Showing posts with label Cars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cars. Show all posts
20091124
20090613
Every Man Gets His Day In Court. Then Another Day. Then Another Day.
It seems to me the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement men spend a significant portion of their working lives in court.
I’m not sure how often this type of thing happens but, according to VCCI, on June 11 like half the members of the Task Force I think were in one court or another -- some of the officers appearing in one court and another.
A handful of their cases from that day were continued to various later dates after having already been carried over from previous dates.
Could probably make a dandy tongue-twister out of this stuff. Please parallel park for your perpetually pending proceedings.
20090610
This, I Do Not Understand
I can be driving down any given road at some 60+ miles an hour on a sunny, happy day and manage to take photographs of Task Force Officers that are so clear and perfect they look staged. But tack on any variation of cat-and-dog weather -- about to rain, is raining, just finished raining -- and I abstrusely get pictures like this:
This:
And this:
I mean, I grasp the concept of why this one (taken while in motion) would come out this way:
Which is why I knew what to do to fix it for a (still in motion) better one:
But this one? Makes no sense to me:
I swear that really is a car! On a street! In daylight!
P.S. I just found out I swear a lot.
This:
And this:
I mean, I grasp the concept of why this one (taken while in motion) would come out this way:
Which is why I knew what to do to fix it for a (still in motion) better one:
But this one? Makes no sense to me:
I swear that really is a car! On a street! In daylight!
P.S. I just found out I swear a lot.
20090519
How I Learned The Real Name Of A Tagged TFO In Four Simple Steps
1) I went through recent and semi-recent court documents pertaining to Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement to find the names of anyone distinguished as an officer that could, potentially, currently be in the Task Force.
2) I searched local real estate and property tax records and quickly landed an address that matched a detective’s name from step one.
3) I used Google maps and got directions to the residence from step two.
4) I cruised by said house one sunny morn and recognized the flashy-ish vehicle parked outside as one belonging to a policeman I’d seen at the Ix property.
How did I know that guy was in law enforcement in the first place? That’s easy; he advertises it.
But honest-to-god he so was not the JADE member I was expecting to identify that day.
2) I searched local real estate and property tax records and quickly landed an address that matched a detective’s name from step one.
3) I used Google maps and got directions to the residence from step two.
4) I cruised by said house one sunny morn and recognized the flashy-ish vehicle parked outside as one belonging to a policeman I’d seen at the Ix property.
How did I know that guy was in law enforcement in the first place? That’s easy; he advertises it.
But honest-to-god he so was not the JADE member I was expecting to identify that day.
20090518
Did I Ever Tell You About The Time I Tried To SNEAK A Picture Of Two Cops Down At The JADE Office But FORGOT TO TURN THE FLASH OFF?
By playing with the Drug Task Force, I’ve learned a little bit about digital cameras over the past several months. Not just the operational aspects of the contraptions but also that there are benefits to having more than one type and discerning which of them best fits a situation.
Seems for highly surreptitious snap-shooting, those two-inch-sized keychain minis would be just the thing. They are indeed teeny. As are the photographs they take. I prefer huge, high-quality images, so more often I reach for my normal-scale camera instead -- coming up with spur-of-the-moment inventive ways to keep it concealed whilst capturing JADE activities has become almost a hobby within a hobby.
This is a nifty night vision camera. It does have one downside that, when it comes to my purposes with Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, frequently renders it unusable. But considering most people probably wouldn’t run into the problem, I recommend it to anyone who’s looking for an in-darkness picture-taking device. Oh, oh, oh, and, while I’m on the subject, once I saw this, I couldn’t resist finding out if I could make one, and if it works. Yes, and yes!
For maybe the last few weeks -- starting prior to receiving this dumb thing -- I’ve been familiarizing myself with equipment that has superzoom features. Nearly every digital camera manufacturer these days offers at minimum one model of the sort. Think about it, when you can get a photograph like this:
Then one like this:
Without taking even a single footstep forward? That’s pretty dang amazing!
