Thanks.
Yeah, it’s difficult to have pity for him.
I believe it is possible, but do the Youtube videos have any citations? I mean, youtube comments aren’t exactly reliable.
Tosh.0 has shown that video plenty of times…I doubt they would have if he died.
Hearsay, but from a source I trust - my old man.
He had a coworker who was making a sales call when he hooked on to the back of a funeral procession. Followed the parade through fifteen red lights, and when everyone else turned into the cemetery, he drove straight on.
Or, at least, tried to. The motorcycle cop who’d been guiding the procession pulled him over, and said “I saw you join this procession, and I saw you run those red lights. Now, either you turn into the cemetery and go to the funeral, or I write you fifteen tickets. Which is it going to be?”
So Dad’s coworker attended an unplanned funeral that day…
There’s an interview with one the participants here (scroll down):
http://forums.redflagdeals.com/archive/index.php/t-298404.html
I had one sort of similar to the OP - a case of military people dicking around with civilians. I used to belong to a chapter of the EAA - Experimental Aircraft Association. We were organizing a flyin at our local airport, and my job was to contact the local National Guard and see if they could bring something over for a static display. The Public Affairs officer was a lieutenant who was apparently a bit old for that rank, having been passed over for promotion a couple of times. He had a chip on his shoulder. He had me describe what I wanted, fill out the paperwork to request they attend and bring something interesting, etc. We said it was fine if they had a recruiter there to hand out information and literature. And they had to literally go just across the airport - we were on the same field as them.
After all this, the guy told me “Sorry, we can’t do it”. He wouldn’t budge from that.
Turns out that the chapter president mentioned this to a buddy of his, who happened to be the local Guard general. The lieutenant got his ass handed to him on a platter. Since it was too late for this year, he was instructed to PERSONALLY handle the request next year, to expedite it, and report his progress to the general.
That cop = awesome.
Those of you who pick up kids from school know first hand about the long line in the car rider section. We had just come up to the corner and were getting ready to turn on to the main street to get to the school when a car came down the main street and slipped in line in front of us.
Then, too late, he noticed the city policeman standing next to his cruiser directing traffic. Normally, that school had a crossing guard, but since it was first of the year and people were getting used to the new routine, it was an actual policeman. The policeman turned on his siren: then walked up to the car, talked to the driver, and the driver got out of line. He circled the block and came around to the very end of the line. It was beautiful.
Way back in the 80’s, when my mom and I lived in the Columbia River Gorge, up on this big hill, we were driving up the treacherous road from town in a blinding snowstorm. We’re talking a narrow, unpaved road with a sheer drop off with no guardrails on one side and fog and snow so thick you could only see a few feet ahead.
So this ASSHOLE in a sportscar comes up behind us and passes us going 40 mph or so, almost forcing us off the road. We collect ourselves and cuss him out and continue on our way. Not long/far later, we pass HIM, his car crashed into and stuck in a snowbank on the inward side of the road (he was lucky…the other side was a drop off into oblivion). He waved at us and we waved back, smiling, and kept going. 
Karma’s a bitch.
Waiting in a line of about four people for an ATM at the airport. Loud dude in line behind me, angrily telling someone on the other end of his phone that he hopes he makes his flight, b/c the ATM line is taking a really long time. Once off the phone, he says to no one in particular:
“C’Mon, let’s GO! It’s an ATM machine, not a damn bank! What is this guy, blind?!”
When the guy at the machine finished, out came the cane. As he walked away, he said “Sure am. All yours, fella.”
I had a first grade teacher who I was terrified of as a six-year-old kid. She was an old, crotchety and mean-spirited old hag and she was pretty cruel to many of us. For example, there was one kid who wet his pants once after she refused to grant him a bathroom break (she was big on designated times to go to the bathroom, few exceptions), and I can remember her making him walk down the first grade hallway with his dripping pants, past the kindergarten classes and to the office to call his mom to tell her “what he had done” (like it was criminal). She really seemed to relish the obvious embarrassment the kid was feeling.
Unfortunately for me, she disliked girls in general and me in particular. She overturned my desk because it was too disorganized, once even shoved it across the room and slammed it against the chalkboard, spilling the contents all over the linoleum. This was after I had not cleaned it to her satisfaction. She then made me chase the crayons and papers and whatnot that had scattered all over the classroom and “try again to do it right” while everyone else just stared at me gathering my things and crying. She also frequently put me in her own version of solitary confinement (my desk became an island and no one was allowed to talk to me). I had never had behavior problems, and haven’t since, and both then and now, I am at a loss as to figure out what I was being “disciplined” for.
Flash forward twelve years: my mom, an RN, is the head nurse in charge of my first-grade teacher’s ailing father’s treatment. My old teacher recognizes her immediately, and says something like, “how ironic, I helped your daughter and now you’re helping my dad, how karma-y.” To which my mom replied, “Let’s just hope I don’t give your dad the same kind of care that you did for my daughter and her classmates, or else he’ll wind up with his meds overturned on the floor and shuffling down to the nurses’ aide station to call home for a change of clothes after he’s peed his pants cos no one would let him go to the bathroom.”
My mother’s description of the old hag’s speechless expression made my inner child pretty damned pleased.
This is awesome. You’ve talked about your white trash neighbors before. I’m glad they got what they deserved 
I can only hope it happens to our crack-dealing receiving-welfare-for-4 kids-by-4-different-men next door neighbors too.
