"Totally coup, yo."

Murphy's Law III

Aug

14

by

Mysterious “Cheap Throat” leaks sensitive police document to BEAST

THINGS ARE WEIRD. I was arrested for filming a cop. They confiscated the camera, erased the footage, and charged me with disorderly conduct, disruption of a religious service and some other bullshit. The complainant listed on the officially police report is “Sony”. Its race is unknown. And it lives at police headquarters, according to the report.

The same report reads that I am both 32 years old and 35 years old. It’s a document generally rife with contradiction and fiction. One particular fictional contradiction has confounded me like no other:

Def did have a dildo in his possession and did tell officers it was his “microphone”.

Did I have a dildo-microphone? Of course I did; I was covering an anti-gay marriage rally. However, the police did not discover the dildophone until after my arrest, so you can understand why the following passage from the Buffalo News pissed me right off:

Murphy directed a sex toy toward officers and told them that it was a microphone, the report said.

My lawyer demanded the pigs turn over all their documentation. And those reports have never said anything to me, nor do they read that I used the dildophone on those lying swine! I emailed the guy who wrote the News piece Kevin Bargnes, and he punted me to deputy managing editor Stan Evans. Evans defended his writer, quoting me Incident Report # 11-2050609:

…Defendant did have a dildo and was directing it towards officers, telling them it was a microphone.

Inv PO Donovan
B District

But my lawyer picked up Incident Report # 11-2050609…the Buffalo News is lying! As a fellow member of the press, though the News clearly doesn’t count me among their elitist ranks, this colorful fib has irked me bloody. I’ve literally, mindlessly, obsessively picked off bits of my own flesh, fretting over why the News would do me like that.

Donna-Donovan-HATES-YOU

In the interest of full disclosure — well, as fullest possible disclosure, considering the following weirdness — I have a huge fucking femur to pick with the News already.

Back in May, they ran a lengthy Sunday edition profile of “all” the candidates running in the special NY-26 congressional election — the one eventually won in an “upset” by moderate Republican Kathy Hochul (D). The feature was by no means thorough. Much to my liberal, electric rage, they omitted one of the candidates entirely…me! Those motherfuuuuuuu — deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep, relaxing, drug-filled breaths. OK. Go to the happy place, Murphy. Don’t argue with me! What the? Do the relaxing drugs now. OK…

…better.

So I rifled off a series of angry, insulting — and drunken — emails to Evans. In one of them I called him a “fabulizing monkey twat.” In another I wrote that he was a “journalistic abortion sucked from the Orifice of Omaha by the puckered Lips, see, of Satan’s brimstone puss, see!” (Warren Buffett owns the Buffalo News; the publisher is named Lipsey; talking like this, see, makes you sound like a tough ’40s gangster, see; and Satan has a brimstone vagina. #buffalojunk #mehsee #brimvag2011)

I employed many other choice insults that I want to save for my closest friends and family.

I eventually conceded that it was possible that police had lied to Fallon, and they’d not truly given us all the documentation. After all, the lying pigs have done nothing but lie like pigs. But, for some reason, Evans did not respond to my magnanimous olive branch.

Meanwhile, my pretrial conference was postponed because the arresting officer Donna Donovan was too stupid to find the right courtroom. This is the same woman who reported that I shoved and kicked a complainant named Sony! Like I said, OK, things are weird right now.

Last night they got significantly weirder.

At 3 am EST I get this email from cheapthroat@yahoomail.com:

Murphy. Stop.

News’ dildo direction unfalse. Stop.

Police withholding. Stop.

Stop blaming News. Stop.

They suck for lots of other reasons. Stop.

But not this. Stop.

Seriously. Stop. Stop.

-Cheap Throat

Out of masochistic curiosity, I quickly shot back this reply:

Dear Mr./Mrs./Ms./Etc. Throat,

I won’t ask who you are, but what are you wearing?

But, really, Fallon picked up all my files from police HQ. The News pulled that shit out of their collective asses…unless you have proof?

-ILM

3:07 am, Cheap Throat replies:

I wear blue. Stop.

Stop asking questions. Stop.

Washington & Exchange, top floor, 4:00 am. Stop.

I bring missing file. Stop.

You bring candy bar. Stop.

Be alone. Stop.

Tell me when to stop. Stop.

Go! Stop.

-Cheap Throat

3:09, I reply:

Hmm…OK. What? Really? Today?! Are you going to kill, beat, maim me? Seriously? Any chanve [sic] you can just email it to me?

Ten minutes go by without a peep from Cheap. And then:

Really. Stop.

Today. Stop.

No. Stop.

Seriously. Stop.

Now or nothing. Stop.

-Cheap Throat

This is where I’d swear to God that happened, if God weren’t a silly social construct meant to placate frightened, unimaginative cretins. This was happening. This is happening! I jumped out of bed and into some pants, absently grabbed a butter knife (for protection…shut up!), and started pedaling my fat ass downtown. Fast. Down Forrest. Right on Elmwood. Fat Lightning.

I wanted — needed to get there ahead of any ambush. Shit! Candy bar! All Buffalo residents know I got the candy bar from the convenience store on Elmwood called _e Never _lose. Their neon sign is perpetually broken. And they’re open all night.

One Snickers. And a Whatchamacallit for Fat Lightning.

Peddling. Sweating. Wheezing. Hacking up chocolaty phlegm. Four miles. So much fast. Too much. Can’t breathe. Can’t…watch: 3:44 am. Heart explody.

I walk the bike up and around the five-floor parking ramp at Washington and Exchange…poetic, I thought. This clown is literate. That rules out the Buffalo News. But, seriously, their office is only a block south of here.