Seems for highly surreptitious snap-shooting, those two-inch-sized keychain minis would be just the thing. They are indeed teeny. As are the photographs they take. I prefer huge, high-quality images, so more often I reach for my normal-scale camera instead -- coming up with spur-of-the-moment inventive ways to keep it concealed whilst capturing JADE activities has become almost a hobby within a hobby.
This is a nifty night vision camera. It does have one downside that, when it comes to my purposes with Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement, frequently renders it unusable. But considering most people probably wouldn’t run into the problem, I recommend it to anyone who’s looking for an in-darkness picture-taking device. Oh, oh, oh, and, while I’m on the subject, once I saw this, I couldn’t resist finding out if I could make one, and if it works. Yes, and yes!
For maybe the last few weeks -- starting prior to receiving this dumb thing -- I’ve been familiarizing myself with equipment that has superzoom features. Nearly every digital camera manufacturer these days offers at minimum one model of the sort. Think about it, when you can get a photograph like this:
Then one like this:
Without taking even a single footstep forward? That’s pretty dang amazing!
20090514
Following Cars Is So, Like, Yesterday; Today’s Trend Is All About Following Cases.
Absolutely I’d find all of them interesting but I don’t pay a great deal of attention to many of the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement cases once they make it to court. Can you imagine trying to keep up with the multiple multi-jurisdictional courtroom proceedings of eleven individual Task Force Officers? Oi Mi! I do stick with some though because this, that, or the other, cause me to and I want to know the end result of JADE’s actions. The “cause” may be watching a raid by Truck, Longhead, Dasani (if memory serves), and a SWAT team, on a rainy mid-December night. The “result” -- for the Black male who gets busted -- a sequence of six court dates over a duration of five months.
20090428
20090425
It's Like They Don't Even TRY
When You’re Hot,
Like Spot,
It Oughtn’t Matter
Where You Sat ‘er
In The Lot.
Like Spot,
It Oughtn’t Matter
Where You Sat ‘er
In The Lot.
Not A Tailless Mouse
Maybe a taillightless one.
Not that you’ll get a ticket, or anything, but please, Sergeant, fix. The lack of a lamp makes it that much easier for me to follow your vehicle and I’m sure you’d want that sort of thing to be a little more of a challenge for me these days.
20090423
SWAT Scene Sketch
By and large if I want to document any sort of vehicle information -- tags, descriptions, positions, et cetera -- I’ll either hand-write the details I think are important in a notepad or I’ll capture whatever in photographs. On rare occasions, I’ve used my cell phone to text in license plate numbers, and having finally realized that, oh my gosh, my OWS-100 doesn’t just record conversations with other people, it will record me, alone, too, I try to remember to put it into such service.
One thing about all of the aforesaid methods is that it only takes a second to implement any of them -- a stroke of a pen, press of a button, preservation in the blink of an eye. However, there are moments when speed is not of the essence and time is something to waste. Like when white-hot-waiting for a force of SWAT paired with a pack of JADE to crack down a crack house. Anyway… Look, I drew a picture!
One thing about all of the aforesaid methods is that it only takes a second to implement any of them -- a stroke of a pen, press of a button, preservation in the blink of an eye. However, there are moments when speed is not of the essence and time is something to waste. Like when white-hot-waiting for a force of SWAT paired with a pack of JADE to crack down a crack house. Anyway… Look, I drew a picture!
(Some identifying components temporarily blacked out.)
20090422
Pringle and Spot
The pair have dumped a pile of miscellaneous police paraphernalia into the back seat and trunk of Pringle’s Altima.
I guess they’re up to something more than a coffee break and promptly follow them out from the parking lot when they leave.
I’ve learned a few things about the immediate area, so, as far as these nearby square miles of streets go, I’m lacking the anxiety I used to have about getting lost. But I’m not accustomed to Pringle’s driving, and it’s he who’s behind the wheel of his car.
