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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book

On the bench outside Superior Court

As I sat on a bench seat outside the doorway to the Superior Court room, I found out just how popular I was. I wasn't just sitting outside of the court room but also the room where the public defenders congregate. The door to the public defenders room would open and close allowing me to hear segment of the attorney’s conversations taking place inside. At the time the door had a lot of traffic and appeared to be open more than not. You can say I got a strong taste of just what was being said in the bustling room. I could tell the main topic of conversation was about me. They were making smart remarks and teasing my attorney about having to defend me. Since these were attorneys for defending people in superior court, I’d think there shouldn't have been anything so amusing, but I can assure you that they were aware my case was obviously not the typical case played out in the corrupt court room. With no doubt, it made my attorney feel special, because as she walked out through the door she wore a big smile on her face concluding to me that she was indeed the focus of all the hoop-lah. The very second she spotted me looking right at her, the smile dropped from her face like a hot rock. It was obvious I was the reason for the attention she was getting and it was obvious she didn't want me to notice. I’d caught her off guard by being just outside the door. Once she was in the hallway, the laughter and commotion inside the room dyed down considerably.
      I said, “I must have made you quit popular today. I could hear them making fun of me in there,” as I motioned to the door.
      She denied that I was reason for all the commotion inside the room and said, “We always joke around as to relieve some of the stress we deal with day after day.” I thought to myself, Yeah right. I'd heard enough to know better and I looked at her with one of those one sided smiles that say so.
      I asked her if I could get my belongings back from the cops. She said I could, but it would be a matter of the prosecuting attorney signing a release before I could get the property back. I did manage to get my truck, pager, and keys back before hand, but still to this day I've got nowhere in the progress in getting the rest of my personal property out of the police property room.
      Since the sentencing my public defender dodged my calls. I tried calling the prosecuting attorney and even the judge. Of course with those automated answering systems they have, you don't have to guess how far I got with my efforts. Yeah – they didn't even return my calls. To this day, they haven’t returned my guns, scale master, $200.00 in cash, a mini photo album, (Which has the one and only picture of me surfing a wave; taken by another surfer while dropping in on me on his longboard.) The list gets pretty long. It’s all in the police report.
      My attorney (public defender) told me that I should plead guilty because if the case went to trial, they would most likely bring the firearms into it and I would be looking at the possibility of serving three months to a year in jail. I realized they would falsify anything they wanted and give me a guilty judgment anyway.
      The psychological evaluation for Superior Court ended up just as the rumors on the street said it would. The so called psychologist stated in the report that it was his impression I was suffering from a mental illness call bye polar disorder disease. The word on the street wasn't worded in such a polite form. On the street I heard, "He's a manic depressant," and even, "They think he's suicidal.”
      Get this- The nut case strategy worked even better than I thought it would, because to my surprise even prosecuting attorney played into the game. The prosecuting attorney made it sound like she was coming to my defense and said, "He was self treating himself for bye polar disorder illness." I even played into the rumors by making my only comment to the judge by saying that I sometimes don't have control upon what I say and I don't mean what I say at times.
      I was putting on a real freak show from the word go. I wondered how many people were there to watch me take the stand. I felt it was better to make people feel sorry for me, but I didn't realize what kind of stigma would result from it.
      A few times people tried to make me feel I couldn't be the person in control of my inventions because they were either told I was mentally ill and they assumed wasn't capable handling the business end and responsibilities that are involved with marketing my inventions because I was only a “mental” painter. I would laugh at them and say, I'd rather be a crazy than stupid. Think about it – it's been over eight years of lies and you still don't have the truck yet. How stupid is that?
      I've discovered people tend to think that if a person may seem a little unstable, that they shouldn't be in position to handle such things as the ownership of patents on their inventions. I still don't see how people can come across such judgment, because whether a person is in a coma, mental hospital, on their death bed, dead, or even a serial killer in a prison in a foreign country, they are still entitled to have patents granted to them for their inventions.
      As the most feared court proceedings came to pass and prison didn't come my way, I wondered why they didn't give me jail time. I wondered if it was because I had either built a new future for myself and the odds of me going back to dealing pot wasn't going to happen, or as I was betting on, they thought their tricks had worked and they thought I'd give up on my efforts of filing for patents on my inventions.
      The rumors on the street said they would let me off if I kept my mouth shut, but the strange thing about it is how stupid people believed the rumors the local government spread around town -- enough so to even repeat the crap. It was like the local government was dictating whether I was going to get patents or not. It wasn't for them to decide if you ask me.
      I got stuck with two hundred and forty hours of community service, (the most community service hour that could be given before having to serve time in jail.) It made it even harder for me to come up with the money to file for a patent. Of course that was part of the strategy they had in mind.
     

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:

Page 200
What a Bro.


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