Kim Bolan is reporting that the lawyer for the Hells Angels recently made a huge blunder in the civil forfeiture trial implicating one of their clients. Either that or they just threw one of their own under the bus again. Perhaps it's David Giles' payback from the grave.
I'm not going to name anyone directly or indirectly. I'm just going to say
have a read of Kim Bolan's article. It
vindicates this blog once again and ties in with the Britney Irving murder.
In case you missed it let's review
the David Giles declaration and the transitive axiom of equality. David Giles stated that not every member of the Hells Angels is involved in criminal activity but anyone who uses the name of the club for criminal activity needs to have that activity approved by the local executive. David Giles was the vice president of the Kelowna chapter he was not the president. Yet David Giles told under cover officers that his Panama drug deal had approval of the chapter. If A=B And B=C Then A=C.
Do the math.
Not that it matters because gang enforcement in BC is compromised and absolutely nothing will be done about it in this life but it's always nice to be vindicated after the fact. Perhaps this post will magically disappear but the facts will not disappear. History has recorded them. To this end I shall once again
reiterate a poem by Bobby Sands called The Rythm of Time:
"There’s an inner thing in every man,
Do you know this thing my friend?
It has withstood the blows of a million years,
And will do so to the end.
It was born when time did not exist,
And it grew up out of life,
It cut down evil’s strangling vines,
Like a slashing searing knife.
It lit fires when fires were not,
And burnt the mind of man,
Tempering leandened hearts to steel,
From the time that time began.
It wept by the waters of Babylon,
And when all men were a loss,
It screeched in writhing agony,
And it hung bleeding from the Cross.
It died in Rome by lion and sword,
And in defiant cruel array,
When the deathly word was ‘Spartacus’
Along with Appian Way.
It marched with Wat the Tyler’s poor,
And frightened lord and king,
And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare,
As e’er a living thing.
It smiled in holy innocence,
Before conquistadors of old,
So meek and tame and unaware,
Of the deathly power of gold.
It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets,
And stormed the old Bastille,
And marched upon the serpent’s head,
And crushed it ‘neath its heel.
It died in blood on Buffalo Plains,
And starved by moons of rain,
Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee,
But it will come to rise again.
It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes,
As it was knelt upon the ground,
And it died in great defiance,
As they coldly shot it down.
It is found in every light of hope,
It knows no bounds nor space
It has risen in red and black and white,
It is there in every race.
It lies in the hearts of heroes dead,
It screams in tyrants’ eyes,
It has reached the peak of mountains high,
It comes searing ‘cross the skies.
It lights the dark of this prison cell,
It thunders forth its might,
It is ‘the undauntable thought’, my friend,
That thought that says ‘I’m right!’