There’s a block or more of distance between us, not so much that I don’t see them turn right at the same place I lost Porn Star the first time I followed him. I pull up to a stop sign and with no oncoming traffic I immediately turn the way as the two Task Force Officers.
There are several cars in front of me; none of them is the Altima. I’m unconcerned. I know that shortly up ahead the road will go from two lanes to four and, again having gotten familiar with the area, have no reason to believe Spot and Pringle would stray off the main drag beforehand. They wouldn’t have gone this way just to get to a side street up here. Sure enough, as I round the bend and see the stretch of highway beyond, I can make them out up yonder. Soon though they’ll have the ability to go in any number of directions and if I don’t catch up fast I’ll likely lose them.
I expeditiously crank between lanes to pass traffic, breaking out of the congestion to really lay on the gas. I watch Pringle and Spot ignore two major turns, essentially leaving two ways they can go, as the gap between Pringle’s vehicle and mine goes from momentous to nearly insignificant. Up ahead they join other drivers in a left turn lane waiting for the signal to turn green.
I have a flashback that causes me to reconsider how I lost another JADE agent once. The short of it is, because I hadn’t seen him on the straightaway when I came around the curve, I’d assumed he’d turned off onto I-64. But rethinking the moment again, he probably just hadn’t gotten stuck at the traffic light his fellow detectives are sitting at currently.
I transition my mind from earlier events to the here and now as it dawns on me that I’m coming up to the red light faster than a flaming comet through the earth’s atmosphere. I hit the brakes -- my speed going from insane to moderate -- just in time to easily make the turn with Pringle and Spot who are now directly in front of me.
Back on a two-lane I allow four car lengths between the investigators and me. Okay; more like room for two cars and maybe a bicycle. Maybe.
For some reason Pringle keeps slowing down then speeding back up. He’s doing this ostensibly without tapping his brakes. With no taillight warnings from him, this of course unexpectedly puts my front tires practically on top of their trunk a couple of times. If he was any old random stranger driving like this in front of me I’d be singing a string of tame swear words at him by now.
As it is I come up with only one interpretation for the man’s abrupt unpredictable driving. They’re on to me. I back way, way, off.
I’m recollecting times when I’d later assessed I jumped the gun -- SeeSee, for instance. Determined to not add this experience to the Ode de Paranoia list, I move up behind the boys with badges again. Suddenly it must look like I’m the one driving erratically. I imagine the guy behind me is cussing me right about this point.
Pringle signals they’re about to make a left. The street we’re nearing is virtually invisible due to the thickness of woods surrounding it. I see a black and white sign with a route number: 1102. I know nothing about the road. The Altima makes its intended turn.
I can’t explain it but something about this doesn’t feel right. Thousands of red flags are waving in a frenzy all the way ‘round my insides. You should not go down that road. I already overlooked my instincts moments earlier with the two policemen, but I have the sensation that disregarding my intuition this time would be foolish of me.
I approach the turn, casually peering down where they’ve gone. I expect to see nothing. Instead I see their car’s back end, almost out of range but, with brake lights engaged, clearly at a stop on the road. Gosh, it kinda seems they’re waiting for someone. Someone like… me! Yikes.
Diagonally across the road is Michie’s Tavern. I pull forward into the entrance and park in the nearest open space. Route 1102 -- a narrow, green sign lets me know it’s also called Michie Tavern Lane -- is fully visible from where I am. What’s down there, other than the energetic enigmas? Stumped over what else to do I take photographs of both of the signs and the road itself.
My fingernails lightly tattoo the console between the seats as ideas form in my head. There must be some sensible reason they turned there; since they haven’t come back out yet I figure the real explanation has nothing to do with me.
I doubt Michie’s provides Wi-Fi and I don’t want to go through the hassle of dragging out my laptop to find out. I yank my cell phone out of its holder on the visor and ring the one person I know who’s always of service and, even better, used to odd calls from me.
