Light Reading

I received the list of books and materials for classes this fall, eager to see what materials would be the bane of my existence for the next few months and what type of ridiculous price tags they carry. Turns out, this semester should be pretty light. I'm currently signed up for 6 classes, though I know one I won't be taking, just haven't dropped it yet. Still, for those six classes, only two list any books. Maybe they will at some point, maybe they've just got Xeroxes they haven't listed, whatever. But I'm told that Cliff's Wacky African Jungle Safari class won't have an assigned book, he'll just pass out a chapter of his own book each week. I havent' checked out his book yet, but I'm sure it's got some great tips on proper dagger use and storage, as well as the etiquette of gutting and barbequeing one's opponent in court. God I love that man.

Nobody Said We Were Remotely Competent

Time once again to bust out the Utterly Incompetent Worthless Piece of Shit Excuse For a Human Being machete. I took my laptop in to Best Buy to get the disc drive fixed on August 11, so roughly twenty days ago. The computer didn't even acknowledge the drive existed, so I had to get a new one put in. Thankfully I have a three year service agreement at Best Buy, so every time I take my computer in (about once a month, during the occasional months where it doesn't spend the entire period already being "fixed") it's paid for. So no worries, right? They send it to the manufacturer ("assweasel"), it should be back in 2-4 weeks, and they'll call me when it's finished. I hadn't heard anything, so I called yesterday. Indeed, it's finished. Thanks for the update, guys. But whatever, I'm rolling to the east side to pick it up. It's there, with a shiny new disc drive in place. I get it, I take it home.

Lo and behold, said shiny new disc drive isn't exactly "attached" to anything, and doesn't so much "function" as "fucking piss me off." I call Best Buy, ask the guy if he can do something (right), and whether it can be taken care of in the store. He says sure, probably. (Read: Hell no, you naive little bastard) I take it in, the guy says assweasel installed it, then apparently forgot to check to see if it was working. The solution? Send it back to assweasel, and this time explicitly request that he quote "Does his fucking job." Actually, the service order didn't say that. But the guy who wrote it up did point out that he didn't include any four-letter words, though in my position he would have liked to. And there is a rush order on it, so maybe (right) I can get it back within a week, before school starts and I have to get out my paleozoic stone tablets for taking notes.

And it better, because there's only so long I can keep the machetes at bay.

Get Down Wit' Yo Bad Self

The last of the Harry Potter series has officially been completed. My favorite character by far: Voldemort. I think he gets a bad rap, overall. I mean sure, he kills people. Who doesn't? I mean, I'm sure Hagrid's killed a few hookers in a drunken rage before. Sure he likes amassing dark power. But that just shows he has ambition, unlike certain other worthless layabouts (I'm looking at you, Mrs. Sprout). Sure he makes cheating death and achieving immortality his life's goal. It's like I always said - death is for old people, AIDS patients, and those with insufficient quantities of bullets. Sure he's so paranoid about dying he splits his soul into several pieces. But who among us hasn't considered giving up a little piece of our immortal soul for our personal desires, like phat gold chains and iced-out grills? I mean, okay, he's got a bit of a Michael Jackson nose. But to my knowledge, he just kills kids, he doesn't fondle them.

Let's put it all on the table, and let the haters take notes. The guy's got a massive pet snake who kills on command. Snakes, dude. Hsssss. He's got a group of minions who walk around in pimptastic black cloaks and pointy hats to do all of his bidding. He's got a giant image of a skull and snake in the sky cast up in the sky for whenever he's ridin' dirty. It's like the bat signal, only...not. And just the mention of his name sends people running back to the underwear drawer for a clean pair. Don't knock it, that's hot.

So go on, Lord Voldemort, brush ya shoulders off. And to the rest of y'all, don't hate, and don't judge. To paraphrase another piece of classic literature, "Let he who is without sin and doesn't kill innocent people by the thousands cast the first stone."

Ssssspectacular

It's been awhile, and I apologize for the delay. But I waited until I found one truly worthy, and here it is. Movie review the fifth:

Snakes on a Plane

There comes a decisive moment in every movie, one where either you feel like the show has failed to meet your expectations, or you realize you’re going to leave the theater satisfied. Thankfully, the latter was true of Snakes on a Plane, and the moment of satisfaction came when, after the plane was deluged by hundreds of squirmy, slithery, vicious snakes, one absolutely giant motherfucker (read: Boss Snake) gets on the scene, slowly coils the full length of its body around some hapless dude in his seat, then proceeds to wrap its mouth around the guy’s head, and swallow it whole. (And I apologize for those of you who haven’t seen it and didn’t want to be spoiled, but it’s your own damn fault for missing the opening.) As if I hadn’t already gotten the memo, this moment officially declared Snakes on a Plane to be one badass movie.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t just a “so bad it’s good” type of show. Sure, there were plenty of elements of that. One can never fully escape the straight-up re-fucking-diculous premise of the movie entirely. Plus, some of the snake attacks are more aimed at being funny than frightening, which lends to the cheese effect. But overall, the movie lacked the requisite god-awful dialogue to be a “so bad it’s good” picture. It mostly came across as being unabashedly impossible, but endlessly entertaining.

For example, there were a lot of genuinely funny moments. They even took one joke straight from the MZRM firm (“You people?”), and you’ve got to give props for that. It also had some nicely quirky yet believable characters. Plus, some of the snake attacks were frickin’ wicked. There’s always that feeling one could jump out at any moment, and sometimes they did. One of those moments had me practically on an ejector seat, I jumped so damn high. And then there were the side-effects of the snake attacks. I hadn’t even considered that issue beforehand. Some were pretty gruesome, others just cool. Especially when intentionally awful characters suffer hilariously horrific deaths at the hands of dozens of snakes.

There were only a couple things that disappointed me. I love Sam Jackson, and there were plenty of good Sam Jackson moments here. But I would have liked a few more. Particularly that he should have gotten to fight the Boss Snake. I mean, come on - - who wouldn’t want to see Samuel L vs. a 20 foot python in a climactic battle? That’s worth the price of admission alone.

There’s always the nagging question of “What the fuck?” that plagues any attempts at logic, of course. But you’ve gotta let that slide now and then. Bottom line – I hyped this movie all summer, and it pretty much delivered the goods, which is a tremendous feat. So don’t hate.

