G. Zimmerman taken into custody after allegedly threatening wife (no charges filed)

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After reading the clickOrlando link, I don't know if this is something they can prove unless GZ admits to it.

"He’s in his car and he continually has his hand on his gun and he keeps saying 'step closer' and he’s just threatening all of us," Shellie Zimmerman said in the 911 call, adding that George Zimmerman was "trying to shut the garage door" on her.
 
George was at his home pouring over the notes fellow negro spirit slayers left him, for months George feared that the spirit of Travyon Martin was still in this realm and that his job was not yet complete.

"What did I miss?!" George yelled out in frustration, his downed his Mike's Hard Lemonade and slumped in his chair, it took the edge off his heightened spirit slayer senses. "I did everything correct to get rid of the demon, yet he still lives?" George could not comprehend why or how Trayvon's evil spirit had touched so many. Tilting his head back he stared at the yellowed ceiling, his father's words repeating through his head "They shall not see you as a hero my young son. It will be a thankless job and the evil negro spirit will continue to bring our people to their side. Set aside your petty desires to be seen as hero and know you do The One True God's work."

Frustrated, George threw his bottle onto the floor, the bottle shattered sending shards of glass flying around the study. George buried his face into his hands and let out a long drawn out sigh. He wondered if he must spend the rest of his life hunting this spirit, he wondered if he would ever be able to settle down and achieve true happiness. Before he could get lost in his thoughts his cellphone rang. It was Shellie, Ms. Zimmerman's sister. George's heart sunk and he got a knot in his throat upon reading her text message.

"Come quick GZus, there's this thick lingering purple haze everywhere, and I just saw black guy in hoodie named Martin Trevon leaving Lorri's room and we can't get her to respond. There's Arizona tea in the fridge, I'm scared. The cops won't be able to help with this, you have to come now!"

George begged the One True God for it not to be what he believed it was and begged for some semblance of happiness and to spare his wife his life of misery. As sudden as his emotional state came, it left just as quickly. George opened his armory and grabbed his hunting gear. He knew what he might had to do and he knew that everyone in that house could be possessed by Travyon's spirit.

George had two missions tonight, purge the spirit from his family, and find it's familiar one black man named Martin Trevon before he bred more fair skinned women. He had finished preparing for a night of slaying and rushed to the door. He stopped before leaving and grabbed his iPod; the American Flag vynil on the backside glowed in the darkness and set George's heart at easy. He put the headphones in his ear and hit play, "Thrift Shop" by Mackelmore blasted through headphones. "The first mainstream rapper in years to actually have something to say." Zimmerman muttered before closing the door to his sanctuary.
 
George was at his home pouring over the notes fellow negro spirit slayers left him, for months George feared that the spirit of Travyon Martin was still in this realm and that his job was not yet complete.

"What did I miss?!" George yelled out in frustration, his downed his Mike's Hard Lemonade and slumped in his chair, it took the edge off his heightened spirit slayer senses. "I did everything correct to get rid of the demon, yet he still lives?" George could not comprehend why or how Trayvon's evil spirit had touched so many. Tilting his head back he stared at the yellowed ceiling, his father's words repeating through his head "They shall not see you as a hero my young son. It will be a thankless job and the evil negro spirit will continue to bring our people to their side. Set aside your petty desires to be seen as hero and know you do The One True God's work."

Frustrated, George threw his bottle onto the floor, the bottle shattered sending shards of glass flying around the study. George buried his face into his hands and let out a long drawn out sigh. He wondered if he must spend the rest of his life hunting this spirit, he wondered if he would ever be able to settle down and achieve true happiness. Before he could get lost in his thoughts his cellphone rang. It was Shellie, Ms. Zimmerman's sister. George's heart sunk and he got a knot in his throat upon reading her text message.

"Come quick GZus, there's this thick lingering purple haze everywhere, and I just saw black guy in hoodie named Martin Trevon leaving Lorri's room and we can't get her to respond. There's Arizona tea in the fridge, I'm scared. The cops won't be able to help with this, you have to come now!"

George begged the One True God for it not to be what he believed it was and begged for some semblance of happiness and to spare his wife his life of misery. As sudden as his emotional state came, it left just as quickly. George opened his armory and grabbed his hunting gear. He knew what he might had to do and he knew that everyone in that house could be possessed by Travyon's spirit.

George had two missions tonight, purge the spirit from his family, and find it's familiar one black man named Martin Trevon before he bred more fair skinned women. He had finished preparing for a night of slaying and rushed to the door. He stopped before leaving and grabbed his iPod; the American Flag vynil on the backside glowed in the darkness and set George's heart at easy. He put the headphones in his ear and hit play, "Thrift Shop" by Mackelmore blasted through headphones. "The first mainstream rapper in years to actually have something to say." Zimmerman muttered before closing the door to his sanctuary.

