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