>be me >24 >just started an agriculture business in Russia (cheaper land, relatively cheap labor) >producing milk (got around 200 cows that I bought with investors money) , got some chickens on the side producing eggs >start seeing some pretty good profits, expand to 600 cows, aiming for 1000 by end of year >business is growing quickly, move there from Germany to supervise directly (at request of investor) >have now been living in small Russian town in the countryside for almost a year >I don't mind, since I'm now making around 25k/month exporting my milk to other east European countries >don't even know how many cows I own right now >Someone knocks on my door >wtf, I have a secretary, how did he get past >then I realize >crap >I've been running a business in Russia and have yet to be visited by the Russian mafia >big guy with oiled black hair wearing a cheap suit, even introduces himself as "Sasha" >says that he "recommends" I purchase their "security services" >I’m not gonna take this crap >tell him to get lost >instantly realize this was an extremely bad move >"very well, friend. I am sorry for inconvenience. my associate will soon be in contact with you for a better offer." >everythingwentbetterthanexpected.jpg >walking home later that night >suddenly a bag gets pulled over my head >something hits me on my head and I go unconscious >wake up bleeding from head, tied to chair in a dimly lit room >after maybe an hour, a fifty something guy wearing a gold chain walks in holding a hammer >frowns at me and introduces himself as Vladislov >"I will show you what happens to foreign pigs that disrespect Bratva" >breaks my kneecaps >I have never felt this kind of pain >start crying and piss my pants; beg him to stop >he spits in my face and leaves >fifteen minutes later >he comes back with a tong >tears off my fingernail >at this point I'm reduced to incoherent begging >manage to say one thing to him >Vladislov >baby don't hurt me >don't hurt me >no more
>Be me, high school senior >A set of Chinese twins enter my grade in the middle of the year >It was a boy and a girl. Ving and Ling Chingchongsomething >Parents must have smashed on sake to think of those gems >Both are in my trig class >Ving sits next to me, turns out to be pretty cool >He tells me I can cheat off his test if I do one thing for him >I'm failing trig, I'd sell my soul for his answers >"Sure, anything" >He asks me how to legally change his name >He's sick of having a stupid-ass name like Ving >Can't say I blame him >Ask him what he wants his name to be >"Lee, like Bruce Lee" >Soundsgood.jpg >Ling overhears us from a few rows away >Says that his name has been passed down for generations >His parents would disown him if he changed it >Ving doesn't give a shit >I offer to drive him down to the town hall after-school >Ling insists on tagging along >Shrug, drive them both >Walk into town hall, Ving goes straight to the front desk >Demands a form, pulls out his birth certificate >Shitgotreal.jpg >Starts scribbling info down on name change sheet >Suddenly looks conflicted >Tears start welling up >Apparently that ancestral shit runs deep >Tells receptionist that he can't do it >She says he'll have to pay a fee to cancel his request >Stupid-ass small-town laws >Ling is just glad he changed his mind, she grabs some money from her purse >Is about hand over the money when some guy bursts into the town Hall >Short elderly Asian man, neon shorts and American flag T-shirt with Ray Bans >Someone's gone full 'Murican >Ving stares at the man, tears dripping down his yellow cheeks >"Dad...?" >Dad runs up and embraces his son >Huge smile on his face >"Don't stop, be Lee, Ving." >"Hold on to that fee, Ling."