Well, this morning my other white trash neighbors who let their dogs run off-leash in the shared courtyard, which is illegal, and shit in front of my door, had their court summons for eviction for nonpayment of rent mistakenly shoved into my door. So then I got to go over there and give it to them. That, too, was awesome. 
Just goes to show, you rarely have to do anything to bring an asshole down. Just by virtue of being an asshole, they will almost always fuck themselves over, and then you get to stand by innocently and watch and laugh. I love it when that happens.
I spent two years working at a local liquor store and my manager was a little “off” I would say. He was always drinking at work and stealing stock. I have a very warped mind but he was always just a bit further “out there” than I feel comfy with. He was hospitalised three times for heart problems while I was there. I took a week off and came back to find that he had been arrested for soliciting an under cover cop posing as a pre teen girl for sex on the internet. His time in the hostital turned out to be court dates and he was sent to state prison for 28 months.
I keep picturing a light going off in his head, "So that’s why Gramma Tziporah never came to Easter mass!
In the local mega mall parking lot, three teenage asswipes are being, well, asswipes in the parking lot in their Trans Am. This is on a Saturday around 6pm when the mall, and thus the parking lot, is full of cars and pedestrians. They are doing burn-outs, driving fast, etc. They were also revving up as they drove towards people in crosswalks, and stopping short at the last minute. They thought all of this was hilarious.
My wife and i walked out to our car moments after they went screaming out of the parking lot. Fast forward 10 minutes, and now we are on the Interstate headed for our exit. Damn, traffic backed up!!! Turns out the yahoos had continued their showboating on the Interstate and had lost control, and crashed into the concrete divide. F’ed up that car completely. That was sweet.
In our local Tango dancing scene there is a guy who is not very good at dancing. In itself sort of okay, there are many like that and I’m no Ginger Rogers either. Except that he will blame everything that goes wrong squarely on the woman and “explain” to her what she has just done wrong. Completely ungentlemanly.
Moreover, I’m sure he gets a kick out of leading the (usually much younger) women to wrap their legs around his. It’s a legit Tango move, but someone who does this all the time and with the wrong intent: Ew.
I had been avoiding him for a few months, but it was a very under-attended dance and I was feeling charitable so I gave it another whirl. Same stuff. Had me fuming on the dance-floor within minutes and I vowed never ever to dance with him again.
Well, he asked almost ever woman at that very quiet dance. Some already knew him and said “no” straight away, the others gave him one dance, but never a repeat. This continued with all the women in the room. Halfway through the night he ran out of women to dance with, sat on his own for a while and then got his coat and left, while the rest of us happily continued dancing with each other.
I did actually feel a bit sorry for him, as no one even said “goodbye” to him, but then, he has to learn, and no woman is obliged to be bossed around the dancefloor, let alone endure sleaze. Normally, because there are always more women then men, these character manage to get dances anyway, but this night, for once, he experienced what should ideally always happen: No one dancing with him.
I once got off a train on a cold winter’s evening and went to the taxi stand to get a cab. There was no car there so I used the direct telephone to the dispatcher to order one and so did some ten-fifteen others who had arrived by the same train. When the first cab arrived a man who had not called (he was also trying to impress a woman dressed in leopard leotards) stepped up to it and started to open the door with the words “this is my cab”. You should have seen the look on his face when the driver stepped out, looked around and called out “A taxi for Mr Floater!”
I worked at a sandwich shop in college. We closed at 11:00 but would let people stay and eat while we closed. Most people were out of there by 11:15, and we would lock the door. One of the sandwiches the place offered was a meatball sandwich. It was an art to be able to guess how many meatballs we would need hot going into the close. Any meatballs that were heated had to be either used or thrown away. On this particular evening we had just run out of meatballs. Two high school girls came in, and one of them asked for a meatball. The exchange went something like this:
HS Girl: “I’ll have a meatball sandwich.”
My coworker: “We’re out of meatballs and it’ll take about 8 minutes to heat some up and then another 4-5 minutes for the sandwich. How about a turkey or ham? I’ll throw in a free shake.”
HS Girl: "No. Meatball. After all, it is your job." (The italics don’t accurately convey the condescension in her voice.)
Coworker: “Alright.”
So, he makes the sandwich and I ring them up. They go to sit down (!) and eat. After they get settled, my coworker walks over to them.
Coworker in an overly nice tone: "Excuse me ladies. I’m sorry, but it is after 11 o’clock and the store is closed. I’m going to have to ask you to leave. After all, it is my job."
Here’s some second-hand schadenfreude that I think I’ve posted before:
I worked at a grocery store that closed at 10. At 10, the front end manager would lock the “In” doors but not the “Out” doors (We had old fashioned automatic doors that swung in or out rather than doors that slid sideways). Folks would try to sneak in the out door but the manager stationed herself to cut this off. So one night as I was bringing in some carts from the lot, the manager was laughing her ass off. She told me that one guy had tried to sneak in and she had politely told him “we’re closed.” The guy was a real dick and got nasty to her. The problem for the guy was that he was standing on the threshold and not where the sensors detected him. So as he turned to storm off, the heavy, heavy door swung closed and pinned him to the frame. He got himself free soon enough, but it was a chaotic, panicky effort for him.