NOVEMBER 7, 2015 PAC BASE LOS ANGELES: I left the Faultline Gay Bar on the intersection of Melrose and Vermont Avenue in Silverlake, CA on the evening of Saturday November 7, 2015. Checking out at 5:06 PM I left and headed north toward Sunset Boulevard to catch the bus to West Hollywood where I live. I was alone and not carrying a camera. It was already dark.
 
I decided to cut across the Scientology campus and talk to Scientologists about the ruinous recent news for their religion, especially "King of Queens" actress Leah Remini's new book. They hate it when I do that stuff, especially unexpectedly.  But I think I forgot to turn off my cell phone. They use its signals to find me like a tagged wild animal is found by its own radio collar emissions. They were on to me immediately either because they saw my phone coming or they saw me on closed circuit video cameras.
 
From the south I approached Bridge Publications at Fountain and New Hampshire, a location I had never entered before in my over seven years of Scientology protesting. I walked into the small lobby.  Normally empty, this time about eight to ten Sea Org/Public types were gathering. They looked at me like I was an alien from the planet Teegeeack.  I reconnoitered down the hall a yard but no further. I am terrified of Sci interiors. I said "Hi, have you heard that Leah Remini just wrote a new book?"  They snapped their heads around at me and said "Get out!" so I did. 
 
The steps of the building are short and at the exact moment I descended them two attractive but anxious young male bike guards were already pedaling up from the west just feet away.  Running with them was long time security guard Odo Huber wearing a red vest. Not a dressy vest but a cold weather vest. They all seemed especially agitated, anxious but not afraid of me. Odo has watched me loom over him in a non-violent manner since 2008.  It was more likely they were frightened of what might happen tonight.  Or that they would be punished by cult leader David Miscavige for failing to prevent my appearance.
 
I'm much taller than Odo.  Since 2008 he has always looked like he is out starving on his bike all day.  Which he is.  Very thin and undernourished/overly-aerobic exercised.  I am 6'3" 205 lbs. If  I wanted to I could wail on him seriously, much like one of my fellow Anonymous protesters was wailed on in 2008 at Scientology Gold Base, Hemet, CA by cult guards.
 
But of course I was not going to even touch him.  I am not an unpredictable cultist, I'm not trained in security, I don't have a belt with mace, comm lines, etc. as he does. I don't have a gun permit. He does. I am not in the business of touching Scientologists genitals in the dark on their own front lawns surrounded by their security guards. I have gone seven years without sexually battering Odo Huber. Why would I start now?  Also, lookswise I'm not the wreck of the Hesperus.  Gay guys hit on me all the time and I get all the sex I could ever want at various Gay sex club/bathhouse establishments.
 
I walked west toward the Big Blue building on Fountain Ave. and reached the west side of L. Ron Hubbard Way, turning northward. I talked loudly about Leah Remini's book to the food court crowd and folks on the sidewalk. Odo and his guards got increasingly strident and aggressive with me, but it only made me feel jumpy and nervous, not in danger.  Odo usually never gets too close but he was this time. I had to push him back somehow without physically touching him.
 
I held out my hand toward Odo's crotch with a gap of about six inches between us.  I opened and closed my fingers like a talking puppet twice while saying "wawkaa wawkaa" the way Pac Man does.  He hopped backwards very fast as if he was going to catch Homosexuality from me.  As my loyal viewers know, Odo has apparently been caught giving blow jobs to security head Ryan Boswell in the showers at Pac Base.
 
With him slightly more distant I felt safe enough to resume walking north towards Sunset Blvd.  Odo kept saying "Donald leave now!"  I taunted him by saying "Look Odo I don't have my camera with me, try something on me." I should not have said that.  That was true overconfidence.  He kept demanding "Donald leave!"  Finally I taunted "Call me DM and I'll leave."  He immediately said "DM leave." This was the first time I had ever gotten Odo, or any Sci, to obey a command! On top of that, it was a play on words.  The Angry Gay Pope and the Scientology Pope have the same initials.  So I was thrilled and it made me want to stay longer.
 
The Scis got more agitated. Catholic Cathy, the lady who lives at 1420 LRH Way came out and we acknowledged each other.  They hate her so much and her Suppressive Person-ality.  Loyal Osabot Ken Long arrived.  He looks like a cross between Captain Kangaroo and a pedophile.  Catholic Cathy calls him "Captain Kangaroo" so I did too. He works for the Scientology Secret Police the Office of Special Affairs (OSA). 
 
We walked north up LRH Way for a few moments. When Odo realized I was going to chat with Cathy and Ken instead of leaving he suddenly grabbed his phone and screamed "Help! Help! He is touching my cock/penis, he is touching my balls/testicles etc. etc. something something!"  When Odo, in his red security vest, screamed that into the phone suddenly all I could see, and all I can see in my memory now, is a yelling, red, flaming effect all over him.  I perceived even his cell phone to be red.  It's not that I was afraid of him, I was afraid of what might happen. Just like they were.
 
