3 Arrests, A Police Lineup, and a 2-Day Trial (Part 3)

PART 3 - THE LINEUP

See Part 1 and Part 2 here if you haven’t already.

So as some of you may know, I got drugged the other night while being out in LKF and I lost everything; my wallet, phone, keys, and August Alsina’s hat, and me being the emotionally crippled person who can’t do anything creative without a substance in my system decided to make use of the residual date rape drug in me to bring you this blog post while having the shakes so.. you’re welcome. Also, fuck all you incels who are out here drugging people to get something you could never get, there is a special place in hell for you where the only available nutrition is a KFC biscuit with no drink to wash that dry thickness down so it just stays stuck in your throat you bitch. Anyway here is the continuation of the story and how my (first) day in jail was just the beginning of it all. 

The first few months were uneventful as fuck, which, to somebody who has to report to the police station every month, is a celebration in itself like waking up alive every morning. Wow, too deep for this blog. Me and Roberto would show up to the station, I believe, on the 15th of each month and in the beninging we would show up looking sort of respectable you know, like tattoos covered, hair done up like a church yute, button-up shirt on with all the buttons actually buttoned for maximum 乖仔 energy, sit patiently on some duck duck goose shit. But after like month 6 we started showing up hungover in wifebeaters, kissing our teeth at how long they took just for them to look at our bail papers only to say “come back lext munth”, taking videos of the police officers at their desk and roasting their convertible Mercedes hairline on Instagram, taking our morning shit (the most disrespectful and smelliest of shits) at the station, all that. And I think at around month 9, the officer took us into the office, locked it, which is fucking terrifying, only to drop the great news that we don’t have to check in anymore and the case is still open but dismissed for now so me and Berto celebrated that night by going up to police officers yelling “BEAT MY CASEEEE”…. because we’re losers. I even dropped a song called “Mark Six” and at 1:24 I even had a line, “And we definitely hellbound, laughing at police cuz me and Berto off of bail now.” We got cocky, we thought we were Steph Curry running backcourt before the shot even went in but in the end, we were just Nick Young because I think around month 13 we both get told that the main office is prosecuting us and going ahead with our case, and to prepare for an “ID parade” aka a police lineup. 

Ok stop right there. I watched enough CSI to know what the fuck a police lineup is, where they find like 6 or 7 mfs who are supposed to look like you and then the victim comes in behind a one-way glass and points you out teary-eyed like “y-y-yes officer, th-that was the man who said I got the swag of somebody who watches Youtube tutorials on how to be an alpha-male” and then I proceed to get handcuffed and shit. I still had so many questions. Why did I actually Google to see if there are tutorials on how to be an alpha male? Why did I just fuck my Youtube algorithm up and now my homepage showing me some of these in ‘related’? Why does chicken taste so good every single time? Where in the flying fuck are they gonna find 6 or 7 Japanese mfs that are 6’3”? Sorry I totally added that line in there just to flex my height. Nah but really though, where are they gonna find these somewhat identical looking Japanese people cuz I ain’t never seen them at the club? I ain’t never seen them at the basketball courts? I don’t go to either but that’s not my point. And if they actually do manage to find ‘em, am I allowed to make contact with my twinsies so we can actually start a gang called the Japanese Jehovahs and knock on people’s doors and ask if they wanna hear more about how to make box curry taste 10x better? 

Oh. I thought I told y’all in my first blog post that this is my blog and I do whatever the fuck I want. I’ll eat chili-based ramen in a fresh white tee. I’ll wear Adidas socks and Nike Air Forces. I’ll moonwalk into the police line-up. HEE-HEE. I don’t give a FUCK. Talk to me nice. So I’m just gonna drop a sick curry recipe in the middle of some serious shit so yeah, you’re welcome. 

Go buy yourself a box of Japanese curry that looks anything like this. Chop up one big-boned onion in slices, peel 2 small cloves of garlic and grate one, toss the other to the side like that person who you sorta like but cbf to save their number yet, grate some ginger, like a tablespoon maybe and have that ready. Put a decent amount of oil in a pot or a deep pan, not too much but enough for President Bush to start pondering, and then toss in like… a teaspoon of cumin and cook them shits til the aroma come out, then put some of the grated ginger and garlic in but be careful cuz if the oil is hot enough shit gon’ sizzle like a mf and if you don’t have insurance then go get some before you start this recipe. Ya insurance is one of the ingredients to this recipe. While this is happening, microwave your sliced onions without saran wrap for like a minute I guess, then toss them shits into the pan and cook on high heat with this ginger-garlic-cumin mix til you brown them nice - it should resemble the complexion of a shiba dog in the end. Careful not to burn shit because ask Usher how that shit turned out. Totally forgot to mention but you should have chopped up your meat of choice and salt+peppered it before and then toss them bitches in and cook til like 90% done then put in 600ml of water. Let it boil one time then take HALF your box of curry, break it up into pieces, TURN THE MF HEAT OFF and then toss them curry cubes in and stir til thick. Season as needed but you shouldn’t have to at this point. Turn the heat back on, couple dashes of Worcestershire sauce, a little bit of sugar or even honey, about 10g of butter, and if you feel like you need a bit more of a punch then grate the 2nd piece of garlic and stir til the consistency you like. Fuck potatoes and fuck veggies, this curry recipe features just onions and meat and is the only one you need. Serves 2, maybe 3 normal human beings, and 1 food whore. I am food whore. 