“Hey” I say when he answers. He repeats the word back to me and I tell him I don’t have time to talk. “You gotta help me with something.”
I ask him if he’s in front of his computer and when he responds agreeably I instruct him to go to Google Maps and look up 1102. I give him all the info I have and he begins providing me with all the info he thinks I need. I’m absentmindedly scribbling comments on one of the yellow notepads I carry with me everywhere these days.
First thing: 1102 is a dead end road. Learning that makes me think about the consequences of getting trapped in a set-up by suspicious TFOs. Ugh! That would bite. Thank goodness I didn’t go down there.
Next my over-the-phone assistant gives me the mileage and counts off the amount of buildings or houses. He uses a search engine to get an address to one of them and, from it, starts conveying to me what all the other places are. Nothing sounds like anything I’m interested in.
He’s mumbling off mediocre information. Land values? I remain mystified. “Fraternal Order of Police building there.” He continues without taking a breath, saying something about their property being donated. I’ve already latched onto the key word. Police? Aha!
I remain quiet while he carries on but he must feel my excitement shoot like static electricity through the phone. “Are you cop watching, little missy?” he pauses his data transmission to inquire. I smile at how tuned in to me he is but snub his question and ask instead “Where’s the FOP located at, exactly?” When he replies, I do a quick calculation in my head. That would be… erm… approximately fifty, sixty, yards onwards of where Pringle and Spot stopped their vehicle. “You rock!” That’s my way of thanking my friend. I tell him I’ve got to go. He advises me “be careful.” Indeed. I’ll wait until Pringle and Spot aren’t there before I go exploring Michie Tavern Lane.
I guess they’re up to something more than a coffee break and promptly follow them out from the parking lot when they leave.
I’ve learned a few things about the immediate area, so, as far as these nearby square miles of streets go, I’m lacking the anxiety I used to have about getting lost. But I’m not accustomed to Pringle’s driving, and it’s he who’s behind the wheel of his car.
There’s a block or more of distance between us, not so much that I don’t see them turn right at the same place I lost Porn Star the first time I followed him. I pull up to a stop sign and with no oncoming traffic I immediately turn the way as the two Task Force Officers.
There are several cars in front of me; none of them is the Altima. I’m unconcerned. I know that shortly up ahead the road will go from two lanes to four and, again having gotten familiar with the area, have no reason to believe Spot and Pringle would stray off the main drag beforehand. They wouldn’t have gone this way just to get to a side street up here. Sure enough, as I round the bend and see the stretch of highway beyond, I can make them out up yonder. Soon though they’ll have the ability to go in any number of directions and if I don’t catch up fast I’ll likely lose them.
I expeditiously crank between lanes to pass traffic, breaking out of the congestion to really lay on the gas. I watch Pringle and Spot ignore two major turns, essentially leaving two ways they can go, as the gap between Pringle’s vehicle and mine goes from momentous to nearly insignificant. Up ahead they join other drivers in a left turn lane waiting for the signal to turn green.
I have a flashback that causes me to reconsider how I lost another JADE agent once. The short of it is, because I hadn’t seen him on the straightaway when I came around the curve, I’d assumed he’d turned off onto I-64. But rethinking the moment again, he probably just hadn’t gotten stuck at the traffic light his fellow detectives are sitting at currently.
I transition my mind from earlier events to the here and now as it dawns on me that I’m coming up to the red light faster than a flaming comet through the earth’s atmosphere. I hit the brakes -- my speed going from insane to moderate -- just in time to easily make the turn with Pringle and Spot who are now directly in front of me.
Back on a two-lane I allow four car lengths between the investigators and me. Okay; more like room for two cars and maybe a bicycle. Maybe.
For some reason Pringle keeps slowing down then speeding back up. He’s doing this ostensibly without tapping his brakes. With no taillight warnings from him, this of course unexpectedly puts my front tires practically on top of their trunk a couple of times. If he was any old random stranger driving like this in front of me I’d be singing a string of tame swear words at him by now.
