Our first tale of truth to power ownership begins at night, already in progress. A representative of the beast system wants to see ihnen papiern, bitte. He makes this request in a thick as Russian mud in May southern accent, the kind suggestive of the villain law enforcement in a Burt Reynolds movie. What could have potentially been a teaser trailer for Stroker Ace Part 2, Am I Being Detained? is somewhat ruined by the trooper's general tractability, happily giving his own badge number and name to our faceless enemy of statism. The officer does, however, refuse to give his first name, claiming it's "irrelevant." You can practically hear the sickening thud of that boot stomping a human face, forever.
Am I free to go?
Repeated southern-fried requests for insurance and license are rejected and we discover our resistor was going 72 in a 55 mph area, which is why we have a constitution and so on. To protect that. "Is speeding a crime?" asks the motorist. You might want to brace yourself for this shocking revelation, but it turns out that yes, it is. With that clever gambit somehow defeated by John Law we get our next brilliant legal maneuver, namely "Can you prove that I'm driving." Let's turn a routine lead-foot stop into "Is this chair real?" philosophical onanism, that should save you some points against the license you refuse to show.
The sovereign citizen now claims to be "traveling" instead of driving, which should clear up everything and bring it to a successful conclusion. "I wasn't stealing, officer, I was dropping objects into my pocket and then moving them by walking." What can be done in the face of this semantic onslaught? We get one more request and then the authority enters beast mode, smashing the car window with his bare hands. You should've disclosed that you were that liquid metal terminator when I asked for your badge number, it would have saved a lot of suffering.
Where is John Connor?
The "owning" we were promised now begins in earnest. "This is assault!" gasps the traveler, as if doing play-by-play or something. He goes on to mention his lack of "consent," which is something that I'm pretty sure isn't required by the rule of law. "You can only arrest me for the murders I committed if I give continuous and enthusiastic consent!" Doesn't sound right. We get the expected appeal to police brutality, which at least is a concept with some grounding in reality, while the T-1000, Alabama Model, declares that he's "Fixing to tase you," presumably with his built-in cyborg weapons.
Said tasing occurs, we get some pathetic screaming and even some profanity, fade to black.
Without even a pause to get our heads right it's off to the next case, now daytime but still in a car. "I come in peace," announces the World Citizen and for just a moment I wish I was watching Fulbright Scholarship recipient Dolph Lundgren in the action movie dud of the same name. Believe it or not, the video we get here is actually even better. I know it's a bold statement, especially considering the officer probably won't say "Then go in pieces" while blasting the Last Free Man.
"I do not consent to you searching my spaceship."
The representative of the Global Ruling Elite, all wool cap and general hang-dog demeanor, attempts to reason with the prison planet inmate, insisting that he smelled wacky tobacco smoke coming from the car and now must follow up on this lead. Using the smallest words possible the badge monster tries to explain probable cause, but it really doesn't seem to be taking. The driver than asks to see "Your Supervisor" as if this is a truculent fast food employee who made your Dinner Dog incorrectly or something.
Instead of getting the manager the tool of oppression reaches into the vehicle, prompting less than masuculine cries of "Help!" and "I do not consent!" while a woman and baby scream away in the back of the car. Our reefer smoking friend denies residency in the State of Indiana, which is a nice logical talking point to fall back on after howling various nonsense like a ninny.
The face of oppression.
"You do not smell marijuana!" whines the modern patriot. I guess he's been reduced to attempting Jedi mind-tricks now. "These are not the stoners you're looking for. Move along." Instead the officer declares the car "reeks" of it, which earns the brilliant rebuttal of "No, it doesn't!" Man, I can't wait to see what society looks like in twenty years.
Back-up arrives and it time for another "assault" which consists of dragging our scruffy THC lover from the driver's seat. More screams for "Help!" and, almost unbelievably, "Call the police!" Yes, really. And yet there's still a few cranks that insist smoking something called "dope" might affect your intelligence. "Sir, we are the police."
It's already time for the taser. Say what you want, but it's more humane than hitting someone over the head with a steel baton. "What crime have I committed!" is now the battle cry of this peaceful warrior fighting for our inherent right to get baked in a parking lot. Apparently the batteries are low on the old sparky because it fails to subdue the weedhead or even generate much in the way of pitiful wailing. "You tried to attack my nuts!" Either a squirrel somehow gained the gift of speech and is bemoaning the encroachment of humanity on its personal hoard or this is the next bit of play-by-play from a drug freak. He also calls it "Improper use of a taser!" Five yard penalty, repeat third down.
Then it's time to kiss the pavement while the rest of this brave man's family (?) moan and make tearful requests. Can we get that lengthy conventional foreign war going again, or what?
I do not consent to you moving my corpse.
The vanquished pipe-puffer wants a lawyer. The child screams about getting out of the car and this sorry scene comes to an end.
We're in the cab of a truck, but don't worry, our driver is not the hard-working and generally decent sort of person you might associate with that profession. "I'm getting too old for this," Lethal Weapons our next enemy of individual rights as he awkwardly climbs up to have a chat. The smiling bully boy inquires about U.S. citizenship, but our smarmy hero wants to "Opt out." "I don't care if you're German or whatever," says the criminal with a badge, which sure is ironic considering he's acting like a German, circa 1940.
Another face full of pure, concentrated evil.
The big rig pilot declares a general policy of not answering questions. That will certainly help move this along. It's then time to discuss code 18.111, which is a much better use of your time than simply answering a straightforward question and then driving off with your load of refrigerator parts. After some dull civics class we come back to trying to get some answers, but no go. Then it's time to discuss borders and checkpoints. Maybe this guy is just lonely after a hard day of truckin' and just wanted a semi-friendly conversation. Who knows?
We talk about the fourth amendment and, big surprise, the noble rebel doesn't really understand it. After clearing it up a little nothing gets settled and we cut away.
Believe it or not, all of this amazing footage represents only about a third of the video's total running time. I'm not gonna call this my new regular Saturday night thing, but let's get real, this needs to happen.
I hope you get AIDS.
The first cop just ripped the window out with his bare hands, that's metal as fuck!
So the key to being a "sovereign citizen" is to pretend like asking really dumb questions like "ARE YOU ENTERING MY VEHICLE" will short-circuit the entire U.S. legal system?
I live in Russia and I think we don't have any checkpoints, only traffic control posts.
Where did you deploy?