nobody’s would assassinate Newt Gingrich if Rick Perry was the Vice President.

Jon Huntsman was poised to endorse me, but obviously somebody got to him and he ended up endorsing twit Romney. It’s almost like they don’t even want to acknowledge I’m in this race even though I’m not.

And then Huntsman accused ex-president Barack Obama (if I get in this race) of provoking class warfare. The only thing Jon Huntsman provoked was James Tripp, even if I’m not running.

Who is causing class warfare? The people eliminating the middle class. It’s not the people being eliminated. Shut your pie hole! It’s like Newt Gingrich blaming me for him eating too many Twinkies! Shut your pie hole, Newt and you won’t get so fat! If you’re not a poster boy for gluttony, then you’re probably a poster boy for something else that may explode at any minute from a continual internal combustion of bile.

The class who benefit by exploiting another class doesn’t want it pointed out. They’d make it illegal to discuss if they could get away with it. They’d call it sedition, or some word like that that fat people say to keep skinny people from eating the food.

But I digress, and it’s a good thing too. The upper class accuses the lower class of fomenting a class war to silence them. The rich foment a class war by hoarding all the wealth. If the poor foment anything it won’t be a war, it will be a revolution. Wars are for the rich. You need uniforms. The poor can’t afford uniforms! They’re lucky to have shoes!

So shut up about a class war, because if you want a class war, you’ll get a class war. At least that’s what Rambo said…I think.

Be careful what rhetoric you pursue, you may not like where it takes you, you silly primary Republicans! Put that in your twitter and tweet it!

I’m James Tripp and I’ll be back next week with another Trippitorial!

Hurricane Gloria

The recent passing of Hurricane Irene reminds me of similar hurricane warnings along the northeast coast in the fall of 1985 for a storm called Gloria. I was the News Director for WMVY FM, a 3,000 watt radio station out of Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts. Our audience was Cape Cod and the islands of Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.

WMVY was a small station. It was the type of a station where you knew a lot of your listeners. It was the type of a station where the subject of a story might call up because a friend of his, who I also knew, had heard the story I’d just done about him and he’d ask me to run it during my next report so he could hear it himself and I would. I should point out that in 1985 we did not archive things online. As a matter of fact, there was no online. There was no internet.

In addition to having no internet, I had no wire service. By wire service, I don’t mean Wi-Fi. I mean Reuters or A.P. This meant all the copy I said on air, I had to write. I had a person who covered an afternoon drive position who also covered some local meetings from which she’d create pieces I could plug into my broadcasts and I had some stringers. We were also part of the Mutual Radio Network, which meant that in addition to an hourly report, I could run their coverage of any national story. I could not interact with the network, which meant I was really only set up to cover local stories.

For example, when the space shuttle Challenger exploded, it was such a big story, I had to interrupt programming and lead every report with it. After the initial explosion when the Challenger fell from the sky, but before they started assessing the cause, the next story was going to be when the astronauts were officially pronounced dead. You couldn’t say they were dead before they said they were dead even though everybody was saying they were dead. And they were dead. Everybody knew they were dead. But you couldn’t say it---until they said it.

A news conference was scheduled at exactly the same time as I was scheduled to go on the air and I knew they were going to announce that the astronauts were dead. The only way I could follow the story was to have a television in the booth turned down very low with Dan Rather covering the press conference, while I read the other news. You go about your business, Dan. I’ll go about mine.  It was like having an earpiece in my ear, only much bigger. You might say Dan was an unpaid stringer. And sure enough, as soon as Dan Rather announced that the astronauts were dead, so did I. What a scoop!

So when Hurricane Gloria showed up as a category 4 storm, it was a big story. It was a big national story. My connections with the local selectmen probably wouldn’t do me much good. It was definitely the type of story where, in those days, you needed a wire service if you wanted to know what was going on, so you’d have something to say on air. At one point we hooked up the Weather Channel, but its coverage was national and not specific to Cape Cod and the Islands. And who watches that station, anyway? Not me.

On the morning of the storm I received a telephone call from some LA TV news producer for a Ken and Barbie type noon news show, who summered on the Vineyard, and he thought it would be neat and keen to call me during the broadcast to get an update on the storm from the Vineyard. Say, that did sound like a good idea. Good luck. The only way I could really tell what was going on with the storm on the Vineyard was to look out the window. And even then, the station was surrounded by trees, so you never really got a great look at the sky. I said, “Sure!”