As it is I come up with only one interpretation for the man’s abrupt unpredictable driving. They’re on to me. I back way, way, off.
I’m recollecting times when I’d later assessed I jumped the gun -- SeeSee, for instance. Determined to not add this experience to the Ode de Paranoia list, I move up behind the boys with badges again. Suddenly it must look like I’m the one driving erratically. I imagine the guy behind me is cussing me right about this point.
Pringle signals they’re about to make a left. The street we’re nearing is virtually invisible due to the thickness of woods surrounding it. I see a black and white sign with a route number: 1102. I know nothing about the road. The Altima makes its intended turn.
I can’t explain it but something about this doesn’t feel right. Thousands of red flags are waving in a frenzy all the way ‘round my insides. You should not go down that road. I already overlooked my instincts moments earlier with the two policemen, but I have the sensation that disregarding my intuition this time would be foolish of me.
I approach the turn, casually peering down where they’ve gone. I expect to see nothing. Instead I see their car’s back end, almost out of range but, with brake lights engaged, clearly at a stop on the road. Gosh, it kinda seems they’re waiting for someone. Someone like… me! Yikes.
Diagonally across the road is Michie’s Tavern. I pull forward into the entrance and park in the nearest open space. Route 1102 -- a narrow, green sign lets me know it’s also called Michie Tavern Lane -- is fully visible from where I am. What’s down there, other than the energetic enigmas? Stumped over what else to do I take photographs of both of the signs and the road itself.
My fingernails lightly tattoo the console between the seats as ideas form in my head. There must be some sensible reason they turned there; since they haven’t come back out yet I figure the real explanation has nothing to do with me.
I doubt Michie’s provides Wi-Fi and I don’t want to go through the hassle of dragging out my laptop to find out. I yank my cell phone out of its holder on the visor and ring the one person I know who’s always of service and, even better, used to odd calls from me.
“Hey” I say when he answers. He repeats the word back to me and I tell him I don’t have time to talk. “You gotta help me with something.”
I ask him if he’s in front of his computer and when he responds agreeably I instruct him to go to Google Maps and look up 1102. I give him all the info I have and he begins providing me with all the info he thinks I need. I’m absentmindedly scribbling comments on one of the yellow notepads I carry with me everywhere these days.
First thing: 1102 is a dead end road. Learning that makes me think about the consequences of getting trapped in a set-up by suspicious TFOs. Ugh! That would bite. Thank goodness I didn’t go down there.
Next my over-the-phone assistant gives me the mileage and counts off the amount of buildings or houses. He uses a search engine to get an address to one of them and, from it, starts conveying to me what all the other places are. Nothing sounds like anything I’m interested in.
He’s mumbling off mediocre information. Land values? I remain mystified. “Fraternal Order of Police building there.” He continues without taking a breath, saying something about their property being donated. I’ve already latched onto the key word. Police? Aha!
I remain quiet while he carries on but he must feel my excitement shoot like static electricity through the phone. “Are you cop watching, little missy?” he pauses his data transmission to inquire. I smile at how tuned in to me he is but snub his question and ask instead “Where’s the FOP located at, exactly?” When he replies, I do a quick calculation in my head. That would be… erm… approximately fifty, sixty, yards onwards of where Pringle and Spot stopped their vehicle. “You rock!” That’s my way of thanking my friend. I tell him I’ve got to go. He advises me “be careful.” Indeed. I’ll wait until Pringle and Spot aren’t there before I go exploring Michie Tavern Lane.
20090417
When He's Not Shooting People, He's Breaking Into Vehicles
Rasmussen comes out of the JADE office talking to Herb.
Gee, Ras doesn't seem to have his keys.
He eyes the partially rolled down window.
And squeezes his arm through the narrow opening.
Yay! Success!
But, wait; why is he walking away with the alarm going off?
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Like Thing, nothing but a hand appears from the door at the top of the steps. Finally, silence.
