Adrian Anderson v. Joshua Cole Morgan

Let’s be clear: this is not a case about a fender bender, a parking spot, or someone stealing someone else’s Wi-Fi password. No. This is the story of a man who, while driving, decided to pull up next to a stalled car and open fire with a .38 special revolver—because, apparently, traffic stress got the best of him. In broad daylight. In Oklahoma City. And yes, someone got shot in the face. Welcome to Crazy Civil Court, where the stakes are high, the judgment is low, and people really need to just chill the hell out.

Meet Adrian and Cheryl Anderson. They’re not thrill-seekers. They’re not gang members. They’re not even particularly interesting—at least, not until March 1, 2024, when their lives took a very sharp turn into action movie territory. They were just two regular Oklahomans trying to get from point A to point B when their 2007 Honda Accord—bless its aging heart—decided it had given all it could give and sputtered to a stop at the intersection of Broadway Extension and Wilshire Boulevard. There they sat, stranded at a red light, probably wondering if AAA covered “car died out of spite.” Cheryl was in the passenger seat. Adrian, we assume, was behind the wheel, muttering something about oil changes and regret.

Then he showed up.

Joshua Cole Morgan—just your average Oklahoma County resident with, apparently, a firearm and a serious lack of impulse control—pulled up alongside the Andersons’ lifeless Honda. Now, we don’t know what set him off. Maybe the stalled car blocked his turn. Maybe he was late for a very important date. Maybe he just really hates Hondas. What we do know is that instead of waiting, honking, or even flipping a passive-aggressive hand gesture, Morgan chose a more extreme method of conflict resolution: he pulled out a .38 special revolver and started shooting.

Multiple times.

At a car.

With people inside.

One of those bullets struck Cheryl Anderson—in the face—as she sat helplessly in the passenger seat. Let that sink in. A stranger, operating a motor vehicle, fired a handgun at another vehicle during rush hour and hit a woman in the face. This isn’t Mad Max. This isn’t a GTA mission. This is Oklahoma City in 2024. And yet, here we are.

The lawsuit doesn’t tell us how Morgan escaped, whether he was pulled over, or if he casually drove home and made himself a sandwich afterward. But it does lay out, in calm, legal language, just how unhinged the whole thing was. The Andersons’ attorney, Thomas J. Steece (who, by the way, must have read this case file and thought, “Well, this is new”), argues that Morgan didn’t just act negligently—he acted with recklessness, wantonness, and possibly gross negligence, which in lawyer-speak means, “You didn’t just mess up—you went full cartoon villain.”

The legal claim? Negligence. But not the “I forgot to shovel my sidewalk” kind. This is negligence with firepower. The petition alleges that Morgan’s actions—operating a vehicle while discharging a firearm at another occupied vehicle—were so far outside the bounds of acceptable behavior that they qualify as negligence per se, meaning he likely broke actual laws (like, oh, “don’t shoot people”) that automatically make him liable. It’s like if someone ran a red light and T-boned you—except instead of a traffic violation, it’s a criminal assault with a deadly weapon. And yes, that’s a felony. But this is a civil case, which means the state isn’t prosecuting Morgan (at least not in this filing). Instead, the Andersons are suing him personally for the damages he caused.

And oh, are they asking for damages. $200,000—split evenly between actual and punitive damages. $100,000 for Cheryl’s medical bills, ongoing treatment, pain, suffering, emotional trauma, and the very real possibility that she’ll never look at a stopped car the same way again. Another $100,000 for Adrian, who, while not physically injured, watched his wife get shot in the face while sitting next to him. That kind of thing leaves scars, even if they’re invisible. And then there’s the punitive damages—those aren’t about paying for losses. They’re about punishment. They’re the legal system’s way of saying, “What you did was so stupid and dangerous that we need to slap your wallet to make sure you (and everyone else) know it’s not okay to shoot at cars in traffic.”

Now, is $200,000 a lot? In the grand scheme of civil lawsuits, it’s not insane. Celebrities sue for that before breakfast. But for a case that started with a stalled Honda and ended with a gunshot wound? It’s plenty. Especially when you consider that Morgan might not have $200,000 in his checking account. Or a checking account at all. But that’s not the point. The point is accountability. The point is that you can’t just decide to become the antagonist in a drive-by shooting because your commute got inconvenient.

Here’s the wildest part: this case exists at all. Not because someone got shot—though that’s horrifying enough—but because we’re talking about it in a civil court, not a criminal one. Where’s the criminal charge? Was Morgan arrested? Did he get charged with assault with a deadly weapon? Attempted murder? We don’t know. The filing doesn’t say. And that silence is… unsettling. Because if Morgan isn’t facing criminal charges, then this civil suit is the only shot (pun absolutely intended) the Andersons have at justice. And that feels wild. Like, we’re relying on a lawsuit to hold someone accountable for firing a gun at a civilian in traffic. That’s not justice—that’s damage control.

And yet, here we are. The Andersons are asking a jury to look at what happened and say, “No. This is not how we do things.” They’re asking for recognition that Cheryl’s trauma is real, that Adrian’s emotional scars matter, and that Morgan’s actions weren’t just “road rage”—they were criminal, reckless, and unforgivable. They’re also demanding a jury trial, which means this could get very dramatic, very fast. Picture it: Morgan on the stand, trying to explain why he thought shooting a stranger in the face was a proportional response to a stalled car. “I was just… frustrated?” Yeah, buddy. Try life in prison.

Our take? The most absurd thing here isn’t even the shooting—it’s that this kind of thing keeps happening. Road rage. Guns. People thinking they’re the main character in an action film. And the fact that the Andersons have to sue for basic accountability is a gut punch. We’re rooting for them, obviously. We’re rooting for Cheryl’s recovery. We’re rooting for Adrian’s peace of mind. And we’re rooting for a verdict so loud it echoes through every driver’s side window in Oklahoma: Put the gun down. Just. Put. It. Down.