Saturday, November 29, 2008

Haunt them for their Nascar hats!

Yesterday, crowds of shoppers stampeded into a Wal-Mart and trampled a temporary worker to death in their hurry to snatch up cheap Chinese crap. When police asked them to leave the crime scene, shoppers refused, arguing they had been in line since the night before.

I don't even know where to start with this. First, who the fuck waits outside all night to get into a Wal-Mart? I won't get started on the evils of Wal Mart in general - I'll just ask: seriously? All night? To shop at Wal-Mart? Seriously? You been sniffing that $.56 glue or something?

A stampede - really? To get into a fucking Wal-Mart? Y'all actually endangered your lives and killed someone to get a discount on a $9 Nascar hat, stitched by slave laborers in some third world country and brought over in a big ass tanker that burned enough fuel to heat your shit town for a week that your cousin Enis is going to lose behind a honky-tonk after it falls off his head while he's throwing up.

And people refused to leave. I think the stampeded guy should haunt each and every one of those fuckers in turn. They stomped a man to death then didn't have enough respect for him or even the cops to stop filling their carts with cheap sweatpants and discount corn chips. I might be a defense attorney, but I have to go ahead and ask - where were the tasers? What the hell happened to billy clubs? Sometimes a cop really does have to knock some respect into some jackass. Do your damn jobs. You seem to be willing enough to bust some pimply teenage boy with a bag of weed, man - how about busting a few heads when the situation calls for it? I'd have defended you.

Overall, I guess I am saying something is really, really wrong. I for one suggest making a monument to this guy - this martyr there to show us what we have become: a nation of selfish, violent, crap-grabbers with as little respect for ourselves as we have for each other. Maybe next time a new Wal-Mart is getting ready to put every small business owner in in a new town out of a job, somebody will step out of his trailer and say, "Naw, man, I jes don't need me a new Nascar hat that fuckin' bad."

Thursday, November 27, 2008

Tis the season to excuse gluttony and watch a bunch of idiots jump in a pile repeatedly, also known as football. I wouldn't mind all the jumping in a pile so much if they didn't talk about it so long after each pile up, as if they'd done something really special. People suggest I just don't understand, which is certainly true. What they don't wonder is if in fact I understand perfectly and they're spending entire afternoons on the couch watching a bunch of idiots jump in a pile, which I suppose would be hard to admit as you barrel toward a chip and beer induced heart attack having spent so many afternoons of your life yelling at people on TV who can't hear you and don't care if you think they should have thrown the fucking ball in some other direction.

This year I am spending the holiday with the in laws, which is going fine. We are apparently deep frying a turkey. For those of you who have not witnessed such a thing, it goes like this. First you raise and kill a chicken, gut and defeather it, chop off the head and legs, throw the remains in some water and boil it. Then do whatever with the chicken. Put the chicken flavored water aside. Raise and kill a turkey. Pull off its feathers, take out its guts, chop off its head and legs, wrap it in plastic and sell it by the pound. Unwrap it. Inject it with the water from the chicken. Alternately, stick it in a plastic bag filled with salt water. Meanwhile, set an enormous pot out back and fill it with grease. Boil the grease. Drink some beers. Take the chicken-salt-water turkey and carefully lower it into the boiling oil. If you don't set anything on fire, take a drink. Hang out a while. Drink some beer. Somehow, this 20 lb. bird carcass will be cooked through in about an hour. Get someone sober to help lift it out of the boiling oil. If no one catches on fire, take a drink. Eat the turkey. This is apparently delicious. We'll find out in about an hour.

I do appreciate the opportunity to be thankful we can afford to be gluttons, though, and that history changes things. I am, for instance, grateful to not have woken up on a hay matress to build a fire for warmth, hope the natives whose land I stole won't kill me, wear a dress made of yarn I spun myself after shearing my own sheep, be miserably married to a musket-carrying pilgrim who bathes twice a year and live in a handmade cabin. Fuck that. When my tax refund comes in, I'm gettin' an Itouch and in the meantime, I'm in some store bought Levi's waiting for tortured turkey. Here's to tradition. Or not.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Here's to not being brain damaged!

It is almost Thanksgiving. I have lots of things to be grateful about. For instance, I'm not brain damaged. Yesterday I told my acupunturist about our new office help and she said the girl is probably brain damaged. Apparently, this can cause people to be impulsive and not pick up on social cues - i.e. doing things like inturrupting an attorney getting ready for court to show them a 5'7" of your teenage spawn completely unsolicited. My acupuncturist suggested I work a question into the conversation as to whether the girl had ever been unconscious. I explained there really isn't any conversation. Allow me to demostrate why. This is an actual exchange in our office, as reported by my office manager.

