170 lines
8.9 KiB
Plaintext
170 lines
8.9 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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The Predicament
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---------------
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A work of Fiction
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I was out of munchies. Goddamn, I hate being out of munchies. I work at
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home as a mechanical engineer. It's just me, my CATIA workstation, and
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the junk food. Except, of course, that there was no junk food left. It
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was late at night, but it was still warm outside, so I decided to take the
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Jeep down to 7-11 to get some grub.
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As I pulled up, I saw that there was some entertainment at 7-11 tonight.
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Around the side of the building, behind the payphones, these two fellows
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were fighting. Well, one of them was fighting. One of them was just
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getting the hell beaten out of him.
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I removed the clip from my Glock and put the Glock in the glove
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compartment while placing the clip underneath the seat. This didn't look
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like anything I couldn't handle, and I really didn't need any legal
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trouble.
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As I walked over to take advantage of this combat opportunity, I caught
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enough of the conversation to make out what was going on. The smaller
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fellow on the ground was a drug dealer; the large fellow kicking him in
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the abdomen was one of his customers. It seemed the larger fellow wanted
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some merchandise, but owed his supplier money. The dealer wouldn't give
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the fellow any more merchandise until he was paid. The customer decided
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to take a short cut to his particular high by beating a supply out of his
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dealer. None of this meant anything to me; this was just an opportunity
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to beat the hell out of someone without any real fear of legal
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prosecution.
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The dealer was up on his knees and the thief was on one leg, the other leg
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moving quickly towards the dealers unprotected face. This all ended when
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I swept the thief's leg out from underneath him. The dumb bastard ended
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up on the concrete staring up at me like a wounded puppy.
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Soon enough he was whining at me, wanting to know what the hell I had done
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that for. I came for adrenaline, not dialog, so I explained it to him by
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saying "Shut up" using the same voice that works so well on my doberman
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pinscher. The junkie did shut up, but he also attempted to stand up. One
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good kick to his right temple and the junkie was back on the ground
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grasping the side of his head in agony. I clarified my position for his
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benefit by yelling "Shut up and stay down."
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The dealer started babbling what I believe were his thanks, to which I
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politely responded "Shut the fuck up." It was then that I was saved from
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further dialog with these degenerate desperadoes by the sight of flashing
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red and blue lights approaching me from behind.
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The officers politely explained to me that I should "Get my fucking hands
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in the fucking air right fucking now" and I complied gracefully.
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Then the bullshit began. The officers, now in four squad cards plus a
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roving patrol vehicle, took both of the others aside and questioned them.
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No one was questioning me, so I listened intently to the two other
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conversations. They weren't exactly quiet.
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And this is where the story gets good. It turns out that the merchandise
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was dropped on the ground sometime during the altercation. Probably the
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dealer threw it away it an attempt to avoid being caught with it. The
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police had found the merchandise and they knew immediately that this was a
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drug deal gone wrong. The thief was claiming that he owed the dealer some
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money, and the dealer had attempted to muscle it out of him. The police,
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not oblivious to the fact that he outweighed the other guy by a good fifty
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pounds, were not buying it.
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What makes this a good story is the dealer. The dealer immediately
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parroted the thief's story. He claimed that the thief, not he, was the
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dealer. He claimed that he was only a buyer, and the other fellow was the
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dealer. He claimed that the other fellow assaulted him when he couldn't
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pay for the merchandise.
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Buying is a petty offense. The fool who was nailed for buying wasn't
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likely to do any time. The fool who ended up being convicted for dealing
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was facing several years in federal prison.
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It turns out I was saved by the clerk, who had seen me before and had
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called the police. He told the police my involvement was only in breaking
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up the fight. The police didn't have the least bit of interest in me,
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except as a witness.
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Then the time came for my questioning. They had just one question:
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"Which one is the dealer?"
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I am always careful when speaking with police officers. It was nothing
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more than good habits learned from years on the street which kept me from
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replying immediately. But then I stopped to think.
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I held a great deal of power at that point. In the next few moments, I
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was most likely going to sentence one man to probation and another to
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prison.
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One of these men was a drug addict with so little control of his desires
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he was willing to resort to violence to feed his chemical dependency. The
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other man was a drug dealer, the sort of man who preys upon the weaknesses
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of others.
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Then it all snapped into place. One of these men was a businessman. He
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was selling a product. He did not force the other man to purchase his
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product. He did not commit assault on the other man. He did nothing at
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all to anyone without their consent. The other man was a thief. He
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knowingly and carelessly violated the rights of the other man. That man
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was an animal. Discipline is what makes us human. Disciplined control
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over our own selves. This addict was not capable of such discipline; he
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had given control of his life over to the drugs.
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I am a businessman. I sell the designs that I produce. I do not force
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anyone to buy my products. If one of my customers attempted to take my
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product by force, I would stop them by any means necessary. The drug
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dealer and I, we are the same in many ways. It is simply that CATIA is
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legal and cocaine isn't. One day, mechanical engineering may be illegal.
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That doesn't mean it will then be okay for a customer to attempt to beat
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designs out of me at some 7-11 in the middle of the fucking night.
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So, I lied. The police officer took my statement and everything was
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settled. The dealer was charged with attempting to purchase a controlled
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substance. The thief was charged with assault and attempting to sell a
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controlled substance.
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Was what I did wrong? I don't think so. I believe the end justified the
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means. The thief committed acts that were inherently wrong, while the
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dealer committed acts that were simply illegal.
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Would I do it again? Yes.
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Am I worried? I may be called to testify, and if so I will stick to my
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story. I am an upstanding citizen. Who are they going to believe, me or
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the drug addict? Am I worried about recriminations from the drug addict?
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Well, that would make another fine opportunity for entertainment. It is
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difficult for me to be scared of someone who can't even control the needs
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of his own body.
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The one thing I do wonder about is what the hell the real drug dealer
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thought when he heard me lie to save his neck. I don't imagine drug
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dealers are accustomed to random acts of kindness from strangers. I just
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hope he doesn't want to repay his debt. Friends like that, I do not need.
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-- Thom Hobbes
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by
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Voyager[TNO]
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions =
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= WWW http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://www.reps.net/~krypt/fuck.html =
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= (c) Copyright. All files copyright by the original author. =
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