Well the big thing, for which I have not heard an outcome for, is that the jail time may have messed up his attempt to become a citizen. Apparently any jail time, even a day, can disqualify him, and he may very well have to move back to Korea because of this.
So in this case what appears to be a light sentence actually is pretty serious.
On a lighter note I shot this nice story Thursday night.
(Remember, I was the 100lb, shy, mousy, non-confrontational doormat.)
Back in my “previous life” I lived with my then-boyfriend. He preferred alcohol and his friends and didn’t give two shits about me. So one night he comes home drunk and brings a bunch of people with him and they all go in the basement rec room and he cranks up the stereo. Woke me out of a sound sleep at like 3 am. I go raging downstairs, turned it down, and went back upstairs without saying a word. He turned it back up. I SNAPPED. I raged back downstairs SCREAMING “DON’T FUCK WITH ME!!” and various other obscenities while his friends looked on in terror and he just didn’t give a shit. I stormed back to bed. In the morning he was passed out on the couch downstairs. So I took out the bright fuchsia pink nail polish and very carefully painted his nails. Even put on a double coat. When he woke up I said, very calmly, “I told you not to fuck with me.”
Several children were being mean to the younger sibling of one while they were walking to elementary school. (They were required to walk with her, as she was deemed too young to walk by herself.) They yelled at her to stay away, and other cruel things, as they were going by my house. She was sobbing so hard she almost couldn’t walk.
I threw open the door and screamed at them, “You don’t get to talk to her like that in front of my house! Stop it right now!” (Note that I was only a few years older than the oldest.) They stopped, and it never happened again.
I was on my way home from work one day, when this guy deliberately blocked me. He was really making a game of it. Whenever it looked like I might pass, he’d edge left so I couldn’t. Eventually a person in the left lane moved over enough that Blocky McLanehog couldn’t couldn’t move over enough and still be in his lane. So I gunned it.
He reached out to flip me off as I passed, and got his hand smacked by my right rear-view mirror for his rudeness.
It sounded painful.
About 20 years ago, I worked in an office doing credit authorization for a department store. The guy who sat next to me (these weren’t cubicles, more like carrels) kept picking at me. These days it would be sexual harassment, but that wasn’t a widely-considered concept back then. Constant verbal harassment. Now, I’m a small little woman, about 5’1" and lighter then. Finally I just lost it. Totally. I flew off my chair, pulled him off his and got him down on the floor and started pummeling him. When they pulled me off, he got up and left. He was out for three days, whether from pain or embarrassment I couldn’t say. I didn’t get written up or even talked to. My boss’s desk was right behind us, and I think she felt badly for not having said or did anything to stop it.
I rarely lose my temper. Fortunately.
StG
I posted this one in the pit a few years ago - my one moment of being an instrument of Karma.
An asshole in an Escalade is next to me on one of the east-bound two lanes of an undivided 4 lane blacktop, average speed of traffic about 50 mph. I’m in the (narrow) left lane, meaning about 20 or so inches to my left is oncoming traffic, with a speed relative to me of about 100 mph. He’s not just drifting into my lane, but consistently taking up a good few inches of it.
During a break in oncoming traffic, I try to pass quickly, only he speeds up and drifts over a little further, making this all of a sudden a question of wether I will see my kids again. So I break. And, since he may not know what hell he’s doing to all us unfortunates sharing the road with him tonight, I tap the horn.
Oops - testosterone alert! Now is apparently the time to do away with the penny-anty lane encroaching - and commit to driving squarely in both lanes. What fun! no one will get by him now! It can’t be that much fun, though, since I exit the highway at the very next opportunity. I’ve learned a long time ago to pick my fights, and this very much isn’t worth it. Bye, asshole!
Only later that night, one of those things that makes it harder to continue doubting the existence of a supreme being, or at least a universe with karmic justice built-in - I see the same car in a nearby mall parking lot. It’s easily identified by the clever license plate proclaming that this is his Escalade in some kind of vanity plate leet-speak.
And of course, he also parks like an asshole - really close to the car on his right. And the space to his left is open. Mine, by the way, is a company car (emotional attachement = zero). I have some experience in the ensuing manoever, but I have to say, this night is my best work yet. If there were 2 inches between our cars it’s a lot. No way he’s getting in.
