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Proof Number One:
My brother is driving home from work, and he stops at a red light and waits for the green arrow before he turns left; when the light turns green he proceeds to make his turn.
He suddenly sees a bicyclist going on red light; he puts on the brakes to stop his car but can’t stop fast enough and hits the bicyclist; paramedics arrive and ambulance takes the girl to the hospital; my brother follows the ambulance; he’s overwhelmed with grief.
At the hospital, the girl tells him it was not his fault; the nurse is present, too. So are two cops; she repeats that it wasn’t his fault, and she tells my brother, nurse, and police she'd run a red light on her bike.
My brother goes home with his heart torn and later learns the girl died; my brother tries to assimilate the horrible incident, but it isn’t easy at all.
Two years later, there's a knock on his door; some detectives are looking for him.
He's being charged with murder. Didn't she clear him before died?
The girl has come back to haunt him; the detectives have an arrest warrant.
Details were unavailable, so he ends up going back to the hospital hoping for a miracle to find the nurse who heard the victim’s statement.
He thought it was a long shot he’d find the nurse who heard the girl give her statement to the cops, but he knew he had to try, little or no chance.
He must've prayed himself to sleep. Did he find his savior?
It took him a while, but he did find her after all! It was like a miracle.
She testified on his behalf, saying the girl had told the cops it was her fault.
She told them the girl had said my brother did apply the brakes, and that it wasn’t his fault.
The police officers never wrote that in their report, so my brother almost paid for their negligence; my brother was eventually cleared of all charges, and he didn’t have to spend years in prison; he’d been practically in prison thanks to corrupt police officers; they should've taken his place; the incident marked my brother’s life forever and he is still living with the guilt and the vicious attack on justice.
Proof Number Two:
I come back to my apartment after work and school, and I eat something then sit down to relax, but there’s a knock on the door; there are two police men knocking on the door; there are more loud knocks, and pounding.
They scream that it's the police and to open the door.
I try to open it, but I’m not fast enough for them; they push it open and swing me against the rails outside the apartment.
They're already ransacking the place and want to know who else is there; I tell them it’s only me at the moment.
The two beds in my room are upside down now; they then move on to the next room and do the same.
They get a call; they have the wrong block and wrong address, they say.
The entire apartment is a mess.
The guy they're looking for lives a few streets over.
The police storm out. No apologies necessary, thank you.
Needless to say, the police officers didn't even show a search warrant. Thank you, Northridge cops.
Proof Number Three:
My little brother is walking home from work and doesn’t own car yet.
It's Halloween Night, and there are children and teens everywhere.
Running feet are all over the busy street. Trouble's coming up.
Some kids destroy Jack-o-Lanters then run away; my little brother happens to be passing by the mess, so Navy dudes catch up to him and start beating him up.
Somebody has called Hueneme police; Navies had already busted his back. Cops came to help bust it even more; they kick my brother on the back even more and leave him there all messed up.
The other criminals, like the police, disappear.
Proof Number Four:
My sister suffers from mental health and wonders off sometimes, but she returns home safely most times; other times, however, she comes home with horrible stories of survival.
The stories aren't good; she asks for help but is refused.
Once, though, some seemingly nice policemen stop and offer help.
They'll drive her home or to a bus stop; she opts for the ride home, her mistake.
"Nice cops" have evil on their mind, and they begin to fondle her.
She tells them to stop, but they continue with their sick fun and laugh with each other.
She'll report them, she tells them, but they don't mind.
They sexually attack her; the helpless victim won’t report them because she’s afraid they won’t help her again; what better reason to report them! Way to go, Oxnard cops!
Proof Number Five:
A young guy wrecks my mailbox with his truck. He then takes off and comes back to park across the street; l go out and tell him he hit my mailbox then drove away.
He says he didn't; he only parked on the other side of the street.
I ask for his info to report the incident. Silly me!
He goes in the house, a barker comes out.
I tell her what happened, and she denies the whole thing; I saw it all!
She tells me he's just a kid, and I'm not allowed to speak to him.
If I do, it's child abuse. Am I talking to a ghost? I see no child.
Blah, blah, blah. I'm done with this one. "She'll call the cops," she says.
She doesn't call the cops; I do.
The officer comes but checks the wrong side of the truck, and he won’t even look at the messed up mailbox.
He gives me an incident report number then leaves.
Something feels wrong, so I call his boss. Report?
There's a report of an incident but no incident report; the "officer" is coming back.
He's not a happy camper. I won't watch his tantrums.
Two other cops approach me and ask me about the incident; the neighbor called after all.
They ask for details then leave quickly to neighbor's house just next door.
I walk to my mailbox to take a picture. Neighbors are being greeted.
Cops inquire about their well-being and shake hands. With me? Huh?
I turn to go back home. Cop sees me, and screams at me to stay back; I was.
In fact, I was walking backwards facing them.
He screamed louder, "Stay back!" and reached for his gun. I'm done here, I thought.
I saw my life pass me by. I really thought it was over for me.
The teen was an unlicensed minor and didn't even get a ticket.
I ended up having to pay for and replace the mail box. Thank you, officers.
Thank you, neighbors, Association manager, and Board, for your compliments!
You have protected and served me well.
It's time for me to return the favors.
Proof Number Six:
I'm coming home from work because it’s what I do.
I get to a light close to a frontage street; the frontage street has a stop sign.
I get green light and proceed to go but see a car coming; a big dog is in the front seat.
The car does not stop, and the dog flies out the window.
Before I know it, her car is upright against mine.
She not only ran a stop sign but also a red light.
The front of my car flew wide open. The whole thing was a mess!
The driver began a screaming charade.
She asked if I'd learned to drive in T. J.; apparently yes.
It taught me better than America taught her. She called out to somebody.
The police showed up fast; I guess they heard a white scream.
Immediately upon arrival, they asked the girl if she was okay.
They asked if she needed a driver. They felt sorry for her car.
I sat on the curb, shaking; nobody asked me a thing.
They rushed me through my statement and took off.
The other driver gave me no information; police didn't mind.
They did make sure she got mine; so did they, insurance and all.
So, again, Oxnard cops score! Corrupt ones, of course.
Some of them have actually made detective; what an honor.
Don't get me wrong, there are good police officers, even great.
The bad ones, however, mess things up for all.
"Poof!" Number Seven:
I hope the good ones go to heaven!