Seriously, dude. Snakes. Hsssss.

My score: A-
Recommendation: Fuck yeah.

Best of Both Worlds

So this week I've come to the unmistakable conclusion that greatness is upon us. First, as an avid cookie connoisseur, I was absolutely blown away by something I'd never tried before Monday night - - Cool Mint Creme Double Stuf Oreos.

Essentially, you take the perfect chocolate cookie flavor and the cream contrast, then splash it with a cool mint, and dunk it in milk. Then try not to die/blow your load from sheer awesomeness overload.

Witness as the indomitable mint creme oreos surround and overwhelm an inferior regular double stuf Oreo.

(One cavaet -- these are not to be used in constructing the mythical Ochos. The subspecies Ochi are an entity unto themselves, and shall not be subject to any dangerous genetic engineering.)

Then after discovering this veritable cornucopia of mint-chocolate fantasticality, Kristin and I bore witness to more impending greatness: the greatest (read: badassest) actor of our generation, Mr. Samuel L. "Yes they deserved to die, and I hope they burn in hell!" Jackson, who gave an interview to Jon Stewart on the Daily Show last night. The subject, of course, was:

Snakes on a Plane!!

They showed a short clip, which, while eating the aforementioned heavenly mint oreo concoction, just about caused us to lose our collective shit. It was basically Sam Jackson standing in the aisle of a plane, surrounded by a few frightenend passengers. With his usual cool-yet-pissed-off-and-dangerous grimace, Sam declares himself to be sick of the snakes on this plane. However, in true Sam fashion, he incorporates the word "motherfucking" roughly twelve additional times in what is normally an eight word sentence.

Opening night of the best terrible movie ever made is this Friday, August 18. If you are anywhere else that night, you do not deserve to live.

All of which only confirms my suspicions: best summer EVER.

Bad Muthafucka

how jedi are you? :: by lawrie malen

There's Nothing Wrong With Me

That's what my nurse just told me - there is nothing medically wrong with me. I had a CT scan last week, it came back negative. I also had some blood work, all negative. I had a scope of my stomach about three weeks ago, nothing there. Test after test for seven years, nothing to report. This is all well and good, but I received this news at 3:30 pm, at which time I was (and still am) suffering from an intense burning feeling in my abdomen, roughly 2 1/2 hours after I finished my lunch. So imagine the comfort I take from being told there is nothing wrong with me, medically speaking.

Fuck you, tapeworm.

Just a Question

Why in the hell don't we have commercially viable cars powered entirely by electricity yet? I'm serious; this isn't a rant about gas prices or reliance on fossil fuels - - I just want to know the logistics behind this. We power damn near everything in the world by electricity; we've spent the past century and beyond advancing and perfecting this technology. We've also spent the past century designing and advancing our automobiles. Is there honestly no way to make this happen?

Lawyers Aren't People

Learning about the law tends to endow one with a massive superiority complex. Of course, most of us are riding an arrogant streak going into law school, which it generally reinforces. We don't necessarily feel superior when we look to our law peers, but when dealing with those untrained in the law, its really hard not to feel like Zeus with a thunderbolt. Your uncle asks "When your pants fall down in public, can you sue the pants company for causing you emotional distress?" You look at him and say "No, you schmuck." Then glare at him like an insolent child until he whimpers away.

Now, most of us probably don't actually say those things (I'm looking at everyone but you, Mad Dog), but even feeling the urge to say them kinda makes us bad people. Same thing with dealing with a client (or defendants, in my case) who feel the need to give you their entire frickin' life story when asked to spell their last name. We deal with legal matters; we listen for a few certain things of legal significance, and every extraneous word out of their mouth is doused with gasoline and dropped in the burn pile. So it takes a great deal of patience to learn how to deal with people. I hesitate to say "common" people or "lay" people; I'd call them "real" people, because what the hell have we done? We haven't been anywhere, we haven't done anything. We've read some books, we've listened to some crackpots, and now we are the collective shit. I try to remember these things if at all possible.

Then I get handed a pro se appellate brief, and I'm asked to begin crafting a response. Every bit of humility I try grasping to goes right out the window, and the thunderbolts start flying. Seriously, it took me an hour to read this thing - probably 40 pages long - because I had to pause for outbursts of laughter, as well as jotting down the particularly ingenious (read: bafflingly nonsensical) arguments. Quite a few of the words used are so advanced, they don't even exist yet. You tell me, what is "vertitude?" Also, what does it mean to "perservorate?" Apparently it's pretty compelling, because after using it once, the guy comes back to it, and describes one of the judge's actions with the adverb "perservoratively." I thought maybe this was a fictional outgrowth of "perservere" for a moment, but no, contextually that really wouldn't work.

Then there's the legalese. Holy mother of god, this had me rolling on the floor. Think of the worst attempts by a lay person of using inflated legalese you've ever heard, and then picture a 40 page brief containing nothing but this type of crap. He refers to phone calls as "telephonic verbalizations;" he always uses "necessitates" and "utilizes" rather than "needs" or "uses;" he always goes the extra mile and throws in extra syllables, even if the word no longer makes sense in context, and even if it is, in fact, no longer a word. Some other choice phrases -- "...that he had indeed per his own admission intentionally earlier varied his speed..." "Such unprovable misinformation he had initially formfit into his written rendition..." and "Translating such a visual cartographic diagram into a written paradigm will require extrapolation." (I like this one - much more loftier than saying "the picture will require explanation.")

I'd imagine the Court of Appeals has to enjoy wading through all the nonsense while trying to find actual legal argument, because I know I sure did. In fact, this was the guy's second submission. As in, the court rejected his first one, asked him to write a new brief that conforms to the rules of appellate briefs, and this is his revised version. I'm told his first one was even worse. Basically, his argument is an extremely slanted retelling of the facts, where he depicts the police officer as a liar, and the other witness as a liar, and asks the court to dismiss the case. Well, there are any number of things wrong with that, including a) appellate courts don't make factual findings, b) appellate courts don't judge credibility of witnesses, c) the second witness didn't even testify, because the case was so strong they didn't need him, d) the court wouldn't simply dismiss the case. There are any number of technical problems with the brief, not to mention the fact that there are simply zero legal arguments, with zero citations to actual legal authority.

