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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book.

Did they do a switch ah-rue?

During the first day I got out of jail, the first visitor I had was Dave's girlfriend. I told her that there had been drugs put in my water and I had found myself sitting in jail over the weekend. I offered her a taste of one of the water jugs I had laying around and understandably, with a peculiar look on her face; she refused to taste the water. Soon I received a visit from Dave, Richard and later from James too. Everybody acted as though everything was normal. I even got a call from Rodney. However Rodney was the only one that wasn't interested in what I had gone through over the weekend. Rodney even called to ask me to bring some pot by. I'm sure Rodney already knew about the weekend in jail and was just calling so I wouldn't suspect he had anything to do with it.

Now it's easy to figure out why the time span of which I could score pot from Steve got longer over time. Steve was telling he couldn't get it any more frequent, but I think I have a better understanding now. That is: because if I was able to score pot once every week, I would have only bought one ounce at a time. The city knew that if I could score pot once every week, I would never possess more than forty grams and in that case the city would have only been able to get me on a misdemeanour. The longer duration of time for me being able to score pot was an effort to make sure I would possess a felony amount of pot. It was just a matter of when and how they wanted to nab me with the larger amount. They knew I had scored that week, because as I arrived at home with the six ounces in my guitar case, I heard the girl next door tell others that I must have just scored. I would say the city wanted make sure they could get me with at least a quarter pound so they could say it was with intent to sell.
      It's the reason for the fake out bomb scare and chasing me around. No doubt their goal was to catch me with it in my truck so they could impound my truck, otherwise they would have just popped me any time they wanted to at home. The reason they never popped me with only four or five ounces earlier – on the way home right after scoring it from Steve -- was that they didn’t want me to think they knew who Steve was.

Another strange thing happened while I was in jail. A five foot spray pole seemed to have wandered off from my back yard. This led me to believe that a painter must have been in my back yard, because most people wouldn't even know the value of such a thing -- however a painter would.
     The peculiar thing about it was: Although I was a painter, I didn't hang out with any painters and by that time I had decided to always work alone. Conclusion: I didn't have had any painters over as visitors what so ever. Not ah one. Zip.

I was pretty sure the District Court summons I was given when I got out of jail stated that I had to make an appearance in court the next day. Once I arrived there, I couldn't find my name on the court docket in the hallway out ide the courtrooms. Bewilderment feel over me when I ran into an old friend I hadn’t seen for quite some time, but had known for several years. It was Stick, a vocalist, who had been in one of the first rock bands I'd played lights for in the past.
     Stick was known to have sold weed from time to time. From what I'd heard; he'd been living down south of Olympia in a motor home on some land know as Rainbow Valley. Rainbow Valley owned by a short obese guy who used his farmland as a private camp ground in order to put together a place where outdoor festival could take place.

Local residents there were constantly trying to shut the place down because of the added traffic and noise the festivals would create. Another thing I must add is the fact that the owner of Paradise Valley was caught up in a sting operation which made the news. The owner was busted for distributing Marijuana and there was a long list people brought down with him. Whether Stick was caught up in the sting operation or not, I'm not sure. However, I wasn't up on what he'd been up to at the current time, but I wouldn't deny the possibility of him having something to do with selling weed for the short fat man. A question I have is whether Stick or his supplier could’ve been the one who Steve was scoring the weed I had been buying. One thing I'm pretty sure of is that the city must have had some kind of deal arranged with Steve or his supplier. (all I can say that as far as know, Steve was untouched.)

There in the hallway outside the District Court rooms I wondered if Stick and I both were involved in a sting operation. Stick had the most troubled look on his face and I couldn't help but wonder if the city had tied him to me and busted him because of me. If Stick wasn't involved in the supply of weed I was coping, I still had to wonder if Stick was busted because of an inquiry into my past. Guilt fell over me because I wondered if he would suspect that the city had tied us together somehow. If so theywould have had to go back about ten years to the time when we were both living in Parkland. Therefore, I can't deny the possibility of the current events had brought us together once again.

As a since of invasion of privacy had fallen over me, I had the feeling Stick knew of the game the city was playing on me. I nodded to him as an acknowledgment. The only thing I said to him was "Hi," followed by a troubled warning, "They put stuff in the water." I didn't want to draw any attention to us, so I turned around and left the hallway.

I took the court summons to the court clerk's window and asked about my court hearing. The clerk took the summons and walked out of sight with it. Moments later, the she brought the summons back to the window and said the hearing wasn't until the next day. The way I look at it is either I had court dates messed up in my head or they’d switched the paper work on me when she went out of sight from the window. If did so, it was because of a change of plans since the time they gave me the original summons.

The next strange occurrence was when I turned away from the clerk's window to go down the elevator and ran into my friend Ken. Ken said he'd been picked up for a DWI over the weekend. I responded by saying I was also busted for weed Saturday morning and spent the weekend in jail too. He looked shocked when I told him that they had my truck. It was a heavy reality for the both of us -- as if they had our baby -- and we wondered if we would ever see it again.

Since things were clearly getting out of hand at that point; we kept the conversation brief and agreed to meet later in the day at my place. As I turned toward the elevator I heard a lady's voice behind the door of the court clerk's office say, "Just wait until he gets on the elevator."

I wasn't about to find out what kind of situation they had planned for me next, so I took the stairs. To this day I still wonder who they planted on the elevator. Since then I've experienced so many setup situations since that day -- I'd now jump on the opportunity experience a setup I could anticipate beforehand and I'd jump on the opportunity to ride down the elevator with whomever they would be setup for me to run into. You can bet that since I'm so seasoned in the experience of living within a game, I'd make fun of the whole ordeal all the way down the elevator.

The conspiracy games don't scare me anymore, because too many people know about me and everything I do. Generally I try to take those situations and expose the tails to as many people I can. Since so many people invading my privacy, it's hard for someone to do anything to me without others finding out about it. It makes it all the more difficult for any government agency to put one over on me. Now days, industrial industries as well as government agencies are twice as couscous when planning such games. Theycan push me around and throw me in jail if they want, but they still have to deal with the history they create. Stupid Rule No. 3.

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is: Oh, you're talking to me?

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