I go off to the bookstore, and almost forget about this. As always, it’s slim pickings, but after a good while I find a few books that may be worth my while.
Making my way back to the car, I see him standing there - it may be wishful thinking on my part, but he looks agitated. I get in - and start reading one of my new books. It’s a little hard to focus, though, as it is kinda fun watching him from the corners of my eyes (and over the top of my book - depending on where he’s pacing at the time). When it looks like he has made up his mind to come over and chat, I start the car. He walks back. I now enjoy reading with the AC running. After a little while, he comes over again, and stands there like an idiot, working up the courage, apparently, to tap my window.
“yes?”
“can you move your car already?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been waiting here for your car to move, so I can get in”
“Can’t you get in on the other side?”
“Um, no. No I can’t”
“Wow, those chevvies get bigger every year, huh”
“It’s an Escalade”
“Yep, that’s a big one too”
“Actually, they just parked too close to me. Can you move your car?”
In my younger years, I’d have gone into a whole discussion on the magic word, but being if not wiser at least older now, I merely oblige.
First, I check my mirrors of course, and adjust my seat, and check my seatbelt’s proper operation, and select an appropriate radio station. But, eventually, I drive off. Bye, asshole!
That was just Golf, though. It doesn’t count. Now maybe if he was talking about, you know, <cough>fighting<cough>, you might have a point.
Nothing as Bad Ass as the OP, but two incidents spring to mind:
In the Fall of '85, I was heading to my high school late one afternoon to pick up some transcripts, and I was stopped due to a train on a two-lane road behind several other cars at a RR crossing in my hometown. A line had formed and I was actually a dozen cars or so back up the road on the other side of a stop-sign intersection about 50 yards up the road from the RR crossing. The train passes, and cars begin moving forward slowly, stopping at the intersection, before proceeding on and crossing the RR tracks.
Some yahoo from the Big City (St. Louis) decided he wasn’t going to wait behind us yokels and begins edging up the left side of the line of stopped cars, effectively creating a third lane in the middle of this two-lane road just for him. The two lanes were wide enough to allow him to do this, as we “locals” often use the extra space as a left-turn lane when needed, but it’s a clearly marked double-yellow striped two-lane road. That the yahoo’s trying to drive down the center of.
Unfortunately for him, he has to get back into the regular lane due to a largeish truck coming the other way, and I refuse to let him in, the Dick. He goes nuts, and decides to follow me and ride my ass for ther better part of mile, honking his horn, apparently shouting and gesticulating madly. I ignore him, which makes him madder. Knowing that our local high school and a convenience store is ahead at the next intersection, I begin fake-pumping my brakes and slip my arm out the window and give him the finger. I finally stop abruptly at the stop sign intersection next to my high school, forcing him to jam on his brakes pretty hard to keep from rear ending me, and by now he’s fucking insane with rage. He cuts his wheels and pulls around me while I’m sitting there at the stop sign, pulls in front of me to block me from leaving, jumps out of his car to run back to my car and begins trying to open my (locked) car door, presumably to pull me out and do bad things. I’m laughing at him though the window.
Meanwhile, in his rage, he forgot to put his car in park, and it’s slowly rolling across multiple lanes of traffic, and into the high school parking lot just as school is letting out.
He suddenly looks up in panic at the sound of a police car siren. There’s three cop cars sitting in the parking lot of the convenience store directly to my right. Having graduated from the local high school, I knew that several local cops would gather there for coffee and donuts before starting to direct traffic when the school let out.
One of them was my next-door-neighbor, and a good friend of the family.
In January of '98, my employer sent me to Ft. Carson in Colorado Springs to do a month-long project. While heading back to the hotel one night after work, I was rear-ended pretty badly. No serious injury, just stiff/sore for a day or two, but the rental car is totaled. Per company policy, I had declined the rental agency’s insurance in favor of our corporate AmEx coverage.
Six months later, I’m working near Pisa, Italy, and received a phone call from corporate about some residual damages to that rental car not covered by AmEx insurance (my employer wasn’t looking for money, just clarification on some issues so they could tell the rental agency for me to “get bent”).