So rather than drafting a response, I drafted a motion to dismiss, or alternatively forcing him to submit a new one that complies with...oh, let's say, ANY of the guidelines. My motion points out all of the problems with his brief, and why we can't legitimately be asked to form a response. I tried to temper the thunderbolts; the motion could really have been much harsher than it turned out. I was really tempted to use Easterbrook's line "Ten weasels are no more persuasive than one," but I left it out. (Well...I left it in a paragraph I didn't use; Eric is the lead attorney on the case, and knowing him, this line might end up in the final version anyway.)

I don't mean to knock pro se appellants. They have the right to have their cases heard just as much as anybody. And sometimes they have legitimate reasons for being unrepresented. But there are reasons we have guidelines that everyone is supposed to follow, including pro se appellants. Attempting to snow the Court of Appeals is a waste of everyone's time. The bottom line is, if you're an idiot, you're still going to sound like an idiot, no matter what length of words you use.

In this type of situation, I'd almost feel okay using the phrase, "Now, I'm not trying to sound superior - - I just am..."

You Should Be Shot in the Face

Certain people in this world deserve our hatred. I'm not talking about the standard "You're a giant tool, I hate you" type of enmity. I'm talking about vulgar, filthy, disgraceful excuses for human life. I'm not saying I'm in a position to judge others, or that any particular person should judge others. But collectively, I think we have a right to point to the genuine scum and call them out for what they are.

For example, I've been working on a child abuse/neglect case lately, with a couple of parents who fit this description. For starters, they name their children like absolute morons - their four names are Ahieden, Taneekja, Jazzmine, and something else equally ridiculous. This may be horribly stereotypical, but I'll still assert its truth -- parents willing to butcher the language to create names which they consider clever or distinctive are generally poor and uneducated, and their children are pretty much condemned to the same life.

But that's horribly unfair, right? Nah, dog. Here's how much they care about their children. They leave rotting food, dishes, alcohol bottles, drugs, a loaded BB gun, cigarette butts, and tattooing needles all over their floor. Police once found maggots in the baby's crib. The children are always dirty; when the cops arrived once, they found the kids covered head to toe in various food substances, and one had tattoo ink all around her mouth, because she had been trying to drink it. And oh yeah -- they NEVER do laundry. NEVER. Once a concerned neighbor decided to do laundry for them, and it took twenty loads to clean all of their clothes, which had not been cleaned a single time after use.

Then we've got all the documented instances of abuse and neglect. 1) The father tieing a string around the little boy's pants, then telling him to run. When the boy runs, the father yanks on the string, causing him to fall over. He does this repeatedly. 2) The father pours alcohol into a sippy cup, then tells the boy to drink it, because its juice. The boy doesn't want it; the father makes him drink it. The boy spits it out and starts crying. 3) The father repeatedly opens up this cookie jar shaped like a lion, which roars. Each time it frightens the boy. The father follows him around the room, continually opening this cookie jar, until the boy bursts into tears, and runs away. The father laughs about this to his friends in the room, then tracks him down and continues to do this. These three I witnessed on a home video tape. There are plenty of other incidents witnessed by others.

Then there's the incident which was before the court presently. The little boy had a seizure and almost died. His sister said that the father stepped on his head to quiet him, then later kicked him in the groin because he was reaching for his diaper. The little boy vomited, then had a seizure. The doctors confirmed it happend from a blunt trauma to the groin.

But here's the kicker - we can't convict this fucker. The only witness is the little girl, who is too young and nervous to be reliable for court, so her testimony won't be admitted. The DA has me going over the "other acts" evidence to show intent, plan, absence of mistake, etc, to use as supplemental evidence. The motion's not going to pass, and it probably shouldn't, because its completely prejudicial. So essentially, there's no hard evidence against this guy, and he's going to walk. He and his wife are going to continue tormenting these children, because that's their prerogative as parents. They can have the children live in filth. They can treat them like animals. And, if need be, they can physically abuse them, as long as no one is watching. Right up until one of the children gets killed, when it will be too late.

So here's to you, scum of the earth. I suggest you get down on your filthy knees and thank whatever god you pray to that vigilante justice is illegal. Because if it wasn't, I'd greet you both at your next court date with a sawed-off shotgun and a smile.

Role Model

So this summer I've been assigned to assist a guy with criminal traffic cases. The guy's name is Eric Sparr; he graduated from UW law school a couple years back, and was an intern like me a couple years earlier. Absolutely great guy. He's good at his job, and he knows how to have fun with it. That's a major reason why my experience here has been so good - the job is just plain fun, especially working with him.

Here's a prime example. Today he showed me a letter he received from a defense attorney regarding a tape recording for events that took place in an intoxilyzer room. The defense attorney, who Eric knew to be a pretty good guy, sent a letter indicating that the sound on the tape had been dubbed at an extremely high speed, so that all the people involved sounded like chipmunks. The attorney stated that he did not speak chipmunk, so he was requesting the DA's office to send another tape with the audio at a correct speed.

Eric showed me this letter, then the letter he sent in response. It stated that his tape had the same problem, and that he had also noticed that the people involved sounded like chipmunks. This confirmed a suspicion of his that the defendants were, in fact, chipmunks. In addition, he (Eric) happens to speak a little chipmunk, and that what the defendant was saying on the tape was "I am guilty. I am guilty. I am guilty."

EDIT: Eric sent the letters to the police department, along with the request for new tapes. Clearly, they got a laugh out of it. The lady that returned the new tapes affixed stickers of Alvin, Simon, and Theodore to the plastic case, and labelled it "Eric and the Chipmunks."

Sometimes You've Just Got To....

Win a motherf*ckin jury trial!

So that's how I spent my yesterday, and it was pretty sweet. It was an OWI first offense, so it was non-criminal. The guy had already lost on the refusal hearing, which actually has a higher penalty than anything he'd face from losing the OWI, but he was wealthy and he hired a top-shelf OWI defense attorney to fight it. Apparently the guy does a lot of business in Illinios, where they don't count our refusals as prior convictions. So this trial didn't mean much in WI, but it was important for the FIBs. So, we decided to win this for the dirty FIBs.

The case itself looked solid, but was kinda sketchy once we really got into it. We didn't have a BAC because of the refusal, and the cop didn't force a blood draw since it was only a civil charge. But the refusal itself was weak, because the guy was blowing into the intoximeter, then had to stop and inhale, then blow some more, which never gave a sufficient sample. So it was hard to tell whether he was really trying or not. The defense attorney had fun arguing that, and the fact that we didn't have a test result, and the fact that the officer didn't force a blood test when he could have.