This was in the days before graphics took over news shows, but they were just starting, calling Gloria “Stormwatch ’85!” I felt like I was getting in on the ground floor.  And I was. “The world will end at ten. Film at eleven.”

The thing about this storm is that it never materialized. I mean, there was some rain, but not much. It didn’t live up to the hype. In preparation for the storm, hatches got battened, windows were taped and vehicles were prohibited from being on the road unless you were police, fire or press. That’s right. I got to be out in the storm. That certainly would have been one way to report about it, but not for what they paid me. I stayed indoors and looked out the window or watched the Weather Channel.

So when the producer from the Ken and Barbie LA noon TV news show called up, I was ill prepared. What did I care? They weren’t paying me. This wasn’t my big break. When I heard the phone ring I looked out the widow. “Yup,” I said to myself. “It’s dark out there. It looks like it’s gonna rain. “It ain’t a fit [day] out for man or beast.”

So it turned out this was a big story in L.A. Rain in L.A. was a big story. They were gonna lead their noon news with the hurricane. “They’re gonna throw to you, James Tripp, to find out what’s going on in the eye of the storm.” 

“Sounds, like a good idea,” I assured him, although it sounded like a horrible idea. I didn’t know what was going on. The window was starting to steam up.

This producer did less prep with me than a segment producer from the Tonight Show. A Tonight Show segment producer would be like, “Okay, so what other storms have you done? How can Ken and Barbie set up your lead? What’s your closing bit? Do you have any storm dates in the future?” If he asked just one question, “What’s your closing bit?” He would have found out I didn’t have an opening bit. He wasn’t smart enough to ask. What could you expect from an off-islander who just summered on the Vineyard?

So I could hear on the phone their noon news theme starting and a roll call of all the Ken and Barbies on the show and the first story is Gloria “We now go,” says Ken, “To WMVY News Director James Tripp, who is on Martha’s Vineyard in the heart of the storm. Welcome James.”

“Thanks Ken. It’s good to be here with you and Barbie.”

“James, can you tell us what it’s like back there?”

“Well, it’s really not so bad, Ken. We’re still kind of waiting for the storm to hit, but nothing’s happened so far.”

I could tell Ken and Barbie were a little put off. Clearly, they had access to information I did not. “But James,” said Barbie, “According to our Accuweather Satellite map, the storm has already passed over your region.”

“Oh, really?” I said. “I guess it wasn’t so bad.”

Clearly, this was not what Barbie or Ken wanted to hear. I felt bad for them. At this exact moment, we lost power at the station. And in my best Ted Baxter voice I said, “Ken, we’ve just lost power in the station, and I can only imagine it’s off all over the island.”

At this point Ken said, “We’re going to go to a commercial. We’ll be right back.” And they were but I wasn’t. Oh well. I wondered if that segment producer would ever be able to summer on the Vineyard again. Not my problem.

The only thing that could have made that lead segment worse was a version of Van Morrison’s Gloria, which everyone seemed to be playing that week including WMVY. It’s a good thing James Taylor or Carly Simon hadn’t recorded a version of that platter or it would have been in a constant rotation.

So I had destroyed Ken and Barbie’s noon broadcast. My work was done. I had finished my own broadcasts for the day. My afternoon person was on air for the rest of the day. I stuck around and filed a story that I had run on WMVY with the Mutual Network, which they failed to buy. It was a story about a bunch of people at one of the island shelters throwing a Hurricane Party. A Mutual Radio Network editor deemed it “unprofessional.” The storm was not a party. The storm was a disaster.

When the County Commissioners declared that the disaster was over, I announced it over the air and my day was done. I drove the deserted streets of the island. There were no other police, fire or press vehicles.  I thought about the day and I thought about Ken and Barbie. Poor Ken and Barbie. It was pretty funny.

Still, I felt a little bad. Their noon broadcast, Pacific Standard Time, seemed important to them. It was not so important to me. Maybe being a reporter wasn’t for me. Maybe I should be a stand-up comedian.

"The DAMage Report" - July 5, 2011

Here's yesterday's show with me, Steve Gelder, Rick Overton and host Johnny Dam:

"The DAMage Report" - June 13, 2011

Here's yesterday's show with me, Steve Gelder and host Johnny Dam:

Live Tweets From GOP Debate

June 13, 2011, 1 pm EST:
thejamestripp James Tripp

will be live tweeting tonight's GOP debate from the Congressional Gym's locker room.

7 pm EST:

Prediction for tonight’s debate: Mitt Romney will deny his Massachusetts Health Care plan 3 times before the cock crows.

