My Fireman neighbor has 2 sons who drive pickups and who have run My Wife and I off the road many, many times for their own personal entertainment. One of them tried to run me down in the parking lot at Kroger while I was walking across the pavement on crutches. It was no accident. He knew exactly who I was and I knew exactly who he was in his dirty Ford monster truck.
The Fireman's sons have several friends who have not only run my wife and I off the road, but have tried to run us over as we walked down the street beside the curb. I had a confrontation with 2 of the "good old boys" the very same month I first moved to this town, after they ran us off the road while driving a white truck that they had borrowed from The Fireman. The driver shouted at me as we stood face-to-face in the street, "you fucked up when you messed with me. You don't know who I am."
I didn't know who he was, but I recognized him as the same driver who tried to hit my wife and me while we walked down the street the previous week. His bumper missed me as I leapt up into someone's yard by about an inch. And there was absolutely no reason for it other than the evil inside of him. We were just walking along minding our own business when he swerved straight at us and actually tried to run us over.
But what he actually meant by his comment that I didn't know who he was is that I didn't know who his friend's daddy is. If I had then I would have known that he is immune to The Law and can do anything he damn well pleases to anyone in This Little Redneck Town so long as he then runs to The Fireman and has The Fireman protect him from The Law. What he meant by "messing with" him was a reference to the fact that I had taken down his tag number after he ran us off the road for the 10th time in a row and then tried to drive home to call The Police. He had then whipped the truck and trailer around, run us down, and then he and his accomplice leaped out and tried to attack my wife and me.
Yes, because we got his tag number.
What stopped the Little Country Darlings from "whoopin' up" on me and my wife? A handgun on my hip. The driver charged at me without speaking a word. I even took a second to cuss at him in an attempt to get him to stop charging and start talking. He had no interest in talking. But then he saw the gun and nearly fell on his face as he attempted to stop dead in his tracks before I stopped him permanently. The passenger was silently charging for my wife until he saw the driver stop. Then he, too, stopped, if only to see why his Hot-Tempered Buddy had stopped. Only then did either of them discover that they had something to say to me, and it was all about how important they were and how I had "fucked up" when I crossed their Very Important Paths. They made a big production out of reading off my tag number as a sort of "so there." Keep in mind I could still have legally shot and killed both of them and they knew it. But they were far too proud to stop trying to run over me, even if they had to risk death to do it.
I found out that they were right, though. They can do anything they please to anyone in This Little Redneck Town and certain members of the local police department will protect them, even to the point of fighting with each other over it right in front of me.
I have a friend in the U.S. Secret Service whom I contacted about The Fireman, This Little Redneck Town's police, and the Demolition Derby Rednecks who attacked us. He looked into the police report and the city itself and said that This Little Redneck Town's police are either corrupt or incompetent. He said this whole area has a long history of corruption in high places and that I should watch out.
I find it ironic that the most dishonest and evil people almost always view themselves as being superior to everyone else. And how appropriate that they advertise it by wrapping themselves in lily white or shiny silver pickup trucks before using those trucks to ram church signs, mailboxes, pedestrians, and other drivers' cars.
The Fireman's sons are Little Rebels. Instead of white or silver like their father and family, they have choosen to drive black or red trucks. The oldest wrecked his brand new black Ford F150 truck the very week he got it. "Someone" apparently used the rear bumper to ram the Church of Christ sign down 1/2 mile from our neighborhood late in the night. The brick sign was smashed to pieces and the very next day The Fireman's son had a newly smashed rear bumper. That same night the unidentified Little Rebel rammed a telephone box and a privacy fence, both on the main road, not 100 yards from The Fireman's house. The tire tracks left behind on the lawns were all exactly the same. That's a lot of abuse for one thin chromed bumper to take in a single night. He had to replace it.
"Yeehaw! Hey ya'll, watch this!"
The Rebel's younger brother, who looks almost exactly like my assailant, was given a new bright red Chevy truck. He immediately put the rebel flag on the front bumper to announce to the world that it isn't just the truck that is red.
The Fireman has several family members living in my neighborhood, some just a few houses down from his house and others several streets over. His daughter appears to be a nurse and lives 2 blocks over from me. The Punk who attacked my wife and I after we took down his tag number, named Jeremy, lives in a house his parents own just a few streets from my house. He used to drive a silver Chevy pickup with the word "REDNECK" formed out of a Confederate flag stuck up in his back window, but something happened to that truck and he had to get a new one. The Good Old Boy that was with him, the one who charged at my wife after they both jumped out of The Fireman's truck, has family members living right on my street, just 4 or 5 houses up. He himself was living 3 miles away at his parents' house just 3 blocks down from Jeremy and his parents.
After the 2 Criminal Friends Of The Fireman's Sons had tried to attack my wife and I, and after the Officer In Charge showed them where I lived, defended them, and left, the other officers told me that I should have shot and killed both of The Bastards. That way the Officer In Charge and The Fireman couldn't do anything to cover for them. It would have been a clear-cut case of self-defense. My friend in the Secret Service said the same thing after I sent him the police report.
"Next time kill the fuckers."
After this incident all the vandalism of my cars began, including the shooting of my rear window, the draining of my brakes (twice), the cutting of my gas line, and the removal of my throttle return spring. It has continued for all the years we have lived here. I can't prove that they and their Gang of Kissing Cousins are the ones doing it. It could be someone else I know. What I know for certain is that it began the same night we had a run-in, the same night that Jeremy called every Redneck in town and had them surround the house and try to break in after The Police had left. At midnight I heard my hood slam shut and I ran outside just in time to see one of them riding as fast as he could on a shiny bicycle straight up the road to The Fireman's house. The next day the car would not start. The distributor had been vandalized.
How ironic. I drive a black truck. Supposedly, had I chosen the color on purpose like The Fireman's oldest son did, that would mean to psychologists that I wanted people to think of me as The Bad Guy. I could have killed both of The Trailer Park Punks if I had wanted to. They would never have bothered me or my wife again. The Police said it would have been justified. Yet because I let them live I have had only regret.
I supposed the moral of this story is "never pass up a chance to kill a redneck?"
You have read this article criminals /
fireman /
jeremy /
rednecks /
this little redneck town
with the title Silver and White Fireman's Gang. You can bookmark this page URL http://thebohemianbunny.blogspot.com/2004/10/silver-and-white-fireman-gang.html. Thanks!