I got to do the entire thing, from Voir Dire to closings. I also filed a last minute Motion in Limine, which we handled at the beginning. I wanted to argue it, but the judge specifically asked my supervisor a question on it, so he just handled the argument. I had thought the case was strong enough with the evidence we wanted to admit (the act of refusing a PBT), so I wasn't going to file it. But then I had some free time on Friday and thought what the hell. It was a damn good thing too, because that helped establish a pattern which made the other evidence look stronger.

Overall, my performance was pretty solid. My opening was a little stiff compared to the other attorney, who was animated and personable. The direct exam of the officer was good, I had easily 100 questions or so, but the defense attorney called a lot of it into question. The cross of the defendant wasn't that strong, because they explained away a lot of things I wanted to ask. But the closing arguments were great. By this time I was more comfortable, and I gave a pretty kickass closing. The defense guy also gave a good one, and included some story about how field sobriety tests are like carnival games, designed to make people fail. I got to give a rebuttal, and this was all off the cuff by now. So I said that the tests aren't designed to make people fail, they're designed to make drunk people fail - - people who can't follow simple directions or stand up without falling over, people who shouldn't be driving a car. All in all, pretty strong.

The jury went out for 40 minutes (it was a 6 person jury), then came back with the verdict. No one was all that concerned with the verdict, because they already had the refusal, and we don't care much about the FIBs, to be honest. This was more of just a no pressure case, which would be cool to win. But I cared about the verdict, you can bet your sweet ass.

The jury came back, and it was a unanimous guilty verdict. It was all I could do to keep from standing up Josh Lyman style and saying "Victory is mine! I have drunk from the keg of glory! Bring me all the finest muffins and bagels in all the land." But I just smiled politely instead.

Awesome experience, let me tell you. It was in a very relaxed court with a pretty informal judge, the defense attorney was actually a pretty cool guy, and my parents and one of my grandmothers showed up for the first half. I had a hella good time.

One word: Undefeated.

Unpublish This

I hate these goddamned unpublished cases. Seriously, every time I have to research something, I find a case that's perfectly on point and decided exactly the way we want it to be, and its unpublished and worthless for precedential value. Unpublished cases are like having a hot chick suddenly appear before you, naked, holding a massive chocolate cake. Then the proclamation comes down from above: "Both the hottie and the cake are 'look but don't touch,' sucker."

Fucking unpublished cases.

(Points to genitals)

Ridin' Dirty

As duly appointed emissary of the ghetto, from time to time I'm asked to share my knowledge of African American culture (read: hip hop) so that others may partake in the joys of blackitude. Now is one of those times. You may have heard the song "Ridin" by Chamillionaire on the radio recently, and if so you've probably asked yourself "What exactly is ridin' dirty?" Let me enlighten you:

As with any sort of textual interpretation, you need to start with the context. The chorus repeats the phrase "They tryin' to catch me ridin' dirty." This begs the question, who are "they?" My initial suspicions on this were correct - - "they" in this context refers to police officers. I've included an appendix with a link to the lyrics; note the word "patrolling" in the chorus, which almost certainly refers to Five-0. For further evidence, Chamillionaire discusses in his first verse how police are trying to see him "lean" - - I believe "lean" as used presently means leaning to the side and scoping out the scene, contemplating any criminal activity that may arise, and potentially for bitches and/or hos.

Essentially, "ridin dirty" refers to getting one's ride on - - hustling, if you will. The word "dirty" evinces a criminal aspect to said hustling. Indeed, Chamillionaire implies that such conduct by the police officers constitutes racial profiling. Peep these lyrics from verse three:

"So they get behind me tryin to check my tags, look at my rearview and they smilin
Thinkin they'll catch me on the wrong well keep tryin
Cause they denyin is racial profiling"

Chamillionaire is essentially bemoaning the attempts by police to arrest him and his fellow ballers for living in luxury, driving expensive cars, bumping their music at excessively high volumes, rocking fly gold chains/rings/teeth, and getting freaky with aforementioned bitches and/or hos. And while some of Chamillionaire's activities may be intrinsically against the law, he feels needlessly hated on. Ultimately, "Ridin" serves as a scathing social commentary, where the artist rails against the law enforcement of a society that neither understands nor appreciates the work Cha puts in while on the grind.

So there you have it. Now you and your friends can accurately characterize the type of ridin' you're engaging in at any given time. If there are any other questions I can answer, feel free to send them my way. And in the mean time, try not to get caught ridin' dirty.

Appendix A:
"I was looking for context clues, like I learned from Reading Rainbow..."
- The quote, or very nearly the quote, used by Kristin to describe her attempts at discerning the meaning behind "Ridin' dirty."

Appendix B:
"Ridin"(Chamillionaire feat. Krayzie Bone)

Word.

Chicago's Finest

I shared this one with Kristin already, but I thought this was worthy of publication for all to see. We celebrated Penis Day at the DA's office the other day. This involved a discussion between two of the attornies, myself and the other intern, where the attornies shared their best penis-related legal stories. My favorite came from a guy who used to work in Chicago, where they had a couple of cops who were notoriously crazy and fun-loving. On this particular story, there was a sexual assault case where there wasn't any physical evidence to back up the victim, and the DA told the cops he wasn't going to be able to prosecute the case without a confession. The cops told him not to worry, they would handle it. So the cops found the suspect and asked if they could have his "pecker print." When he asked what this was, they said that every phallus has its own unique pattern, just like fingerprints. The guy went along with it, so the cops took him into the station and had him lay his penis on a copy machine. They scanned the penis, and sent him back to another room to wait. Then they took the scanned copy, made a photocopy of the penile image, and then returned to the room. They told the guy that the scanned copy was his pecker print, and the photocopy was the one they got from the victim's vagina, and the two were identical. The man confessed.