Maybe Cheap Throat is News politics columnist Bob McCarthy! You hear a lot of wild things working in the media in Buffalo. And one of them is that Buffalo News politics columnist Robert J. McCarthy prowls the streets at night doing good deeds to atone for — what he knows deep-down, underneath his morbidly-obese-Leisure-Suit-Larry exterior, are — the hackneyed crimes against humanity he calls columns.

I mean, you hear these things. All over the place. But you never think they’re true. They’re just Buffalo folklore — like the spirit of William McKinley haunting City Hall. Or that if you say “Norwood” five times into a mirror, you’ll punch yourself in the face. Or the legend of Wolf Blitzer’s beard. (They say that every blue moon, the ghostly gray beard aimlessly roams Blitzer’s freshman dormitory in search of dignity.) But these are just stories parents tell their children to make them wet the bed. Right? It couldn’t be real. I mean, Luke Russert will not appear out of thin air and eat you if you badmouth potatoes. I’ve done it! I’ve seen Carl Paladino eat after midnight and get wet in the same evening and nothing happened! There’s no way…

Crouched in one of the roof’s shadowy corners. 4:00 am. A figure emerges from the opposite and walks briskly toward me. He…or she is small — this rules out McCarthy — and silent. I bolt up. “How long have you been here?” Silent. Moving at me. Getting close!

“Stop!” I yelp, pulling my butter knife from my pocket (shut up!). “Stay back!”

“Good,” he…or she says, through a tinny voice modulator. “You remembered the code.”

“What…” The modulator is duct-taped over the mouth of a latex Barack Obama mask. And sunglasses. “The…”

cheap-throat

“I said, ‘Tell me when to stop,’” it says in this muffled…cheap, robotic voice. “‘Stop.’”

Cheap Throat,” I say, pointing to the modulator. “Clever.” This rules out arresting officer Donna Donovan. Although the person wrote — as a hint? — that (s)he dressed in blue. Was it a cop?

“You have my candy bar?” asked the mysterious source.

“I got a Snickers.”

“Good,” says Cheap Throat. “Drop it over the ledge onto the sidewalk.”

“If you don’t want it,” I offered. “I’ll take –

“Silence!” says Cheap Throat. “Ha! I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Who…”

“No one can know,” he(?) says and points to the dark corner from which he emerged. “The report is in an envelope over there.”

“Why…”

“Because,” she(?) said, “and you can quote me on this, I AM THE GATEKEEPER!”

“Uh…”

“Drop the fucking Snickers!”

“Jesus! OK!” I watch the Snickers fall and think briefly about ants. When I looked up he was…running toward the stairwell really fast. And sorry to be sexist, but it was dude fast. I limped over to his corner, grabbed the envelope, and limped back to spy on the Snickers. I watched for a full five minutes. I thought the moment I started down the ramp, he’d spring from another darkness and snatch his nougaty reward. I coasted down and around, eyes on paranoid-as-hell dart mode. What is that? Shadow. What is that hideous monster? Mini Cooper.

OK…you wanna go ahead and say I’m making this shit up, for whatever reason? Go ahead. You wanna call bullshit? I encourage you to do so. Presented with the facts as I’ve reported them here, I too would be plenty skeptical. I must be having a laugh. Just a prankster pranking. But I swear by the Power of Grayskull that my story is an elaborate hoax on the magnitude of global warming!

The Snickers is here. Wrapper split open. Mine! Cheap Throat used it as a chocolate herring. He’s long gone.

I open the envelope and find this:

Cheap-Throat-Scan

Whatever that is. It’s another arrest synopsis, and it matches the description cited by the Buffalo News. It looks like I owe Kevin Bargnes and Stan Evans and apology. Please, fellas, except this plagiarized ascii teddy bear as a sincere token of my regret:

         _           _
        ((`'-"``""-'`))
         )   -    -  (
        /   (o _ o)   
            ( 0 )    /
        _'-.._'='_..-'_
      /`;#'#'#.-.#'#'#;`
      _))    '#'    ((_/
        #.   SRY     .#
        '#.  NEWS   .#'
        / '#.     .#' 
       _  '#. .#'/  /_
      (((___) '#' (___)))

It’s just the professional thing to do. You know? Yeah.

There are still questions that need answers: Why are there two arrest descriptions? And why was it so damn hard to get my hands on this document when the News quoted it the day after my arrest? Will I be able to recover all the footage the cops erased?

And there are some questions that may never be answered: Who is Cheap Throat? Where did Maureen M. Wojtanik study creative writing? And is she in the phone book?

OK, so maybe it wasn’t a “sensitive” document, and having it changes very little. But it is very weird.

To be continued!

Update: Wojtanik is in the phone book, she works for the pigs in some capacity, but she wouldn’t tell me anything beyond that. Cheap Throat?

UPDATE, 7:05 pm — I just received a call from Buffalo Police Detective Cotter:

He told me that Wojnatik doesn’t want to be called at home. I told him that she’d expressed this to me, and that I am respecting that wish. I asked him about the two reports. He told me that once the arresting officer finishes their report, they hand it off to a secretary, who then “transcribes” it into the official, computerized records. I asked about discrepancies between the officer report and the computerized reports. He didn’t have an explanation. He also said any paper copy of these records are typically “destroyed”. Cheap Throat, who are you?!

  • http://vectorpress.blogspot.com Trevor

    What’s worse — a police state or a police state clearly run by idiots? They can’t even oppress us properly!

  • robert van bakel

    You brave man, buggered if i’d ride into the dark to meet a stranger in that same dark to get a dubious reward.

    Oh yeah and get the pictures back so you can sue the fuckers for wrong-ful arrest.
    Well hard:)

  • Biff Squatthrust

    “Tumultous behavior”?
    Now *that’s* funny.

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