The Point of a Dubious Return, A Lawyer's Guide

When I established a law practice for the benefit of angels, I never expected to have a client. You can imagine my disappointment when one walked in.

He was rather tall, and dressed in the traditional garb with the white toga.   His wings were the largest I'd ever seen.  

"I want to file a lawsuit against God." he said in a very determined matter.

Sure you do, I replied.

"Well, get to it lawyer, I'm in a hurry to get this process started.  No telling what's going to happen to me after I file suit."

 Right away, I assured him, as you can see, I'm not burdened by other clients at the present moment.  I assume the customary allegations will be levied, correct?   Do you prefer Kafka or Job?  Or do you want to go with the Milton rant? The Faustian bargain?  

"I want something new.  Don't give me that same old dog and pony show.  I was something fresh, something snappy." 

Well if you want me to be creative, that will cost you extra. It will be the usual charge plus an extra assessment.  All my fees are set out on my business card.  

"File it by tomorrow at the latest.  Let me have your card in case I need to contact you tonight."

Certainly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my business card and handed it to him. 

"Hey wise guy, this is a mirror, he exclaimed, "how am I going to contact you with this?  And where does it set out your fees?"

Look closely, I replied. And all will be revealed

The angel left with a snort, and I got to work on drafting his complaint.  I worked through the night.  I railed against many things.  I claimed that butterfly wings flapping in Tajikistan propelled a Hegelian steamboat across a lake in the set of Fantasy Island.  I alleged that 70 is the new 16 for a politician who created cemetery filled with narcissism which (unbeknownst to him) was quantumly entangled with an idle thought from the Middle Ages.  In the end, it was not my best work.  But I was under the gun and did not have time for a juicy paradox or a Zen koan.

On the next day, I walked to the clerk of court.  It was a brisk fall morning and I almost fell on the dew encrusted sidewalks.  The clerk accepted my complaint without comment.  I think he was still a little tired from dealing with all the absentee voters during the last election.  As the sun started to melt the ice, I looked forward to receiving my retainer in this case. 

Practicing Law while inside an Assisted Living Facility, A Lawyers Guide

It all started when I left the bedroom door open at night.   You know I can't sleep with the door open.  It lets all the crazies in.  And the monsters.  That's why it's better to sleep with the door closed, preferably locked.   It's also not a good idea to sleep with the window open.  If you hear what goes on at night outside, it would keep you up.  Trust me.  Last night I heard the kids playing outside--they woke me up.  

I decided to stop practicing law after that one night. In the middle of the night, I woke with a fit and a partial a memory that I'd been in the middle of a trial that day.  My expert said something that I should have corrected while he was on the stand but for some inexplicable reason I didn't. I couldn't remember what he said or how I should correct it.  I was trying to think of a way to call him back as a witness.  Because I couldn't remember, I was trying frantically (in the middle of the night) to call the associate who was helping me out the trial.  Maybe she could remember what the expert said. And how I screwed up.  But I could not find her number.  What did I do with my address book?

Even more disturbing was the fact that I had been out drinking with my parents earlier in the evening.  I was in trial after all--what the fuck was I thinking?   How did I forget about the trial?  All I knew was that I had to find a way to call the expert back.  Where did I put my address book?

The kids who woke me up in the middle of the night were playing outside at the retirement community.  The kids were rolling rocks down the driveway and the rocks became boulders. The rocks rolled down the hill and broke the window of a neighbor in the retirement community. That's what I heard because the windows were open.  I also heard the old people chasing after the kids to catch them.

Then I was very afraid.  Maybe it was the monsters.  Maybe it was the stroke I thought I was having.  Maybe it was the trial I thought I had earlier that day.  But a nice old lady with a large firm breasts came in. Her name was Helen. She let me grab and suck her breasts.  She also did other things to me which also explains why I was awake that night.  The end.  

Envy and Schadenfreude: Avec boudin noir

A termite mound appears in midair above the Trump tower in Chicago, waiting to descend.  A poet looks up from his oolong tea and smiles.  The time has come.

There had been movie stars as politicians before.  Mostly in California, but some had gone national. They more or less fell in line with the traditional roles of politicians with an aversion to controversy.  It was still about the issues, it was not about them.  In time, unless there were reruns, we forgot that they had been in the movies.  The steam from the tea wafted up to join with the fetid stench of the mound.

The poet knew that termites do not have hard exoskeletons like other insects.  They remain almost larval into adulthood. This provides them with flexibility.  All of them start off hatching in eggs that can develop into any caste.  Through a series of molts they can develop into workers or soldiers or developers.  Older termites can go through regressive molts and and develop into youngsters again.  All young and virile with abnormally large pincers.   In time, if all goes well and there are sufficient building materials and the forgiveness of loans, large structures will emerge from the workers.  And the hive will have a place to stay for weekend get-aways or business trips.

Inside the mound, the king termite dines with a mosquito named Montesquieu.  After the blood sausage is served, they have a aperitif of Rapamycin, as the king heard that the drug's intake extended the lifespan in mice and rats as much as 15 percent.  "It can happen," the King exclaimed.  "It will happen.  Our scientists have tremendous potential.  We have tremendous termites in this hive. Someday this mound will be huge, enormous."

"What must be done, sire," inquired Montesquieu delicately, "about the ants?"

"Ahh my dear friend," the King replied smugly, "It will not be long until the ants beg to kiss my ring.  We have built an impenetrable wall around the hill.  And the ant queen has paid for it.   It is a glorious thing I have done, all ahead of schedule and under-budget.   Our hive is going to be huge I tell you.   This is why real leadership is important folks.  I can make us great again!"

The poet, scrabbles a few notes on his napkin:

"Thus and the twilight's last gloaming
Injurious, since it secret
Shall torment me listening
To the story not thought of the end."