The other penis stories weren't as funny, but there were two other stories about these renegade cops. The next story I'd dedicate to Andy. The cops knew that one particular subway was rife with pickpockets. So they set up a guy pretending to sleep, with his watch and other items sticking out. A pickpocket passed by, grabbed the items, and took off running. The sleeper stood up and shouted, then radioed the suspect in. What the suspect didn't know was that the cops had another officer waiting - he was absolutely huge, like a bodybuilder, and very tall. He was waiting behind another wall, where the cops had loosened the hinges on a door. And --- he was dressed as Superman. So the suspect runs toward this wall, and all the sudden the officer kicks down this door, steps out in his superman gear, grabs and lifts the suspect into the air, and lets him dangle there for awhile. The cops arrive quickly, and Supercop then hands the suspect over to the officers. Then, at trial, the suspect says he wasn't caught by the cops, he was caught by Superman. He was later referred for a psych evaluation.

And finally, the cops had been investigating this warehouse where robbers had been storing stolen merchandise for a long time. So one night the cops disable all the lights in the warehouse, and wait for the guys to return. That night the robbers came back with more stuff, and found all the lights out in the warehouse. So they got out their flashlights and crept through the building, until they came upon something unusual - one of the cops had dressed up as Wolfman, in full wolf costume with a mask and hair and fangs. He was crouched on some shelf like 8 feet off the ground, and as soon as they saw him he started snarling, then leaped down at them. Other cops, who were positioned elsewhere to watch, described it as the funniest thing they ever saw - all the sudden the flashlights clatter to the ground and the robbers took off screaming. One ran directly into a large metal pole and knocked himself unconscious.

Of course, they're not allowed to do stuff like that anymore. But still, the fact that someone can take law enforcement and have fun with it - - that's just fantastic, and something to aspire to.

Trivial

I can't pass this one up. I tried to pick my favorite movies and some less obvious quotes. That being said, number 12 and 13 are pretty easy, but classic. And I couldn't include any Lord of the Rings or Revenge of the Sith quotes, because they were far too easy.

The Rules:
A. Pick 11 of your favorite movies.
B. Then pick one of your favorite quotes from each movie.
C. Post the quotes on your blog.
D. Have commenters guess what the movie is.
E. Place the guesser's user ndirectly after the quote.
F. Extra points for knowing the actor and/or character's name.

The Quotes:
1. "I wasn’t aware Nazi Camp got out til 8. What did you do, skip arts and crafts?"
"Yes, I did."
Dodgeball - Peter LaFleur (Vince Vaughn) - identified by Kristin. Although, you should mention the retort was by White Goodman (Ben Stiller). That's what really makes the quote.

2. "Enhance. Enhance. Enhance."
Supertroopers - Ramathorn (Jay Chandrasomething) - identified by Andy

3. "I'm a monster. What I do is evil. I have no illusions about it, but it must be done."
Serenity - the Operative (Chiwetel Ejiofor) - identified by Andy

4. "It's like wiping your arse with silk. I love it."
Matrix: Reloaded - the Merovingian (Lambert Wilson) - identified by Tortceaser

5. "A vigilante is just a man lost in the scramble for his own gratification. He can be destroyed, or locked up; but if you make yourself more than just a man, if you devote yourself to an ideal, and if they can't stop you, you become something else entirely."
Batman Begins - Ducard (Liam Neeson) - identified by Tortceaser

6. "They're your clothes, motherfucker."
Pulp Fiction - Jules (Samuel L Jackson) - identified by Tortceaser

7. "So here I am - standing in your doorway. I have always been standing in your doorway. Isn't it about time somebody saved your life?"
Spiderman 2 - Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst) - identified by Kristin

8. "I’m going to my room, where it’s not so…(looking at stepdad)…I don’t know…stupid."
Big Trouble - Jenny Herk (Zooey Deschanel) - identified by X-Tina

9. "Yeah, well I'm taller."
Speed - Jack Traven (Keanu Reeves) identified by Johnny Utah
- FYI - this is also my preferred line of choice after decapitating my enemies

10. "You are a god among insects. Never let anyone tell you different."
X-Men 2 - Magneto (Ian McKellen) - identified by Andy, though much later than I would have figured

11. "Technically, it's a ferret."
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Alastor Moody [actually Barty Crouch Jr] (Brendan Gleeson) - identified by Kristin

Bonus, just for fun:

12. "No way. Why should I change? He's the one who sucks."
Office Space - Michael Bolton (David Herman) - identified by Andy

13. "Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker!"
Die Hard - John McClane (Bruce Willis) - identified by Tortceaser

Your Move, Funkmaster

Big news from the business and technology department. My two year contract for my phone expired recently, and as my first paycheck for the summer was about to arrive, I decided to procure a new phone. I didn't know what to get; all I'm really interested among the newfangledness of phones today is the ringtones. I gotsta be rockin' me some fly-ass ringtones, mmm hmm. And I know the RAZR is good for ringtones. But at my store, it was by far the most expensive, despite a $100 mail-in rebate. Since I didn't have the requisite coin in hand yet, I figured I'd just go for something basic and affordable. So I got the updated model of what I already had, and it was decent. (Especially because the thing actually charged when I plugged it in, unlike some other piece of $&%# phones that shall remain nameless, specifically my last phone) The ringtones were still an issue - I knew with a RAZR you could use a data cable or bluetooth to download real songs from your computer/Ipod; with this phone I would have to buy them, and I would be limited to the selection they had, which I discovered was piss poor. So, blah blah blah, I had a new phone.

But then hope arrived in the form of a $350 check which I hadn't been expecting for a month yet. Long story short, I said fuck everything, and exchanged my phone for the RAZR. This makes me the third member of MZRM to rock the RAZR, which I'd say makes it the official phone of the firm that takes badassery to a whole new level, and then thrashes its ass with an electric spike whip. This leaves you, Utah. Not that I bought it because thats what all the cool people are doing. I bought it because it was the only one that really stood out from the other new phones, except for one that had a weird sliding feature. The problem was the keys were still exposed; not a big deal, but I don't want to mess around with keyguard. Having to lock and unlock the keys every time I need to make a call takes away precious seconds, and every second counts when you absolutely need to call everyone to tell them about Utah's latest showdown/robbing by/robbing of/fistfight with a homeless person and/or racoon, or you covertly dial Madd0g's phone just to hear your own ringtone going off.

I've gotta say, this purchase feels pretty good. I don't usually go all out with accessories and top of the line personal items, but I put some thought into it -- I only get a phone every two years. It should be a major step up each time, right? Why get something that's just marginally better than the last one? And then there's the simple fact that I was too good for the first new phone. Hence, RAZR, which is very possibly too good for me.