Weird temp: I'm really particular about body odor.
Office manager: Uh huh. I wouldn't want to smell bad.
Weird temp: I'm really particular about it though.
Office manager: Uh huh.
Weird temp: I'm so particular, I use deodorant on my butt.
Office manager: What?
Weird temp: You know how your butt can sweat? I wouldn't want it to smell bad. So I use deodorant on my butt.
Office manager (regrettably, she takes the bait): How do you tell the difference between that deodorant and your regular one?
Weird temp: Oh, I have it labeled in my bathroom as "butt stick."

OK - first, who puts deodorant on their butt? Secondly, who tells people about it? Specifically, who tells a busy office manager at their temporary job? My next question - how does she explain 'butt stick' to her children? Do they think this is normal? Will her kids go to school and talk about butt stick to other kids and find out this is not normal and become known as "butt stick"? This is not entirely unreasonable, as I have begun to refer to weird temp as 'butt stick'.

Sigh. Five more weeks. You will enjoy this more than I will.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Ours is not to reason why

I have been sworn in as an attorney for 10 weeks. I have decided my job is to be helpless for the hopeless. However, I have not yet turned off the impulse to wonder why people do the things they do, though I manage not to ask. Why, when you need your license to keep your job, were you drag racing? And why were you racing in a shitty pickup truck that can't outrun the cops? Why did you try to beat up the guard when you were in jail? Why did you throw beer on the cop? Why did you steal all that shit with cameras on you? Why have you been skipping court for the past 7 years and what, exactly, am I supposed to do about it? How did it seem to be a good idea to show up to court shitfaced drunk? The list goes on. In fact, it goes on and on, every day. This is how I make my living.

It would help if just the clients were confusing. The guy I work with collects stray dogs of the person type and dragged in this nutjob with no office social skills for 6 weeks to help her feed her kids because she can't find a job. I pointed out that this just means she'll be out of a job in 6 weeks but the logic seems to have escaped him. Yesterday she insisted on telling us all about how her husband told her she was fat then left her for a 500 lb. woman. I am still wondering how I managed to not say "maybe he meant fat in the head." We'll put that down as divine intervention. This saga was detailed in the car on the way home from lunch, so the staff was trapped in this sedan of sorrow with no way out. Help! I thought. I sweated with the exertion it took to not explain I'd probably choose being crushed by a woman the size of a refrigerator to being crushed by the daily torture of listening to her too. I looked around wildly, wanting to jump out in traffic but had on a nice suit and didn't want to rip it up, so I came up with the idea of counting blue cars and billboards. Then this morning I was rushing to get out to court and talking to the office manager about my files when chick interrupts to show me a picture of her kids. I have one question. How did this seem to be a good idea? Oh, right, I don't ask why anymore. I just try not to shoot people.

Ultimately, I suppose mine is not to reason why, mine is but to do what I can and collect fees. We'll see what I've learned 10 weeks from now. Maybe I'll be able to afford some new suits and hang them in the office in case I have to jump out in traffic and have everyone else staring at me asking "now why did she do that?" Time will tell.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Why straight people should fear gay marriage

There was a Proposition 8 protest here yesterday, which was of course really about right to marry, since it would be really silly to just protest a ballot measure that had already passed last week 3,000 miles away. We don't love parades THAT much. Bad timing, still though - it rained so fucking hard my combat boots are still wet. I blame the Republicans. They probably had a prayer vigil and all the hot air affected the weather patterns. I have to hand it to the Army, though - my socks were amazingly dry. Go Army!

I've decided, though, since it looks like we're slowly but surely getting some rights, to come clean with the rest of you guys. Opponents are terrified of allowing same sex couples to marry, and supporters wonder why the hell the opponents care; how could a couple of people they never met getting hitched possibly affect them? What the hell is the problem? Well, here's the deal. It would be a problem. Yep. Other gay people won't tell you this but Legal Bandit is going to spit the truth here. I'll even describe how.

First, if gay people can marry, all straight marriages will suddenly become null and void. Yep, your fears are well founded, fearmongering gay haters. And the list goes on. You'll be forced to marry gay people to get back at you for forcing us to marry straight people for so long. Get used to it. Oh, and the sanctity of marriage is over. Churches will spontaneously combust, and God will send down inscribed tablets providing that your $10 marriage license is no longer overseen by the heavenly host. And here's the big one - yes, in fact, people from West Virginia and Kentucky are waiting in the wings, and will rapidly be permitted to marry their sisters and mules. In fact, dogs and mules will marry, gaining inheritance rights to each other's spots in the barn. Let's see, what else? Oh, we will be able to recruit, using billboards and You Tube ads. Your teenager, who would have otherwise been straight, will somehow have his/her hormonal and emotional framework altered and will become homosexual. This will be so widespread that everyone will be marrying within their own gender, of course not procreating, and in two generations, you guessed it - all your family lines will be wiped out and America will be entirely populated by Mexicans and Al-Qaeda. In the meantime, the country will be exceptionally well decorated, enjoy lots of snazzy dance clubs, and build a lot of pickup trucks plastered with bumperstickers and heard playing indie folk songs about relationships.