Shoutout to my lawyers Kwanye East and Wendy. Kwanye East’s government name is Justin and that’s my bro from Ozu; more tatted than me and one of the best barristers ever who saved our asses. Think of him as the Asian that parents would be so confused with - tatted the fuck up (“oh no you disrespect family honor”) but highly respectable job (“oh you know my son, all A plus in school, he lawyer now”). Me and Roberto were fucking clueless as to what to do and how to prepare and they walked us through it beforehand. The day of the police line-up comes around and like we were instructed to, showed up looking like kids that bought into pyramid schemes and sung choir. Chill, sensitive people who lost money and sang well, I am allowed to say this cuz I was both LOL. Wendy came thru clutch with foundation and was able to cover my hand tattoos and in the distance I could hear my ancestors chatting shit again about this extremely un-Japanese pickle of a situation I put myself in. We were told to show up hours earlier than the scheduled appointment time so we don’t accidentally bump into C3PO and Trisha Takanawa at the entrance (if you don’t get the references, you gotta go back to Part 1 or ask me for their pictures LOL) and boom our cover is totally blown. Really though, the police didn’t even tell us about this, our lawyers did; can you imagine how dumb it would be to show up to a police line-up and both the victims and assailants just bump into each other in the lift like “Damn the humidity today tho eh?” Me, Roberto, Kwanye, and Wendy are told to wait in a room that quite literally looks like a triad office with the shrine and all, and we watched as police officers occasionally walked in to 拜神. We are told to wait until the pirated-copy of Jeremy Meeks and the Matchmaker from Mulan arrive, and after what feels like an eternity we are notified that their unwanted presence is present in the building and to go downstairs into the waiting room. Let the anxiety begin. 

We’re guided into this narrow room now at this point, and it’s still just us 4 but this room connects to the main police line-up room so you can hear a little of what’s going on outside. Now we can’t see, but they’ve gathered Roberto’s lookalikes and are trying to shepherd them into sitting down - these guys are just randoms that are getting paid to be there. Can somebody that looks like me commit more crime so I can volunteer for jobs that literally pay you money to sit still like damn. Roberto’s up first - I keep wondering why he always gets to go first cuz I’m cute too but at this point I establish, they like him better. A sleepy-looking officer walks in to make sure I don’t scratch rap lyrics on the wall on some solitary confinement shit while I wait and then the 3 of them - Kwanye, Wendy, and Roberto - go into the police line-up room. Anxiety level at around a 9 at this point. I’m agoraphobic and I don’t do well in situations like this. I’m counting sheep. The sheep are counting me. I’m tryna take a breath. The breath is taking me. Oh God I miss my cat. 

After a Bollywood movie of time, Roberto is done and it’s my turn. Holy fuck. I walk into this long room and before I get started I need to sign some papers that declares that I know exactly what I’m getting myself into and that I am aware of the repercussions if The Nightmare Before Christmas actually manages to identify me. Get this though.. they found somebody’s old ass Japanese grandpa from the depths of Laguna Verde (if you understand this joke, props to you) to INTERPRET the English to me and my gaijin ass is having a harder time understanding the Japanese words used to describe this situation and I’m half replying in English and a bit of Japanese just to be polite but this grandpa doesn’t seem to realise that.. my English is perfect and my Japanese is trash so he keeps on repeating and reassuring me in Japanese. Looking back, bless his soul cuz he was just trying but in that anxious situation I was looking at the officers conducting the line-up like “Ayo WHO’S MANS said I don’t speak English and fetched gramps here!?” And they were looking back at me like “Yeah our bad, I don’t know why he here tbh.” Anyway the paper signing is done with and finally, I turn around to see the 7? Or 8 people that are supposed to look like me.

ONE OF THESE MANS WAS BROWN. ANOTHER ONE OF THESE MANS WAS TWICE MY SIZE. HORIZONTALLY. BONELESS CHICKEN TENDER SHIT. THE REST OF THESE MANS ARE AT LEAST A HEAD SHORTER THAN ME AND LOOK LIKE EVERYTHING OPPOSITE OF ME. I think one mf had on braces. One dude was damn near bald. Bruh…… just put the mf handcuffs on me man I’ll do the time. Which legally blind person sent out the description report? POP holdin’ it dowwwn? They couldn’t get some basketball players in there or something? Who picked this brown man up from TST East and allowed this? Don’t get me wrong, I literally grew up with only brown people so usually I’d be more than happy to see the gang. BUT NOT AT MY MF POLICE LINEUP. Even the brown guy was looking at me like “Ah shit buckle up broski, you about to eat that charge.” I’m in a police lineup with a brown dude, the chubby kid from Up, a few kids that look like Detective Conan, literally the trail mix of Asians. My anxiety level is at a fucking 10 and I’m in full panic mode. 

