wrillo

well my bad, you are correct. That is what the original post was about. All of the replies up to yours were pointing out how its not a big deal, thats what I was talking about So in your out of the way effort to make me look like a dumbass you've taken my reply out of context of the rest of this thread and cited back to the original post. mmk buddy

oh man, am I confused thanks for straightening that out now what happened!

oh but you don't have time to read my fuckin' story? asshole

details peeeze! I loved schmuckgirl's bike, I hope its not hurt

my gear box is just fine... Zizzy just likes it rough, ain't no pussies riding her!

lawlz

whatever, last people I shared my story with didn't believe me anyway

lame

So a while ago I got my own special interview with an Secret Service agent. I was E-Thuggin on digg.com I made this here post and the FBI didn't really like that. So they tipped the Secret Service off to it... here is what I wrote at the time: So I got a voice message from a "Chad Mercer", Secret Service. I called him back, set up a time to meet with him, then he finally tells me "I just need to talk to you about some comments posted on the internet." My printer has been working intermittently, and of course the day I need to print directions to the federal building it decides not to work. I wrote down just enough to remind me where to turn as my shirt dried in the dryer to get the wrinkles out. I decided not to dress up formally, but of course did not want to look like trash, so I wore jeans and a polo shirt. Since I didn't know exactly where I was going, I drove slowly and cautiously as I made my way to 200 W Second Street. Luckly there was a parking garage right next to the Federal Building, otherwise I would have been late. Entering the building there were all kinds of signs banning recording devices and cameras of any sort. I knew the drill with the metal detectors, but still forgot about my belt buckle. After getting everything except my cell phone back (plus a claim ticket), I headed towards the only place to go, the elevators. The elevator ride seemed to take forever, but it could have been that I just have not been on an elevator ride to the 8th floor of any building in quite a while. As I looked for the room, I got confused and for a second thought it didn't exist. I remembered a friend's comment, "At least they didn't tell you to go to room 811 and a half." Room 811 finally showed up, with a very ominous looking "Secret Service" label on the door. I found myself in a small lobby, with just two chairs, a door to my left, a door to my right, and a window much like a bank teller's window. "I'm here to see Chad Mercer" I told the woman behind an inch of bullet proof glass. Her stern reply, "Have a seat", didn't inspire confidence. Chad greeted me at the door opposite the window, and asked me in. As I surveyed the room I saw an odd looking computer, an ink-style finger print station, a bathroom, a mirror randomly placed on the wall, a camera, desk, and two chairs. "I assume you know exactly what this is about" was the first thing that was said. Of course I knew what it was about, "yes" was all I could get out at the moment though. Chad seemed like a likeable guy, and he was younger, but I didn't want to start to relax yet. He explained that any threat towards the president is against federal law, no matter what the context. His tone of voice was almost apologetic, it sounded like he thought the whole thing was silly too. I assured him I knew he was only doing his job, and I understand its a serious matter. I was shocked to find out he had not even seen the comment in context. He really could think I was crazy! I explained the situation a little bit, but was careful about words and didn't want to say too much. From that point on, things went well. We did have to do a LOT of paperwork though. He recorded people I live with, where I work, my entire immediate family (I have six brothers and sisters), if I have had any serious injuries to my head (not kidding), if I have left the country at all, if I have left the country in the past year, or if I intended to travel in the near future, if I am apart of any political groups, if I have been to political rallies, if I have any serious "problems" with the government, president, or the war ("besides the normal stuff" - quote), among other less interesting things. I signed forms consenting to a credit check ("to make sure that you don't have any significant financial problems"), a release of medical and psychological records, and a consent to search form, all of which said on the form they were optional, but he failed to read that line for some reason... ? Talking about my family was interesting, and I think it put me in a more positive light. My oldest brother is currently in the Marine Corps, and the other older brother is a Dayton Police Officer. Chad did not seem to recognize his name, but that didn't surprize me because he is fairly new to the job. Chad told me he also had to talk to one of my family members, and would call my brother since he is a police officer and would better understand that it was "just policy." Just as we were finishing the paperwork Chad's partner came into the room. Looking over Chad's work on the forms he paused for a second, "a Mazda Miata" with a grin on his face. "Yeah" I answered, but it sounded more like a quesiton. "I just ask because I have one, I have a 1990." "Yeah, they're fun little cars!" Chad had to be the buzz kill though and interupted with "yeah, until you get hit by a truck". Chad's partner started entering my information into the previously mentioned odd looking computer, I can only assume it was on the 'secret service network'. "None of this information will leave the secret service", Chad told me, "you won't have a criminal record, unless of course the feds decide to prosecute you... which I really don't think they will". They had me wash my hands so that they could take my finger prints. Chad opened a compartment on the odd computer to reveal something that looked like a touch screen. It was the finger print taker. They took prints of my thumb, then all four fingers at once, then they rolled each individual finger to get the sides, the "top palm" and the "bottom palm", then the sides of my hands. Lets just say, if I leave a print of any part of my hand anywhere, they'll know. Then they took pictures of me like crazy. My curious nature must have been busting from the seams, because they asked "Well thats it, do you have any questions?" "Probably stuff that you couldn't answer" "Shoot" So I asked questions about how they track people down. I found out that my case started in Wash DC because it was online, and the FBI got involved which is "not good".

meow

umm.. I think the whole point this thread is that its not hypocrisy. Its something each and every president has been entitled to and used STFU or GTFO

whores!!!!!!

I only laugh because she'll kill you

I think its a little late in the game to go on the ride... but I wanna know whats up with the bike too. Sounds like an ass beating is due to be honest.

^^^ I was 12

freakin old timers

I think nick is draggin peg!!!

jeeze Nick, stop with the early twenties hatin'

better, but why does he turn black? once you go black, you never come back?

looks Canadian, I don't want* no damn Canadian smilies

hey, me too!!!

that news source is the only crock of shit

meow

uh... what?