The best thing to come out of this thread so far...All we need now is a follow-up from EmCeeGramr
 
After reading the clickOrlando link, I don't know if this is something they can prove unless GZ admits to it.

The fact that there were two people present could very easily be enough to convict him, even if there is no physical evidence of any incident.
 
Deep within the frozen jungles of Nordexico, Jarl-God Frodulichlti trembled in his throne in the great pyramid hall. His brow furrowed. Black smoke like the raven's feathers rose in the north-east-west-south.

A Viking messenger in jaguar skins burst into the hall.

"O Lord of the Sun and the Moon!" he cried. "Our enemy has returned. The foul spirit has taken on new rainment in the flesh. He seeks vengeance against our most noble son."

Frodulichlti stood up. He was mighty and tall for a Nordexican, at 17 hands, and his black hair was stark against his fair skin.

"Prepare the war axes, saddle the llamas," he ordered. "The White-Hispanics go to war."
Dude do you even know how hilarious this post is

Do you
 
George was at his home pouring over the notes fellow negro spirit slayers left him, for months George feared that the spirit of Travyon Martin was still in this realm and that his job was not yet complete.

"What did I miss?!" George yelled out in frustration, his downed his Mike's Hard Lemonade and slumped in his chair, it took the edge off his heightened spirit slayer senses. "I did everything correct to get rid of the demon, yet he still lives?" George could not comprehend why or how Trayvon's evil spirit had touched so many. Tilting his head back he stared at the yellowed ceiling, his father's words repeating through his head "They shall not see you as a hero my young son. It will be a thankless job and the evil negro spirit will continue to bring our people to their side. Set aside your petty desires to be seen as hero and know you do The One True God's work."

Frustrated, George threw his bottle onto the floor, the bottle shattered sending shards of glass flying around the study. George buried his face into his hands and let out a long drawn out sigh. He wondered if he must spend the rest of his life hunting this spirit, he wondered if he would ever be able to settle down and achieve true happiness. Before he could get lost in his thoughts his cellphone rang. It was Shellie, Ms. Zimmerman's sister. George's heart sunk and he got a knot in his throat upon reading her text message.

"Come quick GZus, there's this thick lingering purple haze everywhere, and I just saw black guy in hoodie named Martin Trevon leaving Lorri's room and we can't get her to respond. There's Arizona tea in the fridge, I'm scared. The cops won't be able to help with this, you have to come now!"

George begged the One True God for it not to be what he believed it was and begged for some semblance of happiness and to spare his wife his life of misery. As sudden as his emotional state came, it left just as quickly. George opened his armory and grabbed his hunting gear. He knew what he might had to do and he knew that everyone in that house could be possessed by Travyon's spirit.

George had two missions tonight, purge the spirit from his family, and find it's familiar one black man named Martin Trevon before he bred more fair skinned women. He had finished preparing for a night of slaying and rushed to the door. He stopped before leaving and grabbed his iPod; the American Flag vynil on the backside glowed in the darkness and set George's heart at easy. He put the headphones in his ear and hit play, "Thrift Shop" by Mackelmore blasted through headphones. "The first mainstream rapper in years to actually have something to say." Zimmerman muttered before closing the door to his sanctuary.
UV74LaZ.gif
 
He put the headphones in his ear and hit play, "Thrift Shop" by Mackelmore blasted through headphones. "The first mainstream rapper in years to actually have something to say." Zimmerman muttered before closing the door to his sanctuary.

Hahaha. With easter eggs for frequent readers.
 
How is the right wing going to defend their hero this time?

Three options, all equally likely:

A) They ignore this completely

B) They wash his hands on him after blaming his actions on the sensationalist left-wing media

C) They spin a conspiracy theory that claims Eric Holder is still gunning for GZ
 
George was at his home pouring over the notes fellow negro spirit slayers left him, for months George feared that the spirit of Travyon Martin was still in this realm and that his job was not yet complete.

"What did I miss?!" George yelled out in frustration, his downed his Mike's Hard Lemonade and slumped in his chair, it took the edge off his heightened spirit slayer senses. "I did everything correct to get rid of the demon, yet he still lives?" George could not comprehend why or how Trayvon's evil spirit had touched so many. Tilting his head back he stared at the yellowed ceiling, his father's words repeating through his head "They shall not see you as a hero my young son. It will be a thankless job and the evil negro spirit will continue to bring our people to their side. Set aside your petty desires to be seen as hero and know you do The One True God's work."

