I believe in honor. It’s honorable… and the Honorable one sitting in front of the courtroom sees it that way too. Sometimes, that’s the person who’ll decide whether you win your case.
Therefore, in the interests of honor and your future legal undertakings, I’d like to offer some advice that might be useful to you or your witnesses as you partake in the glorious art of litigation:
1- If you’re asked a question, the correct answer is not “YES! uh… wait a minute let me think about that.” You should know immediately whether you spend four hours per day submerged in a fish tank with your pet Goldy. Your hesitation sounds sillier than your act of communion with that poor little goldfish.
2- The defendant is not schizophrenic. The defendant also does not suffer from any of the other psychiatric conditions you’re listing. You majored in statistics; you should know the odds of your diagnostic pronouncements being seen as credible. Hint: it starts with a zero.
3- Do not accuse the defendant of committing a crime that occurred seventeen years ago unless you just learned that information today. The police wanted that information seventeen years ago and now they probably want you just as much for not giving it to them.
4- When the judge starts laughing at you, you should stop talking.
5- When the judge falls asleep, that’s the time to inform everyone of all those pesky incriminating details.
6- You should know BEFOREHAND whether you’re a credible witness. If you’re describing someone’s character and can’t produce any information from the past ten years, you look like an idiot. On second thought, you ARE an idiot.
7- Your lawyer is your friend. (Did you ever think you’d read that sentence?) Do not lie to your lawyer. If your lawyer doesn’t know the weaknesses in your case, no attempt can be made to ever-so-ethically brush them under the rug. Telling your lawyer also helps when your opposition brings up those pesky little details; all that smooth courtroom talk has to be prepared in advance.
8- Don’t be squirrely. Only authentic squirrels can do that without looking guilty. Sometimes.
Once upon a time, a wicked criminal stole a loaf of bread to fill his family’s stomachs.
The arrogant and self-centered thief failed to look beyond his own desires. The shop owner needed to sell that bread for a profit to feed his own family. Unfortunately, no one feels sad for a capitalist.
Moreover, the shop in question was Le Subway Cafe. Therefore, our thief deserves even less sympathy. Ask not what the restaurant chain puts in its bread or whether our thief might not also be guilty of attempting to poison his family.
Looking for adventure?
Climb to the top of St. Peter’s Basilica and bring your binoculars. You never know what escapades you’ll discover when you peer into all these windows:
I wonder if the ever-so-vigilant Vaticanites complained when those unsightly apartment buildings started blocking people’s view of their churchly treasure… or if they decided to (euphemism alert!) look at the bright side of life.
Lime, thyme, beef, beet, corn,
Yam, spam, clam, ham, hen, horse, tripe,
Squash, dill, snail, quail, kale,
Cat, cod, pho, gin, worms, wine, wurst,
Chive, cloves, squid, duck, lox, frog, flan.
31 potentially interesting flavors, and we only get chocolate, vanilla, and all sorts of stuff mixed into chocolate and vanilla. Assert your culinary rights today. Demand better flavors.
(I could end my poem here and it wouldn’t seem incomplete, right?)
that everyone loves,
that everyone admires,
that everyone dreams of working for.
Two million applicants per job vacancy.
nine hundred ninety nine thousand
they don’t have to
HR can be
Then comes the
You know the drill.
But if the office
a swimming pool,
and free food…
No one will notice the shit?
Until the shit hits
and their replacements
show up and
the free food.
I had been here before, a long time ago. The roof. The wind in my hair as I fell to the earth… bones shattering, blood spurting, children crying, and journalists salivating over their headline story for the next day.
But I survived and now I was back atop the roof of Very Bad Situation. I could jump again and face more consequences if I so desired. Alternately, I could climb from my perch and go back inside where my bones would be shattered again and my blood would spurt, albeit less conspicuously and more gradually and much to the entertainment of everybody present.
Just like on TV.
Then again, maybe I could abandon my obligation to choose. The sun warms my skin as I sit here and a gentle breeze blows through my hair. If I’m lucky, God could send a nice little windstorm to knock me down the stairwell or to the street below. My executioners (the pavement and/or the bureaucrats at Very Bad Situation) would still get to enjoy a feast and my soul would be relieved from having to take ownership of a punishment I do not wish to partake of.
That is, after all, the way evil is done to us: by forcing our prior consent, by blinding us to any alternate possibilities, by attempting to make us “serve” someone else when no authentic service would be given by jumping or by returning inside.
Moral of the story: When duty calls, eat a hamburger. (If you’re Hindu, eat a veggie burger.) The burger loves you unconditionally and asks nothing of you beyond some decent mustard and perhaps some ketchup.