I couldn't think. I couldn't remember. I was wound up like a spring and ready to bust. All I could see was the dead guy in the middle of the room and my gun. My gun! Somebody grabbed at my arm and hauled me upright and the questions started again. That was as much as I could take. I gave a hell of a kick and a fat face in a fedora pulled back out of focus and started to groan, all doubled up. Maybe I laughed, I don't know.

I jump down from my box. I am afraid he will be trampled. He is unconscious and not in view of the panicked crowd. I go to his side and find someone already there, pushing the box off him. I bend down and say his name softly. Mike, I say. His eyes open, and he is already crying. This is his first police riot, mine too. The blood is always heavy on any head wound, I say, remembering something random as I try to calm him. And I tear off a piece of my T-shirt to press against his head.

They all jumped on me and started beating me. They had me on the floor — eventually my arms and legs were chained. They dragged me by the chains to PSA and stopped only when a nurse asked them to please stop. So they put me on a mattress and dragged the mattress. They took me to the observation room and left me, hands and feet cuffed. I had no sanitary napkins, no means to wash myself. The cuffs cut into my skin (the scars are still visible), and my wrists were bleeding. Later i found out that i had received an infraction for slapping an officer in the face while they were beating me.

One time, I was watching a shootout live on CNN, and it went on for so long that the criminal eventually shot himself. And the cops are complaining by saying, "He's got on body armor, he's got on body armor!" And I'm thinking, "I can see his head! Shoot him in his fuckin' head!"

Don't worry, I don't underrate the cops. But cops can't break a guy's arm to make him talk, and they can't shove his teeth in with the muzzle of a .45 to remind him that you aren't fooling. I do my own leg work, and there are a lot of guys who will tell me what I want to know because they know what I'll do to them if they don't. My staff is strictly ex officio, but very practical.

In there. The words hit me hard. In there was my best friend lying on the floor dead. The body. Now I could call it that. Yesterday it was Jack Williams, the guy that shared the same mud bed with me through two years of warfare in the stinking slime of the jungle. Jack, the guy who said he'd give his right arm for a friend and did when he stopped a bastard of a Jap from slitting me in two. He caught the bayonet in the biceps and they amputated his arm.

Tired of being trapped in this vicious cycle </br> If one more cop harasses me I just might go psycho </br> And when I get ‘em, I’ll hit ’em with the bum rush </br> Only a lunatic would like to see his skull crushed </br> Yo, if you’re smart you’ll really let me go, G </br> But keep me cooped up in this ghetto and catch the Uzi </br> They got me trapped.

They were gunning the motorcycles. There were these little backfires. There was one noise like that. I thought it was a backfire. Then next I saw Connally grabbing his arms and saying "no, no, no, no, no," with his fist beating. Then Jack turned and I turned. All I remember was a blue-gray building up ahead. Then Jack turned back so neatly, his last expression was so neat... you know that wonderful expression he had when they'd ask him a question about one of the ten million pieces they have in a rocket, just before he'd answer. He looked puzzled, then he slumped forward. He was holding out his hand … I could see a piece of his skull coming off. It was flesh-colored, not white — he was holding out his hand … I can see this perfectly clean piece detaching itself from his head. Then he slumped in my lap, his blood and his brains were in my lap … Then Clint Hill [the Secret Service man], he loved us, he made my life so easy, he was the first man in the car … We all lay down in the car … And I kept saying, Jack, Jack, Jack, and someone was yelling "he's dead, he's dead." All the ride to the hospital I kept bending over him, saying "Jack, Jack, can you hear me, I love you, Jack."

I pointed to the side of the road and then I pulled over and parked. When the guy got out of the car he was stripped to the waist. A typical young macho stud. He put his face within two inches of mine, and he was telling me what I was and what he was going to do to me. So I did the natural thing. I reached in and got a headlock on him, and I had him very firmly while he thrashed around. I felt I was doing just fine because I had stopped what was going on, but his girlfriend decided that he wasn't doing very well. So she ran and jumped on us. They both fell on top of me and my head crashed into the pavement. I landed on my left ear, got a hairline fracture and concussion. [...]
It was like some kind of nether world. Most of the time I didn't know where I was. Like I'd wake up and find I.V. units in my arm, and I'd rip 'em out and say, "What kind of a hotel is this? You tell them I'm never coming here again." [...]
When I came home from the hospital I was having terrible nightmares every night, sometimes to the point where I started not wanting to go to sleep. And I still have occasional migraines, dry eyes and short-term memory loss. [...] If I discovered anything in that strange, 10-month period of recovery, it's that music is the one thing that makes me sane.

The Police report said they stabbed this guy 51 times....bludgeoned him in the head with a heavy object 13 times and they shot him twice....so I figure this guy's by the door on the way out going....YOU DON'T HAVE TO LEAVE YET, DO YOU?!....YOU HAVEN'T SHOVED A CHAINSAW UP MY ASS YET!....MY HEAD'S STILL ON MY TORSO!!....I'M GLAD YOU FUCKERS CAN HANDLE YOUR HIGH!

When I checked into a hospital [in Germany, after having been beaten by police in Sichuan], I was told there was bleeding in my brain and I was near fatal collapse. I was rushed into surgery. When I awoke I felt like a normal person again. But I will not feel whole until I and my fellow Chinese can live freely.

It was medicinal marijuana. It was prescribed to me by a doctor in California, which is where I live, and I told the cop this. When I went to see the doctor, he asked me, "Do you have any medical problems that medicinal marijuana helps alleviate?" And I said, "Well, I get bummed when I run out of weed...medicinal marijuana cures that." They handcuffed me and put me in the squad car, and take me to jail. Now, I'm not being an ass about it. I broke the law, that's fine, but, fuck, this is Florida! These cops drove by three meth labs and a dead hooker just to get here!

As big as he was, he sat on my lap, choked, and punched me. That night, I felt nothing; it was as if he was not beating me up enough. When he was beating me up, I told him to hit me harder

My favorite people to have fun with are police officers 'cause they're so serious, you know. They gotta be, you know. Check this out. I get pulled over one night coming out of a Krispy Kreme drive-thru. Don't get ahead of me, listen! [Laughs] I made a left turn instead of making a right, but I wasn't paying attention 'cause I had a box, right? I was like "[Gasp] Oh, you're gonna get it when you get home. You've been so bad!" So I went the wrong way, right? [Mimics car engine noise and gestures to turn left.] Sure enough, [Mimics police siren] "OOGGG!" I'm sitting there patiently waiting for the cop but he's taking forever, I said "You know what, to hell with this, he's taking too long!" I grab my box, I put it on my lap, I flipped it open, right? [Licks finger and pretends to touch one of the donuts and screams] Just as I was about to get into my donuts, the cop gets to the window and he says the same thing they all say, "You know why I pulled you over?" I couldn't help it: I looked up at him and I said "'Cause you can smell it!" Oh, he was dying, man! Son of a bitch!