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The Real Deer Hunter by Mark Anthony Given

In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act. -George Orwell
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          THERE ARE CRIMES against Laws the United States has enacted and then there are crimes against the United States itself.... As in aiding and abetting the overthrow of the United States Government... I had this very serious offense thrown out at my first appearance for Arraignment in New York before a US Magistrate. This charge was for a bunch of weapons stolen from a K-Mart in St. Jamesbury, Vermont by a band of my merry burglars who specialized in large commercial businesses... I was surprised to hear that these weapons were seized in California in the hands of real revolutionary's, and I knew immediately this is serious business, and I was only sixteen at the time. Standing shackled in a 3XXX dayglo Orange Bob Barker suits and brown shower shoes with no socks my feet were literally swimming in cold sweat. The cavernous courtroom of stone and wood was freezing, and I didn't even have any underwear on. I thought I was there from my interstate bank fraud spree and when the Indictment was read in open court about nine o'clock in the morning after being trans sported by US Marshals from out in the boondocks or Newark, New York out in Wayne County an hours drive or so the evening before. Spent the night in the Monroe County Jail in Rochester, and I was literally half awake when the room started spinning, and I had to start measuring my breath to keep from passing out when I was handed a copy of the Indictment or Bill of Information I don't even remember.        All I saw in


 TEN FOOT LETTERS 

for the first time in my life: 


The United States of America v. Mark Anthony Given 

my mind was reeling thru the freezing cold and room spinning trying to calculate my odds of success at 300 million to 1...


                WHEN I WAS SIXTEEN, I ran away from the juvenile reformatory called Industry in upstate New York and wound up at a six-hundred-acre commune called Earth People's Park in St. Jamesbury, Vermont just three miles from the Canadian Border.  EPP was a hippie group out of San Francisco.  They were in constant conflict with locals, and a local farmer in particular for an easement to the There's a story on Wikipedia about it.  Anyway, I get in with this ragtag gang of burglars.


                  Before we left the five or six times, we left out about ten o'clock at night that summer, I would always read them the Riot Act about NO GUNS!  I can't be around guns of any kind.  You can leave me right here or on the side of the road if I even smell a gun.  I'm terrified of guns, I can't be around them.  They all agreed, ok. Not a problem, we don't like guns either...
               AND BESIDES, I reminded the miscreants;  this is a fucking peace commune, these people don't even need guns!!
We would always park away in a little hunters turnoff nearby, I'd make my way thru the wood's, scout it out, find a way in and come back and get them, they'd pull around back, we'd bum rush the place for camping equipment and sporting goods, outdoor clothes, food whatever.
            LIKE DAVID & Joseph in the Biblical stories although I was the youngest I was nearly ALWAYS in charge.  As in 'You go there, 'you go over there, 'You go get that and 'You shut the 'fuck up!'.  One of them guys.  Not because I could whoop most them's ass's but because the couple times they listened to my suggestions everything turned out right... Eventually just by consensus with no verbal understanding.  That and the fact I had more BALLS than all them put together... When they were passing out Testosterone & Brains I got back in line... Twice...   
           IN PROFESSIONAL wrestling they have what is called "Smash Matches," where they'll send out a hundred twenty pound guy out against "The Big Show," or some other giant who doesn't have a raindrops chance in hell of winning.  I look over at the two peppy AUSA's, and that's how they're looking at me like I'm some number on their batting average in a "Smash Match."

 "YOUR HONOR when I was sixteen,"

               I tell him the same thing about running away to the human circus commune, fell in the wrong crowd.  About the second time during a long drive to our next caper, someone asked me in the silence why I was so afraid of guns, and bad shiver comes over me, and I oddly wondered what my mother was doing at that moment....
                  DEAD SILENCE in the cold, sterile government courtroom the judge leaned back he can feel it coming on strong.
               WHEN I WAS six or seven years old, my father took me hunting out behind my grandparent's small farm surrounded by three-acre vegetable plots but mostly apple orchards for miles and miles.  We get out in the random patch of woods, and he has me kneel down and places that long barrel over my left shoulder and he's squatted down behind me.  Just when I see what he pointing at I see a deer not forty-fifty feet straight ahead and he pulls the trigger at that instant and noise from the explosion and looking right into that deer's eyes and seeing his eyes literally spring open and die at the same instant sent me into a psychotic shock and I couldn't speak for several weeks.  I was either crying like it was the end of the world or staring straight ahead into the eyes of death...
I'm shaking writing this.....
        IF YOU ARE charged with an offense or indicted whatever and are never arraigned, i.e., taking before a judge and formally explaining the charges against you, the Statute of Limitations on nearly every federal offense is five years and (3) Three for several Tax offense. If you're arraigned and jump bail, it can be thirty years, and they can still try you.  Plus bail jumping.  These serious crimes were from well outside the Statute of Limitations, and the judge dismissed on a procedural basis.  I NEVER heard no more about it....

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977 Words

 COPYRIGHT 2017 by Mark Anthony Given
All Rights Reserved 28 USC 1746  Public Law: Pub. L. 94-553 (Oct. 19, 1976)
U.S. Statutes at Large: 90 Stat. 2541
4:18 PM 10/1/2017



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 Information is the currency of democracy. — Thomas Jefferson
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