I meet on the sidewalk cafe in front of our hotel to have some drinks with my coworkers before we head out to dinner, and I happen to mention the car accident (in January; this is now July) and the on-going AmEx/rental agency insurance hassle. In the six months since the accident, our employer had switched from AmEx insurance to some other carrier I can’t recall. But “Kevin,” an opinionated, overberaing, loud-mouthed asshole I work with, tells me that AmEx is no longer our corporate insurance carrier. I tell him the yes, I know that, and remind him that the accident was in January, when AmEx was the corporate carrier.
He goes ape-shit. I’m a this, a that, I’m something other, and if I didn’t think so then I was even more of a this, that, and other. Looking over his shoulder at the occupants at the table behind “Kevin,” I says, “Am I? Do tell me more.”
“Kevin” goes, if possible, even more ape shit, and between spittle-flecked lips I (and everyone at the patio cafe outside, and inside, our hotel) get a double earfull of how he’s the biggest pair of nuts on this continent and how I was going to get my ass kicked up and down the street for daring to dispute his unassailable knowledge of corporate rental inurance policy.
I, and every one of my other coworkers, are staring in wide-eyed disbelief at “Kevin.”
But even more so are the occupants of the table behind “Kevin;” a pair of Carabinieri. Who spoke perfect English, and had heard, and understood, every single loudly shouted word, oath, curse, and threat just issued by “Kevin.” They were not amused at the insane, more than a little drunk, loud-mouthed American interrupting their break.
They asked him, with the kind of professional courtesy employed by cops worldwide that essentially says, “Behave and do as we say or we’ll beat the ever-loving shit out of you right here and now” to accompany them back to their vehicle. And please, allow us to be putting on these nice metal bracelets while we’re at it.
“Kevin” was on a plane stateside the next day.
I lived in Flagstaff during the mid 70’s.
At that time, the bars in town were segregated-you had the regular student bars, the one ‘hippie’ student bar, the cowboy bars, the Hopi bars and the Navajo bars.
If you found yourself in the wrong one, you were made to feel very uncomfortable.
No immediate threats of violence, just a pervasive sense that you didn’t belong.
Flagstaff also had a huge native American pow wow in July when both the Navajos and the Hopis came down from the reservation to rodeo and celebrate at the fair.
It was a big tourist draw.
I was at my normal hang out-the hippie bar-with some friends during pow wow. It was a small place and you usually at least recognized the other patrons.
Two Navajos were sitting at the bar having a beer and minding their own business.
Yes, it wasn’t ‘their’ bar but no one cared.
Three drunken frat types that I had never seen before were also at the bar.
One announced very very loudly “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.”
His friends roared with laughter at his wit so he repeated himself at greater volume. And again.
The two Navajos said nothing but it was obvious that they were uncomfortable.
I marched up to Mr. LoudFuckingMouth and demanded an apology. When he refused, I suggested we could take it outside.
I’m not very prepossing as I’m 5’5" and female and LFM snickered at me.
I repeated my demand and he said “Who’s gonna make me?”
Then he realized that three rather large male friends of mine had come up and were standing behind me.
Mitch replied “We will. And when you try to throw a punch at her, we’re going to pick you up and throw you through the plate glass window next door.”
LFM apologized-twice- and left.
You must be a lot of fun at parties.
This.
I had to fap before I could read the rest of your post. Thanks, sincerely, for that.
You obviously have no idea how much fun shopping carts can be, for just as they are mobile homse, they are also mobile parties:
http://www.nfb.ca/film/carts_of_darkness/
Yeah.. totally agree.. My partner at work got ran over on I 285 because of a drunk driver.. He’s got so much metal in his legs he can set that damn machine off at the airport. He ended up having to take medical retirement and lost out on a chance to go to OCS..
The guy.. he said on the scene.. "Yeah I’m drunk.. and I didn’t have enough…
Utterly Priceless!!! 
This isn’t Fark.
Agreed. Here we demand pictures first.
Now, is that pictures of the fapping, or **for **the fapping? Just so that we’re clear!
Priceless! (except now there’s beer on my monitor)
For, not of. This also isn’t 4chan.