Now, to hook up some tones. The question becomes this: which of you wants their personal ringer to be "Pimp Juice" by Nelly?

For What it Is

"Were we even watching the same movie?"

This is a line often heard when people's opinions about movies differ drastically. Same movie, two completely different reactions.

For those of you who've read Andy's post about Superman, I too attended the advanced screening of Superman Returns last week. As his post indicates, Andy felt it was possibly one of the greatest movies ever made. While I really enjoyed the movie overall, I walked away feeling a little disappointed. I couldn't put my finger on any one thing; the action scenes were phenomenal, especially the flying; the actors were pretty good, especially Kevin Spacey as Lex Luthor; the themes of regret and resposibility came across beautifully; and the story...well, other than the actual dastardly plot itself (he was growing a flippin' continent!), the story was also passable. (Ok, side rant, the continent thing? Lex had these super crystals; story-wise, the writers could have come up with any number of awesome possibilities for what he could do with those crystals. But growing a continent?? Um....rrrright.) Alright, rant over. I'm generally willing to overlook a silly plot for an entertaining story, so that didn't detract too much.

But somehow I just didn't see it as a spectacular cinematic achievement like Andy. I even had to stifle a little laughter when he said it was a near-religious experience for him. Apparently I was missing something.

And I was, most definitely. Not something about the movie itself. I was missing his perspective. As all who know and love Mr. Martinez can attest to, he is a diehard Man of Steel fanatic. So when a long-delayed, long-awaited, nine-figure blockbuster movie production comes out to bring the beloved characters back to life, one might imagine he could have some difficulty viewing it objectively. Anything that does even a passable job would be amazing to him, right?

That was pretty much the way I saw it, until I re-watched the movie Serenity the other night. Most of you have seen it, but I'll summarize the details briefly. Serenity is the movie follow up to the aborted television show Firefly, created by Joss Whedon. I have been a major fan of Joss for many years now, having absolutely loved his previous shows, Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He has a unique brand of action, adventure, compelling characters, and laugh-out-loud humor that always captures my imagination. Despite this, I didn't watch Firefly when it was on the air. I caught the series on dvd when I heard they were making a movie - I wanted to see what the fuss was about. So I watched all 14 episodes. Then I watched them again. And again. By the time the movie came out, I had seen them all probably 5 times. This isn't unusual - I own or rent many series on dvd and watch them repeatedly - but this show was particularly good, especially for the incredible potential it had. I loved the characters. I loved the setting. I loved the conflicts and the themes. I simply loved it.

So the movie came out, and I went with all my friends (re: you). I was positively blown away. They were able to perfectly recreate a story I loved on the big screen, and advanced it in exciting, meaningful, and at times heart-wrenching ways. I think everyone that went enjoyed it, but having seen the series and connected with the story and characters beforehand, I enjoyed it on a much higher level than anyone who went in cold. And now, if I tell people that Serenity was one of the top three movies of all time, I'm sure to get funny looks, even from people who enjoyed it. It was relatively low-budget ($40 mil), had no big-named stars, and it borrowed a lot from Star Wars and other of its predecessors. (The Mal/Han Solo comparison is obvious.) But for me, that was a nearly flawless cinematic experience.

So now I have a greater appreciation of Superman Returns, at least for what it means to Andy. There are certain stories that speak to each of us on an entirely different level than to everyone else; others can see something for what it is, but no one can see something for what it is to me.

Were we even watching the same movie?

No. No, we really were not.

Sign Me Up

Today in my mailbox at work I received a pamphlet entitled "What you need to know about your reporting requirements as a Registered Sex Offender in Wisconsin." Now, I don't know how they found me, but I'm glad they did. This sounds like a pretty sweet deal. I have to fill out a little information and send it in to the Wisconsin Sex Offender Registry, then I'm all set. I'll get the periodic emails, the newsletter ("The Weekly Rapist"), a club t-shirt with the phrase "Sexually Offensive" in big pink letters over a black background, and an invitation to the monthly meeting, where I imagine we'll trade war stories and tips.

Anyone else down?

Quotable

"God, there's so much things I hate! I can't even grammar correctly."
- Andrew Ismael Martinez

EDIT: This quote has been changed to reflect the statement more accurately, as per author's request.

EDIT: This quote has been changed again, and is now actually correct. But I don't appreciate the author's tone in attempting to correct me, so I will publish another of his quotes:

"NSYNC was a band I could get behind, if you know what I mean."

I Know Kung Fu

You scored as Neo, the "One". Neo is the computer hacker-turned-Messiah of the Matrix. He leads a small group of human rebels against the technology that controls them. Neo doubts his ability to lead but doesn't want to disappoint his friends. His goal is for a world where all men know the Truth and are free from the bonds of the Matrix. Neo, the "One" 88% William Wallace 75% James Bond, Agent 007 71% Maximus 67% El Zorro 67% The Terminator 63% Indiana Jones 58% Batman, the Dark Knight 58% The Amazing Spider-Man 50% Lara Croft 42% Captain Jack Sparrow 29% Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

The Unfailing Stupidity of the Criminal Mind

Working in the prosecutor's office, I come into contact with a vast amount of criminal cases. And, as you can imagine, criminals aren't generally the most intellectually proficient class of citizens out there. And with the amount of criminal behavior I end up reading about, my job can be pretty entertaining at times. After making a charging decision, I occasionally end up meeting these people in court for their hearings and speaking with them about the State's offer. So it's like "Sir, if you'd like to plead to this charge, we'll dismiss the lower count, recommend 20 days in jail, a $350 fine, and present you with a Darwin award for your astonishingly moronic exploits. Thanks for playing, I'm sure I'll see you again next week."

A few examples of the mastermind element:

A cop pulls a woman over for drunk driving. As he's going back to his squad car to get the breathalyzer, the woman's friend drives by, also plastered, and sees her friend stopped by the cop. So, in a brazen display of mental deficiency, she pulls her vehicle over, gets out and runs toward the officer. She then begins to harass the officer, asking him why in the hell he pulled over her friend. Naturally, the officer arrests the second woman for drunk driving and obstructing a police officer.