Except for my laughing, that is.
Gee, Ras doesn't seem to have his keys.
He eyes the partially rolled down window.
And squeezes his arm through the narrow opening.
Yay! Success!
But, wait; why is he walking away with the alarm going off?
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Like Thing, nothing but a hand appears from the door at the top of the steps. Finally, silence.
Except for my laughing, that is.
20090403
Curiosity Killed the Cat -- Good Thing I'm No Pussy
While the above depicted event was wicked in itself, what’s captivated me way more were the intricate maneuvers executed by Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement in the moments leading up to it.
It only took them approximately an hour to get done what they intended but I found so many complicated elements that arose within that time, it’d take me pages to detail them all. Just a few off-hand oddities to give you the gist:
At roughly four o’clock four different vehicles went in four different directions. I might’ve thought they were going to four different places if they hadn’t… okay, I’m not going to articulate that because if I keep elaborating on what they do, they might eventually maybe-possibly-perhaps ultimately learn something from me and find a way to obstruct my hobby and that, of course, I don’t want. The amount of credit I give them boggles the mind. But if I had to summarize their transportation strategies? They did a whole lotta somethin’, for a whole lotta nothin’.
At some point on Dasani’s route, another car got kind of stuck behind his Monte Carlo. On top of seeming oblivious to the other vehicle, it looked like Dasani was lost. He was driving excessively slow which he next-to-never does; he kept leaning forward, peering all around; and he sat at a stop sign an extraordinary amount of time, glancing back and forth, back and forth, before proceeding. Not until he got rolling again did he give any indication he might’ve noticed the sedan at his rear.
Dasani started veering towards the right shoulder and I thought it was so the other driver could go around him. That guy must’ve thought so too because he aimed to pass. Only he couldn’t, because Dasani without delay coasted back out and took to driving in the center of the road. Now it didn’t look like he was lost; now it looked like he was drunk. Further sluggish weaving widely side to side down the concrete did little to dispel intoxication as a possibility.
What was all that about? Was he lost? Was he killing time? If he had time to waste, why didn’t he stay at the Ix building longer instead? Did he think the car behind him was following him and he was giving it some sort of bizarre test to find out? Or is he just so self-important he didn’t care about the other person at all? Was he waiting for someone or something specific? These questions are the equivalent of a flea’s toe on the dog that symbolizes all the inquiries I have regarding Dasani’s activities.
The scrumptious Porn Star, in his own automobile, divided his time between parking reparking and rereparking in a tiny lot of a business, and patrolling a certain couple of streets. It might’ve made sense except that I never once saw his Honda anywhere close to the apartment building JADE targeted. I'm pretty sure he was part of the operation. If he was doing surveillance or something, what was he supposed to be surveying from half a mile away? But, considering the settings, what assignment could Porn Star have had other than being a look-out? Hell, I’ve been warned Drug Enforcement have been told to keep an eye out for me and yet right on their tails I drove into the immediate area. Under their noses I left my car and walked all up and down and around the block taking photographs.
I totally do not understand.
As if the case isn’t mysterious enough, the news coming in about it baffles me beyond belief.
I’m not sure if the Task Force men have gotten exceedingly complex or if I’ve simply gotten dumber but for the common observer not in the loop -- me, for instance -- the things these guys do don’t always make sense. I’m certain there are valid explanations for their conduct and I believe I could make sound guesses as to what they are. However, I don’t want to speculate; I want to know.
20090331
Sometimes They Don’t Come Back
That redneck-cartin’ rust-bucket I call The Beater could often be found parked at the Ix building. After several weeks of abu… uh, use by the Task Force, it inexplicably disappeared. While I don’t much care what pasture it’s been put out to, I am a shade curious why it was driven away never to return. I have a lot of memories attached to it.
That is the Monte Carlo from one of my (cough) finer (cough) pursuits. I hadn’t seen it prior to that gaucherie -- obviously, or I would’ve known better than to use it for cover -- and I haven’t seen it since.