"Groan," I thought. "They love to exploit American citizen's arrest laws and he is writing a really stupid citizen's arrest script and the unsuspecting police will come." The previous Scientologist who successfully citizen's arrested me, Lissa Uvizl, at least improvised a script that could reference an actual legal restraining order against me plus a TRO (temporary restraining order). 
 
This is the second time I have documented Odo's behavior setting me up with cops at this very spot. He did it before on July 5, 2012 but failed to convince them that I was evil. They cross checked his story on their computer and it did not hold up. So they drove me around the corner, freed me of handcuffs and let me go.  Unfortunately one cop put the handcuffs on too tight and I was left with a numb thumb for months. That is what they want to happen. It all occurred in almost the same spot.
 
This time, in 2015, I wanted to flee the scene when Odo called for help but that is what guilty people do. Besides, the bike guards would follow me if I tried to escape on foot (it's their job). Or the police would just show up at my home hours later. After five lawsuits I think the Church knows where I live. I decided to stick it out, man up. Hope that the cops would figure out what was going on and not arrest me. That doesn't always happen. In reality, I think that the Church just wanted me to leave and if I ran away they would probably have called and cancelled what was about to happen.  In the short term I should have run. But I chose the long term.
 
When the two cops arrived they exited their LAPD cruiser but did not recognize me.  Odo pointed me out.  He didn't say "Help! Help! Officers he's a menace!" as Lisa Uvizl did during my last legal episode.  The two cops looked at me. I raised my hands behind my head with elbows out in the quintessential passive position and slowly approached, saying "Hello officers." It was a man and woman.
 
I was immediately pushed against the right side front hood of the patrol car.  "Spread your legs apart, hands behind your back!" the male arresting officer barked.  I protested.  The handcuffs went on.  "Ow!"  I said. "Careful, I'm a big guy, not some small Latino."
 
"That's okay," his female partner the good cop chirped, "I'm a short Latina." Indeed, she was a short Latina with long black hair and a pretty face. He was a medium height Italian/Latin type with slightly curly black hair. I wish I could remember the license plate of the police car, the faces, badge numbers, etc. But, who cares.   The Church probably faked them anyway and video cameras were everywhere recording. Those cameras were at the Church compound and the police station I was taken to.
 
I protested louder and louder about the injustice.  The arresting officer said "Any more of that and I'll charge you with public intoxication."  Remember I said I had been to a Gay bar earlier?
 
I shut up. 
 
They dumped me on the hard, brown plastic back seat of the squad car and I watched, through the right rear window, while they held a little FI (Field Investigation report) "cocktail party" filling out. Lots of smiling and chatting and looking at me handcuffed.  The red white and blue flashing police lights were like a patriotic disco.  The police radio crackled with life. But I was not enjoying this little inmate reception at the Hotel California tonight like they were.  But I could not fault the ambiance.  The two cops penciled in their little white FI forms.  They both held what appeared to be several purplish pieces of 8.5x11 paper folded in thirds into the shape of an envelope.
 
Finally they both got into the car. He went through my wallet looking for my California driver's license. I bought a wallet about two months ago and sometimes even I lost the driver's license in the middle fold where I usually keep it.  He got more nervous when he could not easily find my ID. He talked loudly to me about "where is it?" I snapped back "It's in there somewhere." Either he found it or found a pay stub in my billfold that established my identity. I saw him reading the pay stub.
 
Next he dropped a purpleish form on top of the computer terminal in the middle of the front seat area
 
"This is what your charge is going to be." He pointed to the words "SEXUAL BATTERY."   I said "What does that mean?"  He wiggled his fingers like an octopus swimming forward, smirking "Tooooo much toooouuching ...  are you Gay?" 
 
"I'm the Angry Gay Pope!" 
 
"Oh?" the Latina chirped, "You're the protester with a website?  I'll have to take a look at that." She was playing the "good cop" even though she was evil.  I mean why go to the effort? Can't she just shut up and be evilly kidnapping me? Neither one of them were good cops. She really didn't have to charade that hard. Why not be quiet and entrap me without the facade?  Sheesh ... women.
 
"Yeah check out my Scientology protest website," I sneered to the Latina rogue cop, "because you're going to be on it and I will tell the net about you and your kids will have to take down their Facebook pages in shame."  This was not a very powerful threat. But, like Odo, at this point I was just running on scripts.  
 
"My kids' won't be taking down their Facebook pages" he said.
 
"How do I know you aren't paid off by the Church?" I sneered.
 
"Oh I'm not paid off by them, this is my first day on the job." I don't know what he meant by that.
 
He drove to the nearest police station, Rampart, I assume. A charge of "Sexual Battery" was added to my public record. Then they inserted me into the unsuspecting system where I was arrested at 6:25 PM.   Now that I was in the care of the "good cops" the "bad cops" drove off into the night forever anonymous.
 