8 pm EST:

Republican candidates are now debating who will lead "the Pledge of Allegiance."

Herman Cain wants us to elect him so he can get away from his grandchildren.

Why doesn't Godfather's Pizza hire 50,000 workers like McDonald's?

"My whole plan involves a plan." I'm voting for Pawlenty.

Why does Mittcare call it Obamacare?

Tim Pawlenty having trouble veering from script. Should take improv class.

Why can't I think of a phrase like Obamneycare?

Obamacare is to blame for everything! It ate my homework!

Those who don't remember history are condemned to be in this debate.

The set reminds me of the Lincoln-Douglas debate.

I'm not voting for anyone with Elvis and Johnny Cash on their iPod.

Mitt Romney is making the UAW the bad guy. I hope his car breaks down in front of a union shop.

I'm in favor of sending George Bush (either one) to Mars.

I think Michelle Bachman's eyelash extensions are breeding.

Gingrich wants to privatize Space exploration. I want him to privatize his campaign.

If Romney hates the Federal Government so much, maybe he ought to run for Massachusetts Governor.

Newt doesn't like "Dancing With the Stars" since Tom Delay was indicted during the finals.

9 pm EST:

Herman Cain introduces "Mediscare" into debate. Bravo!

Bachman can quote Obama. Maybe she should listen.

Tim Pawlenty memorized a lot of stuff to say.

Weiner is Googling Santorum.

Cain makes the others look moderate.

thejamestripp James Tripp

is taking a loyalty oath during the commercials.

Romney gives Bruins score and wins debate.

Santorum doesn't believe in evolution, but he does believe in de-evolution.

Republicans are in favor of people being alive. Bold position.

Santorum's grandfather came to this country to get away from his grandmother.

Cain and Pawlenty want to put the federal borders in the state's hands. More bureaucracy.

Natural gas discovered in New Hampshire!

Romney wants to turn over military command to the Taliban. That doesn't seem right.

Ron Paul seems like the adult. The others are rascally urchins.

People are not in our national interest.

Feckless is a good word.

It's not my favorite word.

Michelle Bachman wants Steve Tyler to pick her vice president.

Newt can kiss the audience's ass all he wants; he was still run out of Congress by the villagers.

Scene.

"The DAMage Report" - June 8, 2011

Here's yesterday's show with me, Bill Freiberger, Lakota Phillips and host Johnny Dam:

"The DAMage Report" - June 6, 2011

Here's today's show with me, Chris Bonno, Brett Gilbert and host Johnny Dam:

"The DAMage Report" - January 14, 2011

Here's yesterday's show with me, Jonathan Boswell, Lee Camp, Michael Codispoti, Suzanne Monk and host Johnny Dam:

"Playhouse West Studio 2" - November 14, 2010

"The DAMage Report" - November 23, 2010

Here's today's show with me, Jamee Damron, Mike Dorval, Eugene Mayer and host Johnny Dam:

"The DAMage Report" - November 10, 2010

Here's today's show with me, Steve Gelder, Lakota Phillips and host Johnny Dam:

"The DAMage Report" - October 21, 2010

Here's yesterday's show with me, Michael Codispoti, Jo Elless, Leo Flowers and host Johnny Dam:

"The DAMage Report" - October 12, 2010

Here's today's show with me, Elizabeth Croydon, Kimmie Dee, Mike Dorval and host Johnny Dam:

Pledge to America

     I am bringing a new lemon fresh pledge to America! It will be a new governing agenda for Americans, by Americans to exclude non-Americans and some Americans. It is an agenda built on the priorities and principals of the founding fathers:

1. I plan to chop down a cherry tree and tell my father it was the Democrats.

4. Taxes shall be apportioned by adding to the whole number of free persons, including those bound to service for a term of years, probably in television, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other persons.

2. The government shall not infringe on the right of the people to own a musket.

7. I will expand our agrarian economy by opening up more public lands for farming…hemp farming. We have to write the new Constitution on something.

3. The Congress shall assemble only once in every year and such meeting shall be in December on the last Tuesday.

6. Congress will have to work on July 4th. Only Congress would celebrate the hard work of the founding fathers by taking the day off!

5. Any person held to service or labour in one state, escaping into another, shall be delivered up on claim of the party to whom such service or labour may be due, probably Goldman Sachs.

9. The enumeration in the Constitution of certain rights shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people. No joke there.

10. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these States.

27. Repeal the Constitution. It was passed by a liberal Congress.

0. I will burn witches.

This is my pledge to America!