Here comes Kwanye and Wendy to the fucking rescue. First, they tell all of us to sit down and this the only time I’m glad my posture is kinda fucked so that eliminates the height issue. Shoutout to scoliosis cuh. Then they procure some fucking SHOWER CAPS out of nowhere and tell us all to put them on our head - now all of our hair is covered and we all look like we about to go dissect frogs. And then they find us some GLASSES (I already had some on but now, we’re all wearing the same ones) and that covers a lot of our facial features up. Jesus Christ, I am impressed. What the fuck else is in that backroom that keeps on delivering disguises cuz it would be fun to have us all in Power Rangers outfits and the two “victims” would have to choose which colour Ranger it was LOLOL. Kwanye and Wendy then tell some of us to switch shirts, or shoes and then I am switched into some plain blue button-up and some shoes you might find at a grocery store. Some of us are switched in terms of order. We are like 8 or 9 deep in that room looking like the softest Asian biker gang. Like not motorbikes, the bicycles with the basket on ‘em. Mamachari. We’re told to sit back down and it finally begins. 

I fucking hate this crash test dummy’s voice. If this voice was a person of its own it would be that mf who says “the customer is always right”. Stop humiliating yourself with your extra ass soundwaves you have the audacity to call a voice and tata the fuck out of here with your Ralph Lauren socks you victim-playing piece of shit. Oh right, about the actual process. It was intense tbh. It’s a one-way glass, so I’m just sitting there, trying not to sweat, panic attack on 10, while you hear this piece of shit slowly pacing back and forth and making comments to the officers and to himself. Once in a while he would say some shit like, I think it’s #4, just to see if there’s any reaction. Bitch I ran a poker house, I can pull a poker face. I believe I was sitting in #3. Allen Iverson baby. He keeps pacing and bitching about the glasses and shower caps because my lawyers came prepped like game 7 of the NBA Finals. After 45 minutes where I was thinking of happy thoughts to distract myself; thoughts of my cat nuzzling me while I sleep, thoughts of this mf slipping on a conveniently placed banana peel and breaking his elbow, etc., finally I hear a voice that says “I am sorry but I cannot identify him. I mean, you got them all in caps and glasses blablabla” nobody wants to hear your voice cunt and now it’s round 2 with Mrs. Puff.

As the story goes, I feel like you will start to understand why I hate Mrs. Puff and why I wish her more hell than Morpheus. Remember in part 2 I told you I leaned in close to her to ask if she was okay because it looked like he was bothering her? And why I fucking wish I didn’t? Well this is exactly why. Not only did this bitch freak out when I pushed her drunk ass man out the bar after HE made a direct threat on us, but I was later told she was the one causing a scene outside of Ozu and demanding the police arrest us and probably took po lil’ tink tink to the hospital after to make sure he pressed charges on us. She is the gasoline to the fire. The mentos to the coke.

So yeah, this demonyo bitch identified me. Hard not to because if the tables were turned I definitely could have identified her too with her botched botox and Finding Nemo lips. Why don’t you contour your shit better so you don’t look like you work the strip outside Amazonia you red velvet cake-face-having-ass-ho. And I’m not being harsh because in one of the next parts you will hear about how cunning this bitch is to put so much effort into putting me, a CLEARLY innocent person, in jail just for ... I don’t even know for what. Because it wasn’t for justice. If justice existed then her face wouldn’t look like a 4th grader tried to draw her from memory. I hope you’re reading this so you start realising that you are the personification of the word “mid-life crisis” and you need to retire from wearing denim miniskirts with holes in them you deteriorating hag of a bitch. I hope your kids call you by your first name. You have no idea what the FUCK you put me through to the point I actually genuinely wished I did what you liars were accusing me of.

Sorry about my blood pressure. Honestly though, even though I got identified, at the end of the day I was just so glad it was all over. I switch and get my clothes back from Asian square #7 and then I am told again by the officers in charge that although the guy couldn’t identify me, the girl did and that it could come back to me if the case proceeds. Honestly though, 1 out of 2 is not bad not to mention the main “victim” couldn’t identify me so I thought that was kind of a win. Japanese grandpa is at it again with the English translation but he is kinda slow so he isn’t aware that his translation is already two sentences behind because the officers and I are just talking normally at this point. My bad ojiisan. I find out later that Roberto wasn’t identified by either one and at least that is a big win and proof that good lawyers are worth every dollar. After that whole ordeal I realised my anxiety was so bad that whole day that I had severe muscle pain from being tense and I went home feeling like I ran a marathon. But the day was finally done and I was reunited with my cat and my jewellery and my tattoos.  

And with my luck, OF COURSE the case goes to fucking trial almost a year later.