ARRESTING OFFICER'S NAME:  PPALONGG    
SERIAL NUMBER: NONE
 
The officer's name was a spelling impossibility and deps at county jail later told me they never see this form with a serial number of NONE. I considered pointing this out to the unsuspecting "good" cop that was dealing with me when I entered the station. But I was concerned that he might be "in on it" with the other two rogue police losers and actually a "bad cop." This was probably Rampart, a police station famous for scandal and corruption. And this is the LAPD. And this is Hollywood. I don't even trust myself half the time. How could I trust them?
 
I was booked at the LAPD Metropolitan detention center at 8:41 PM.
 
Just as in my November 5, 2013 incarceration involving Lissa Uvizl setting me up, my blood pressure soared.  190 over 120.  Well into stage 2 hypertension by thirty points. I had purple flushing on my face, body, knuckles, etc, as if I was in the Scientology Purification Rundown because my circulation went haywire. Groan. A nurse remarked that she could tell how high my BP was by how big the red bubble of fluid was when she pricked my finger for a blood sugar test. This is just what the cult wants. Throw them into the system and let violent inmates and drug resistant staph infections kill them. We won't be blamed. We will let the taxpayer funded system do our dirty work for us while we pay few taxes. If I had died of a stroke from high blood pressure in jail Odo would have gotten a reward commensurate with killing me.
 
The perfectly fine foreign born medical employees at the LAPD city hospital did their best to try to contain my hypertension but they didn't. And I couldn't remember my exact dose of the Lotensin blood pressure drug I usually take.  I also could not remember the name of the second BP drug I take and had to describe its appearance. Pointless.
 
I can't handle lockdown and the medical staff could not handle lockdown killing me. So I was transferred to the 90% larger county jail.  The Twin Towers Correctional Facility "Inmate Reception Center."  Yes, the food is free but it's less fun than it sounds. At this much bigger facility I was assaulted with gobs of free medical services and attention. As a protester I want to drain the system of resources at every turn so I did whatever they said. TB X-ray, drug prescription quizzes, blood tests, mental health screenings, etc. Lots of blood pressure sessions, in particular, took me out of my tedious lockdown cell and into the community where I could interact with the staff. The bored out of their minds captive audience staff. 
 

LEAH REMINI'S NEW BOOK AVAILABLE HERE

In nicer areas there are HD TVs on the wall, each deliberately set to grainy lowres video/wrong aspect ratio images. They showed broadcasts like the "Matrix" movies, football and sitcom "The King of Queens."  At one point that show was playing and I saw Leah Remini, the ex-Sci actress who wrote the book that I was promoting on the street to the Scis when this all started.  Oh isn't life funny.
 
I attempted to get an arraignment on Tuesday but failed.  My lawyer was told I would be in court at 8:30 but I did not get there till around 11 and they did not find me till about 2:30. However, cackling around with the LesBiGay community in the holding cell was 1000% better than being in lockdown in one tiny, dirty room with toilet paper on the air vents and the lights never turn off. When I was returned to my housing I was told to report to medical.  A nurse announced "You are going home!"  She informed me that I had Polycythemia, overly thick blood and enlarged platelets. A hematocrit level greater than 55% (I assume). Later, another healthcare worker asked me why I was being released. I said I had "poly-sci something" and she corrected me on it's proper name. Polycythemia.  She told me that, whatever it was I had, it would not stop me from living many years.

I believe Polycythemia is a side effect of being a media/legal hot potato.  You catch it from the district attorney's office once they realize you are there. Or should they just have had a guard come up and get me, announcing that I was free because "the system is really corrupt and fucked up"?
 
After many tedious hours of more waiting I was released on my own recognizance at about 3:15 AM Wednesday and took an unlicensed cab home to West Hollywood. Isn't it funny that unlicensed cabs operate at the very exit doors of the criminal justice system?  The "cab" driver told me he had been doing this job for decades and I sat in the front seat with him. He said that, lately, the jail had changed it's exit processing and gotten behind. Regular releases 15 at a time had been replaced by irregular releases 30 at a time. People had been released by accident. Oops.  Now the staff had to triple check things. There were many new inexperienced hires. He knew the schedule of when people were to come out because he made his livelihood on it and had for decades as an unlicensed cabbie, I assume.  He quoted when I was scheduled to be released and when I finally got released and they were way apart by hours. Clearly, America has spent too much money building nuclear weapons that can blow up the world forty times and not enough money on more immediate concerns.  What is more dangerous to the country?  Soviets externally or a collapsing criminal justice system internally?
 
The cabbie confessed he had met Sci founder L. Ron Hubbard in the 1950's when he was a Latin gangbanger and LRH had just opened their first location in Los Angeles. The gangbangers were angry at the time because the snotty Scientologists didn't want the Latins to walk through their alleyway. So they showed up in a group and confronted the Scis.  LRH came out and soothed things over somehow.