I don’t want to continue to derail this thread, but I suspect that it’s pretty accurate. With the DUI laws written the way they are, I would bet that a significant majority of social drinkers (not full blown alcoholics, just garden variety drinkers) have gotten behind the wheel at some point in their life when over the .08% limit.
I’ll equate that to pointing a gun at someone and mouthing “bang.” And I believe there’s an ironclad rule about pointing guns at people?
Eh. I’m no saint, but one (of several) reasons I don’t chemically alter my consciousness is so that I don’t have to worry about putting others at risk through impaired judgment.
that’s true.
But non-alcoholics who get a DUI stop drinking and driving!
Get one DUI and your chance of being an alcoholic is pretty much the same as somene who’s never gotten one.
But get two, and your chance of being an alcoholic is about 90%.
Get 3, and you’re up over 99%.
**There is an extraordinarily substantial difference between these activities. **Picking up a gun and shooting people shows active intent to harm, and will always result in serious harm or death (unless you have the aim of a fishwife). Driving impaired is an activity that I suspect a majority of adults have done at least once in their lives (whether they’ll admit it or not is a different issue). Negligence and active intent are viewed differently by our judicial system, and by the vast, vast majority of thinking adults. Your hysterical declarations to the contrary aren’t going to impress anybody here, or change anybody’s mind.
Yes, I have driven impaired. No, I wouldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t get caught, but I was very freaking lucky.
Last time I checked…nurses liked being fucked too.
Great story! Sounds a lot like this character. From the entry:
Age doesn’t necessarily make one week. My wife’s grandfather lived to 102, and visited our 3rd floor walk-up apartment in his 90s. The stairs routinely winded teenagers, and he just walked right up. Never underestimate the lasting effects of a hardscrabble life.
Big difference between fking and fking with.
I was in a bar with a group of guys after a golf outing. Someone said my golf partner was in a fight outside. I jumped in the middle and separated them. It became apparent that they both wanted to fight. I went back in the bar and ordered a beer as they went after each other. I tried.
Nitpick: faze. I’m never fazed by the phases of the moon.
Hey, you violated both Rule #1 and Rule #2!
Hey come back! Tell us the story of why he was being your BF up!
How did he get a black eye from punching you in the face?
Terrific.
Not me, but my wife - when we were still dating.
I should explain that my wife isn’t a large, powerful-looking woman. She is slim and slightly built, and has a very even temper. Which makes the following all the more surprising at the time, to me.
This happened at Halloween. We were comming back from a party very late at night, in costume (I was a samurai, she a geshia). We were waiting for the night bus on a main street, which was taking an unconcionably long time to arrive. The street was dotted here and there with late-night revelers.
A group of my friends and I had wandered over to puzzle over the schedule, leaving my wife standing maybe ten feet away, when all of a sudden I heard and outraged “huh!” from her and a smack. I turned around to see her with her arm outstretched and a big ugly guy staggering backwards away from her, clutching his bleeding, mashed nose and mouthing obsenities; he was one of a group of three. Naturally I ran towards this nasty scene, and so did my friends, when the other two of his friends grabbed him - one by each arm - and dragged him off backwards, literally dragging him off struggling and cursing.
The whole thing was over in an instant. We didn’t bother to follow, since it was already dealt with. My wife told us that this guy had made an obscene remark to her and put his hand on her tit; her instinctive reaction, done instantly and without thought really, was to punch him square in the face as hard as she could. She made a right mess of his nose from what I could see. The other two, no doubt not wanting any part of a general brawl in which they were far outnumbered, and perhaps not wanting to see their buddy further damaged, dragged him off.
In short, that guy should not have fucked with the slightly built, good looking lady in the gesha outfit.
We’re poddling along in the Suzuki Samurai with some rage dude on our tail, he’s revving and grinding gears behind us. We slow down for a pothole and wooop … the idiot rear ends us, we shoot forward a few feet. Everyone gets out and looks at the damage. The dude’s car is all crumpled at the front where he hit the spare tire stored on the back of the jeep. The Samurai is undamaged! Rage Dude is effing and blinding and calls the cops. We hop back in the jeep and leave the scene, Rage Dude actually runs after us for a while.
Meantime here come the police - it’s a straight road to the station. We flag them down and let them know we were part of the accident they’re on their way to, but have decided not to press charges. The police take our info and carry on to the scene.
Thanks for reminding me of this - we laughed until it hurt.
I am not much of a physical confrontation kinda guy. This story happened back when I was in college. Some friends and I were walking through a parking lot after a movie, and some twit threw a lit cigarette butt out of his car window, right by my feet. That bugs me, so I picked it up, tossed it in his lap, and said, “you dropped this.”