Frustrated, George threw his bottle onto the floor, the bottle shattered sending shards of glass flying around the study. George buried his face into his hands and let out a long drawn out sigh. He wondered if he must spend the rest of his life hunting this spirit, he wondered if he would ever be able to settle down and achieve true happiness. Before he could get lost in his thoughts his cellphone rang. It was Shellie, Ms. Zimmerman's sister. George's heart sunk and he got a knot in his throat upon reading her text message.

"Come quick GZus, there's this thick lingering purple haze everywhere, and I just saw black guy in hoodie named Martin Trevon leaving Lorri's room and we can't get her to respond. There's Arizona tea in the fridge, I'm scared. The cops won't be able to help with this, you have to come now!"

George begged the One True God for it not to be what he believed it was and begged for some semblance of happiness and to spare his wife his life of misery. As sudden as his emotional state came, it left just as quickly. George opened his armory and grabbed his hunting gear. He knew what he might had to do and he knew that everyone in that house could be possessed by Travyon's spirit.

George had two missions tonight, purge the spirit from his family, and find it's familiar one black man named Martin Trevon before he bred more fair skinned women. He had finished preparing for a night of slaying and rushed to the door. He stopped before leaving and grabbed his iPod; the American Flag vynil on the backside glowed in the darkness and set George's heart at easy. He put the headphones in his ear and hit play, "Thrift Shop" by Mackelmore blasted through headphones. "The first mainstream rapper in years to actually have something to say." Zimmerman muttered before closing the door to his sanctuary.
*dead*
 
The fact that there were two people present could very easily be enough to convict him, even if there is no physical evidence of any incident.

Those two people being his estranged wife and her father, who he did have an altercation with. The city worker who was across the street isn't going to be able to see a gun in his lap while he's sitting in his car in the garage.
 
So he is the new OJ?

killing someone but getting off. Get sent to jail later for something else because they are dumbasses.
 
GZeta, his body and pride wounded, wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

"A true Incan warrior only goes stronger with defeat" he sneered, as he slowly rose to his feet. "Your marijaun-ha-me-ha attack was indeed impressive, Blackarot. But this isn't even my final form."
 
George was at his home pouring over the notes fellow negro spirit slayers left him, for months George feared that the spirit of Travyon Martin was still in this realm and that his job was not yet complete.

"What did I miss?!" George yelled out in frustration, his downed his Mike's Hard Lemonade and slumped in his chair, it took the edge off his heightened spirit slayer senses. "I did everything correct to get rid of the demon, yet he still lives?" George could not comprehend why or how Trayvon's evil spirit had touched so many. Tilting his head back he stared at the yellowed ceiling, his father's words repeating through his head "They shall not see you as a hero my young son. It will be a thankless job and the evil negro spirit will continue to bring our people to their side. Set aside your petty desires to be seen as hero and know you do The One True God's work."

Frustrated, George threw his bottle onto the floor, the bottle shattered sending shards of glass flying around the study. George buried his face into his hands and let out a long drawn out sigh. He wondered if he must spend the rest of his life hunting this spirit, he wondered if he would ever be able to settle down and achieve true happiness. Before he could get lost in his thoughts his cellphone rang. It was Shellie, Ms. Zimmerman's sister. George's heart sunk and he got a knot in his throat upon reading her text message.

"Come quick GZus, there's this thick lingering purple haze everywhere, and I just saw black guy in hoodie named Martin Trevon leaving Lorri's room and we can't get her to respond. There's Arizona tea in the fridge, I'm scared. The cops won't be able to help with this, you have to come now!"

George begged the One True God for it not to be what he believed it was and begged for some semblance of happiness and to spare his wife his life of misery. As sudden as his emotional state came, it left just as quickly. George opened his armory and grabbed his hunting gear. He knew what he might had to do and he knew that everyone in that house could be possessed by Travyon's spirit.

George had two missions tonight, purge the spirit from his family, and find it's familiar one black man named Martin Trevon before he bred more fair skinned women. He had finished preparing for a night of slaying and rushed to the door. He stopped before leaving and grabbed his iPod; the American Flag vynil on the backside glowed in the darkness and set George's heart at easy. He put the headphones in his ear and hit play, "Thrift Shop" by Mackelmore blasted through headphones. "The first mainstream rapper in years to actually have something to say." Zimmerman muttered before closing the door to his sanctuary.

You should turn this shit into a novel. I'm only half kidding.
 
Maybe we should, you know, take away the gun license of people who kill unarmed kids. Or maybe I'm going too far.
 
Enron going to bat for his boy.

not my boy, i thought GZ should have been charged with something other than murder 2 and should be spending some time in jail.

ABC is saying they Shellie and her father aren't going to press charges

I think this is a pretty good indication of whether or not GZ actually drew his gun or not.

Why is that up to them to decide?

Probably because they are the complaining party? I don't think the threat is something that the police can actually investigate unless there's another witness or security camera footage.
 
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