The police found a man alleged to be having sex with an underaged woman. The police stop him, ask him his name, and he tells them "Michael Jordan." Now, of all the false identification choices you can give, why go with an internationally known superstar athlete? The police report was great because it read something like "After looking the suspect over, the officer suspected that this man was, in fact, not Michael Jordan." And at court, it was all I could do to restrain myself from going over to the defense table and asking him for his autograph.

An officer pulls over a car full of three young guys. They are all drunk, and they have marijuana in the vehicle. The cop walks up and approaches the driver, who rolls down his window. At this time, the other two passengers attempt to duck down to escape the officer's view. I can just imagine how this plays out: the officer is standing at the window, shining his flashlight at the two idiots who are ducking down out of view, and he says "Uh...excuse me....you fellas do know I can see you, right?"

This one is less funny, but equally bizarre to me. A couple has been married for twenty years. One day they arrive home from a dinner, and the husband is going to head upstairs. He says he's going upstairs, and his wife responds with something like "Copy?" At this point, the husband becomes enraged, and rushes back down. A knock-down, drag-out, marriage-ending fight ensues. So I get to dictate the domestic disorderly conduct complaint. "Officers responded to a domestic disturbance between a husband and wife, where a boisterous and violent disagreement broke out after the wife uttered the unforgiveable curse of "Copy?" Now, I'm told this isn't uncommon with domestics, and plenty more must have been simmering under the surface. Thankfully I only got to see the straw that blew the entire marriage all to hell.

And, lastly, there was a case in Racine where a woman had a restraining order against her ex-boyfriend. The guy then attempted to violate the order by seeing her again, and tried to break into her house. So he smashed his arm through her window and tried to climb in. However, he cut his arm badly on the broken glass, so he decided not to continue climbing through. At that point he attempted to flee. But his arm was cut so badly that he bled to death on the way home. That just goes to show you - violating a restraining order might just get your stupid ass killed.

I'll keep you updated as the contenders roll in.

The High Life

Today marked the end of another extravagent weekend. I spent the weekend between Madison and Devil's Lake with the lovely Ms. Purple Hays.


In the clouds.

We decided to go camping, so we gathered our sleeping bags, flashlights, bayonets, s'more ingredients, bear repellent, firewood, PBR, and tactical nuclear weapons, and piled them into the vehicle before trekking into the wilderness (re: there were multiple trees in the vicinity). The amount of supplies we took along for the one night stay was rather obscene, but not nearly as obscene as your mom's face.

Due to the massive FIB influx, all the campsites within the Devil's Lake campgrounds were booked, so we were relegated to staying all the way on the other side of the street, in a fairly decent campground called Nordic Pines. After setting up the tent, we went back into the park. The weather was a stifling 18000 degrees as we began our hike up the western bluff of Mt. Doom, but the views were spectacular as always.


Breathtaking scenery.


The lake was cool too.

On the way back down, the humidity lightened and we had a pretty decent breeze. We made our way around to the south shore to rendezvous with a chili dog and another friend who was at the park that day as well. After a brief cool down in the lake, where Kristin and I utterly failed to dazzle anyone with our lack of frisbee abilities, we chilled on the shore and took in some sun.

Then it was back up the eastern bluff. More picturesque sights, and a fair amount of rocks:


Rocks.

Also, the water was doing some sort of wicked ripple effect, as depicted here:



We decided to skip the Devil's Doorway and other surrounding attractions for the day, as we would do more hiking the next day. So we headed down across the bluff, and on that historic voyage, Cake Day was formed. Feeling good about the hiking experience and the prospect of grilled brats and cake on the horizon, we headed back.

One brief stop to WalMart later, and bad-ass chocolate truffle cake was secured:


Bad-ass!

Then back to the camp site. No sooner had the brats hit the grill than the heavens opened and began to rain on our goddamn parade. But we persevered, eating the brats inside the tent, and followed them up with the first of what would promise to be several helpings of phenomenal cake. The rain let up after awhile, and we (re: Kristin) built a fire. Through sheer pyromaniacal genius, she was able to build us an impressive display of fire, and thus began the roasting of marshmallows. The scent of 'mallow in the air inevitably attracted a stampeding horde of bison:


Interlopers.

We then fought the bison to a Mexican standoff (re: we kicked their furry little mallow-stealin' asses) with only our bare hands, and some sizeable branches we retrieved after Kristin punched through a tree. The bison scurried off, and we toasted our success with s'mores, and/or cake.

But the celebration was short lived, as the rain rolled back in. We grabbed all the essentials and retreated (in a guns blazing, very non-French fashion) back into our tent. It poured pretty steadily for the next few hours, and soaked through while we were trying to sleep, so that we were still getting a little damp.

Fortunately, by the time we awoke, it was STILL RAINING, so we stayed in the tent to wait it out. When it appeared the storm had more patience than either of us, we once again gathered our respective important shit and hopped in the vehicle to head home. We didn't get to do round two of the hiking, which was disappointing. But we did plenty the first day, and rumors have already surfaced as to continuing the Devil's Lake excursion for my birthday in October, a storied tradition established back in 2005.

Sunday was still pretty awesome. A little Firefly, a little cake, lunch with friends at a needlessly busy restaurant, a return visit from the esteemed Mr. McNamara. Then KH and I fired up the grill once more, this time in prime sniping position from the roof of her apartment, a previously unknown and seriously kickass location overlooking Lake Monona. More brats, more cake, more fantastic company. Then more friends, watching poker, messing with the good folks at Milios, a trip to Cold Stone, a trip back where certain people began to shout loudly and publicly a description of fellatio at the naive urging of the rest of us. Then, long goodbyes, and a longer drive back to O-town, where the real world awaits.

Summer, summer, summertime.....

Cake Day

Birthdays, Christmas, Halloween, Easter, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day - - all enjoyable holidays, but all come only once a year. But this weekend marked the dawning of a new holiday, one which can come at any time of year. That's right - - Cake Day. A holiday for those of us who believe the food pyramid should go eat itself, and are not afraid to tell it so by consuming massive quantities of delicious chocolate cake. All it takes is a simple declaration (a non-binding resolution, if you will) that screw everything, it's time to eat yourself some good-ass cake. Then, you and your friends/loved ones/complete strangers need only head to your local cake dealership, purchase the most ridiculously unhealthy cake you can find, and commence gluttony.