This surprised him, but he scrambled around, grabbed the cig, swore mightily at me, and threw it at me. He realized traffic was so slow that he couldn’t drive away, so he rolled up his window and locked the car doors. I crushed the cigarette out on his hood and walked away.
[quote=“Gary “Wombat” Robson, post:96, topic:599987”]
I crushed the cigarette out on his hood and walked away.
[/QUOTE]
Better to have put it (uncrushed) on his wiper, where it would melt thru the rubber of the blade.
A bunch of friends and I were in a bar in upstate New York, having imbibed many adult beverages (one guy got lost on the way back from the potty and ended up passed out in the coat closet). I had gone up to the bar to get something new to imbibe and as I passed a table, some random guy grabbed my butt. I whipped around, grabbed him by the hair and picked him up to my eye level - as an aside, I was about 120 lbs back then and this guy was a big bear of a biker dude. But I was pissed.
Then I looked into his eyes and saw that no one was home; this guy was so drunk I’m surprised he was able to direct his hands at all. So I just dropped him back into his chair and went on my way, much to the merriment of his friends. When I got back to our table, my husband asked me what the heck I thought I was doing and I told him the guy had grabbed my butt! Oh, OK, makes sense.
Here’s a revenge of the nerds story from my high school.
Dan was a nerd . Average weight nerdy looking glasses that his parents made him wear. Chess club, D&D group. Typically non confrontational but Dan had a breaking point as I saw that day.
Our cafeteria during lunch had cliques. There was a strange and unspoken hierarchy as to where people sat depending on your social status in our high school. Jocks sat at one table easily identifiable because these nimrods usually wore their football jerseys every fucking day. Nerds at the other table. James Dean table, Cool chicks table, hen table, Metal head table and the rest.
One day a food fight broke out. Common enough occurance at our high school. Food flying to and fro, these food fights typically only lasted a couple of minutes if that. Dan however was caught in the middle when it started walking with his tray of food when an apple soared accrossed the room and brained him that exploded on impact. Knocking his glasses off his head that also caused him to drop his tray off food.
Most of the people in cafeteria saw that blow. Dan started breathing heavily at first, clenching his fists while picking up what appeared to be his damaged nerdy glasses. He stood up straight and looked around the cafeteria the look on his face told us everything. Dan was gone. What laid in his place was someone who had taken on the rage of no one less than the Incredible fucking Hulk.
It was pure rage in its most primal form.
He breathed heavily while shouting “WHO FUCKING THREW THAT ??’” he shouted this repeatedly while scanning around the cafeteria looking at every table and waiting for someone to claim responsibility. No one did, the cafeteria was now completely silent.
Like a prison inmate where the desire not to be fucked with anymore he confroted the most dangerous opponent in the cafeteria as he zeroed in on the full jock table and walked over with clenched fists, broken glasses and bits of macintosh still in his hair.
Hovering over the jock table like as if he was their new overlord. He said loudly “WHO THREW THE APPLE ?”
Absoloute silence. Some of the jocks just looked at him with no emotion what so ever, others couldn’t even look at him. He then raised his fists and slammed them down on their table with all of his strength. While shouting again this time as loud as he could "I SAID, WHO FUCKING THREW THAT ?
Some of them actually jumped in their seats out of fear when he did this. A few moments of silence went by with no one claiming responsibility. Dan’s breathing calmed down a little he collected himself with his broken glasses and walked away slowly. No one in the cafeteria had broken their gaze off him as he saundered out of the cafeteria.
As far as I know Dan was never fucked with again the rest of his time in High School.
I saw where the apple was thrown from and it was from the jock table.
There is a special level of hell reserved for idiots that have seats at the back of the plane, that put their luggage in the overhead bins at the -front- of the plane as they board. Since planes board back-to-front, the people sitting in the first rows of economy may find they have no place for their luggage. Usually this means your luggage gets gate-checked (this is actually my preference when I fly; pick the luggage right outside the airplane door when you get off) but it can mean delays, and it’s added uncertaintly and hassle. Two things nobody wants when you travel. Especially if you have kids etc.
All because some douch didn’t want to carry his briefcase to the back of the plane.
It’s a shitty thing to do, and theoretically, you did not want to do this if I was working your flight.
Because, you see, there are security regulations that say we need to remove any item of luggage if it isn’t clear who the owner is.
Theoretically, a flight attendent could wait until everyone was on board, theoretically take the offending piece of luggage down from the overhead bin, then theoretically whisper quietly to the people in the 2 or 3 rows nearby, ‘is this your luggage? No? Hmmm, that’s a security risk - better take it off the plane’.
Now just imagine the expression on the face of Mr. Big Shot when he gets to New York with his briefcase and suit carrier still in London.