So, the truth is out there. No one else had the guts to tell you, but you can always count on me. Get to it, h8ers, your marriages and country is at stake.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Suffer me the little spouses

I think I should address Proposition 8, also known as "Really? In 2008?", so here goes. I don't know why so many people are opposed to allowing us gay people suffer in marriage. We should have the same right as straight people to have our estranged spouses deliver the home and vehicle, per court order, by ramming the goddamn pickup into the side of our single wide trailer yelling 'here ya go' in a drunken slur then stumbling off. We should have wedding rings to lose in sleazy hotels with hookers just like straight folks, and be cornered at family reunions by aunt-in-laws who want to share the details of their operations, and drive to some godforsaken shithole in bumfuck for Thanksgiving because dammit, "we went to your family's godforsaken shithole last year, Charlie" and all the other stuff that comes with marriage.

Ultimately, I think this is what we get for a serious lack of literacy. The argument most Americans have against gay marriage is religiously based, which it wouldn't be if people could fucking read. Heads up, folks: the dude who stars in your religion didn't have anything to say about us. Yeah. That shit you keep quoting was some tax collector I highly suspect was butt fucked by a Greek when he was 10 and never got over it. The Leviticus argument doesn't wash either, unless you want to stop eating bacon and cheeseburgers, raise sheeps to kill on altars and stone adultresses to death. Here's the deal - if you're going to beat the shit out of a bunch of people with some 2000 year old Arabic social rules, have some integrity about it. Read up and get to herding some oxens for sacrifices. Just leave me the fuck alone; I'm not interested in wandering around in the desert with you. I've got a new Xbox and that's way more fun.

So anyway, really, what is the problem? Let us risk our retirement accounts, get cleaned out by shady divorce lawyers, raise brats who hate us, insist the ugly new dress looks great, and find out the life insurance policy was cashed out last year and spent on some slut like the rest of you. Pain shared is pain lessened. Share yours with us.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Solid as Barack

*Sniff*. I admit it. I cried for joy when the election results were announced; I was, and am, so proud of us - by us, I mean 1/4 of the country, since only half of us got off the couch and voted, and only half of them didn't vote for Yosemite Sam. However, 25% of us elected the most inspirational person of my lifetime and I couldn't be happier.

I wonder, though, if our expectations might be too high. It's easy to do, when Obama gives you the impression he could part the clouds and that angels follow him about, singing hymns of unity. It's easy, with a guy like that, to expect more than is reasonable from him; therefore, I thought I'd check in with my readers and see if my expectations are, perhaps, a tad unrealistic. OK, here they are, let me know.

1. World peace

2.Mega millionares will only accept a living wage, then donate the rest of their salaries to Santa. Or breast cancer research or, you know, something.

3. Barack will light the rainy days with his smile, except over fields and flowers, which will grow and bloom under gentle storms as if touched by God.

4. Hip hop artists will stop rappin'about slappin' hos. They will start a new trend: mad lyrics about health care reform and why one's underwear should be a mystery. The belt industry will boom.

5. Barack will visit Arizona, ask it to cool down, and a sweet breeze will begin to blow. He will smile at Maine and the snow will melt, creating a fresh water source for the east coast.

6. Citizens of the world will gather, hold hands and, in unison and perfect harmony, sing "Kumbaya."

7. Kittens and puppies for everyone.

8. Everyone will be doing so well they'll stop using drugs and stealin shit, which will put me out of work, but I won't even be mad about it.

9. Detroit will develop cars that run on sunshine and buttercups.

10. The Shiites and Sunnis will hold a joint bake sale to rebuild the country, forgive the invasion and send our troops home with cookies.

So, these are my expectations; feel free to share your own.

Hopefully yours,

The Legal Bandit

Monday, November 3, 2008

A call to arms

Hamlet (or some idiot) asked if it was better to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune or take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing, end them. What kind of retarded question is that? Is standing around having shit thrown and shot at you really an option? "Oh, no, no fighting back for me. I'll just take an arrow in the eye, thanks."

Yet, this is the question at hand when people decide whether or not to vote. Look here, people. How do you think the system got so fucked up? Dumb ass fuckers standing around taking an arrow in the eye. Worse yet, the dumber fuckers who vote on the basis of who they'd rather have over for a beer. How has that worked out for you in the past 8 years? Sure, Gore was boring. So what? How many parties has the president ever invited you to? Do you expect the leader of the country to start showing up at your family get togethers? "Oh, hi, Billy Bob? Yeah, this is Al. I'll be coming by for your pig-pickin' this Saturday down by Mosquito Lake." It just doesn't happen. When it does, I'll excuse electing a drunken frat boy who treats the economy like an experiment with his allowance.

Therefore, here is the Bandit's challenge to you: Get out and vote and decide who you vote for on some semi-rational basis - which, by the way, means forgetting absolutely anything you may have heard on Fox News. If you sit home tomorrow, may you get an arrow in the eye. You deserve it.