That was supposed to be Rasmussen’s Chevy. Wound up being another Law Enforcement guy’s vehicle. Chalk it up to wire-crossing; fortunately the electrician in me fixed the short before I got zapped.
That belongs to Spare Spot, a Virginia State Policeman. Spare Spot came flying out from the JADE office like a Superhero, grabbed blue tights, a red cape, and assorted gizmos from his car, then took off in The Beater with a trusty pair of sidekicks. While he was still off defeating evildoers, I snapped several shots of his Camry. It may have been the only day I got a look at the Man of Steel but, hey, now I know what Clark Kent drives.
That is a dead ringer for another one of the eleventy jillion others just like it congesting the City of Charlottesville and Albemarle county. Maybe I should’ve saved it for a “Sometimes They Multiply” entry. Anyway on the afternoon this photograph was taken, the Ford was dispensing police like Pez does sugar squares.
There are mega-lots more. Would you believe the Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force is tied to no less than half the autos in Virginia? Almost for realiously.
20090327
Wat I Iz Thinking Abowt @ 01:35
How would Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement know when photographs on I HeArTE JADE were shot?
I mean, if I toss up a picture of the TFO’s automobile that got a helluva tint job:
And exhibit the raindrops on its rear windshield:
And bumper:
The facts that a) I referenced the vehicle’s change in appearance more than two months ago and b) the local region has been drizzly and wet for the past two days, aren’t enough for much more than a vague estimate of time frame (especially given that the latter may or may not be relevant).
If it’s that indeterminate for cars which have datable distinctive alterations, it has to be even harder to timestamp ones which don’t:
jade charlottesville
That could’ve been taken three days ago or three years ago -- who’s to say?
I mean, if I toss up a picture of the TFO’s automobile that got a helluva tint job:
And exhibit the raindrops on its rear windshield:
And bumper:
The facts that a) I referenced the vehicle’s change in appearance more than two months ago and b) the local region has been drizzly and wet for the past two days, aren’t enough for much more than a vague estimate of time frame (especially given that the latter may or may not be relevant).
If it’s that indeterminate for cars which have datable distinctive alterations, it has to be even harder to timestamp ones which don’t:
jade charlottesville
That could’ve been taken three days ago or three years ago -- who’s to say?
20090131
The *ahem* Assault Vehicle
This is the JADE van.
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force vehicle can comfortably transport seven men -- at least as comfortably as a bunch of confined men covered in rank body armor sweating out the grease from the fast food they live on can be.
Aside from the guys, the Chevy G20 can carry an assortment of other items. Mandatory first aid supplies in a small bag and large plastic box, and containers for evidence, may be stored in the hindmost space; a battering ram on the floor between the velvety seats for someone to trip over; perhaps a pair of pretty blue rubber gloves in the front console.
There’s also lots of pockets and places to hold trash of the non-two-legged variety: empty packs of smokes, filled bottles of nicotine purge, and candy bar wrappers indicative that sugar-high and raid-rush can coexist.
If your home is the target destination of the uninvited JADE van, let’s put it this way... flushing is futile.
The Jefferson Area Drug Enforcement Task Force vehicle can comfortably transport seven men -- at least as comfortably as a bunch of confined men covered in rank body armor sweating out the grease from the fast food they live on can be.
Aside from the guys, the Chevy G20 can carry an assortment of other items. Mandatory first aid supplies in a small bag and large plastic box, and containers for evidence, may be stored in the hindmost space; a battering ram on the floor between the velvety seats for someone to trip over; perhaps a pair of pretty blue rubber gloves in the front console.
There’s also lots of pockets and places to hold trash of the non-two-legged variety: empty packs of smokes, filled bottles of nicotine purge, and candy bar wrappers indicative that sugar-high and raid-rush can coexist.
If your home is the target destination of the uninvited JADE van, let’s put it this way... flushing is futile.
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