Those are the only rules. As such, Cake Day is quite flexible. It can be held concurrent with any other holiday, thereby enhancing said holiday. It can stand on its own, bringing much needed cheer to an otherwise cakeless existence. The cake does not need to be eaten in one sitting; on the contrary, spreading the consumption over time only increases the enjoyment. Thus Cake Day can easily turn into Cake Weekend, or (theoretically) Cake Week. Anything beyond that might be problemmatic, because once you reach the inevitable 500 lb mark, it will become difficult to roll yourself into an upright position and then proceed to the store for more cake. Therefore, like all good things, Cake Day should be applied in moderation, lest the desire to consume cake destroy the ability to consume more cake.

Despite the potential pitfalls, I would strongly urge you all to consider marking Cake Day on your calendars. ANYWHERE AND EVERYWHERE YOU WANT.

It's Cake Day, bitches!

Falling Apart

So I've been on a massive streak of awesomeness lately, simply put. I can't remember the last time I was this happy with my life. And yet, my health appears to be deteriorating in direct proportion to my increased happiness. Starting with the tapeworm, who has made a major reemergence during the past two months, after nearly two years of relative inactivity. At this point, that bastard is pretty much flamethrowing after every meal. The suggested solution is to eat smaller meals more often, but if the meals I eat become any smaller, there won't be any actual food being consumed. On the plus side, I could fulfill one of my major life's goals -- becoming Skeletor. On the down side, everything else. So I've got that going for me.

Then I've got some new battle wounds, mostly from playing soccer. Strictly speaking, I don't have any air quote "skill" at soccer - - I was more of a badass defender that outran people for the ball, and hit anyone I couldn't outrun. This more than made up for my lack of technical skill, as I was team captain for two years and actually made all conference one year. But now that I've started another outdoor rec league for the summer, my smashmouth style of play has backfired a bit. In my first game, I got knocked around a lot, mostly by other people getting frustrated and going after me. At any other time, this would have been fine, because I like that type of game. But this time I wasn't wearing my titanium exoskeleton for protection, and I'm pretty sure I bruised a rib pretty badly, because I've been in serious chest pain for the past 10 days. It makes it painful to sneeze or blow my nose. It even cut into my golf game, which is absolutely unacceptable.

I had another soccer game two nights ago, and thought perhaps I should try to avoid taking any hits this time. So that's what I did. But both of my quads were on the verge of cramping up the entire game, from the very first line I ran. So I sat out half of the first half just stretching, and came back in the second half, but had the same problems. They never actually locked up, thankfully, but the threat was always there. And in the past couple days, one of the muscles is still really tight and painful.

In one word, I can officially be described as "decrepit." I'm putting serious thought into getting a cane, to go along with my unintentional pimp strut. What's really embarassing is that putting on my right sock has turned into a death match lately, between my cramped up leg muscle and my bruised rib that won't allow me to lean down.

I hate to say it, but pretty soon they're gonna have to ship me off to the old ninja's home.

Big Guns

As a master of all devastatingly effective yet fictional trial tactics, I have a new one to share with you. It is a new objection, one that should be used sparingly for maximum effect, and one which should be used only when the context is completely nonsensical. Witness as follows:

---
Atty: So Mr. X, you don't actually have any first hand knowledge about this incident, do you?

Vice: Objection -- your mom's face doesn't have any first hand knowledge!
---

Now, if used at the appropriate (re: entirely inappropriate) places, this little gem will swing the court to your side with all deliberate speed. Because after all, there's nothing a judge or jury respects more than someone with enough cajones to call out your adversary's mom's face.

Thus Spake the Deville

Apparently hardcore devil-worshippers just aren't what they used to be. On a local news story last night, they had footage of some satanists who had vandalized someone's property, including painting the side of their shed with demonic phrases.

The one that caught my attention: "Hail Satin!"

Now, forgive me, but if I choose to worship something thusly, I would generally like to find out how to spell it, to avoid embarassing myself and my fellow Satinists.

When reached for comment as to why Satin is king, one of the diehard followers proclaimed "He feels so silky smooth against my skin."

All Up In It

Just finished the second day working for the state. So what do I do all day? Honestly, I sit around the court room all day and look fly.

So far I haven't actually said anything, mostly just intimidated people with my presence. Tomorrow I might get to conduct the bond hearings though. You know how that's going down:

Judge: "Mr Vice, what does the State recommend?" V: "Your honor, the State recommends Mr. Ramirez should go fuck himself." Or "Your honor, the State's not greedy. All I'm looking for is a cash bond, $200 G's, and when 48 hours is up, bitch betta have my money."

My primary focus for the summer will be criminal traffic cases. Doesn't sound like much, I know - - mostly OWI's and operation after revocation. But with the high volume caseload, I'm pretty much guaranteed to get a couple jury trials. Next week I might have a couple bench trials, depending on whether or not the people settle beforehand (or show up).

It's been really cool so far. At least half of what I'll be doing is getting out an interacting with people, whether its doing initial appearances or bail hearings or possibly a couple trials. I get to see how the law affects real people, and I like that. I imagine it will get pretty tedious as I start to see the same things over and over, but for now I like it.

I just wish I could transport this thing to Madison. Not only could I be around my friends, but then my criminal traffic cases would lean more toward drive-bys, which I'm much more familiar with.

Home

I've been back in Oshkosh for roughly 30 hours now. It’s pretty, and familiar, and comforting, and somehow horribly wrong.

If I knew I didn’t have to stay, I’d really be enjoying this.

I just don’t want to be here.

I want to go home.

I'm Just Here to Protect the Donuts, Ma'am

I'm not going to be prosecuting homicide cases this summer. I understand that. We're all better off that way, because I'm not sure I'd want that kind of burden this early, with the possibility where my own mistakes or inexperience could allow a murderer or rapist to go free. (Of course, even if they did, I would hunt them down afterward and administer some street justice. But still, I do that anonymously, and it doesn't help my legal reputation).

However, there is a good possibility I will be prosecuting ridiculous cases this summer. For instance, today in our final Trial Advocacy class there was a case where a college guy went into a store, took some donuts, and ate them without paying. Then he tried to escape the store, and when the police were called, he resisted arrest. So, today we were practicing opening and closing arguments. The first guy got up and gave a short but pseudo-heartfelt and tearful plea to prosecute this terrible man who went in and ate $2.59 worth of bakery. Straight-up fucking hilarious. The next guy was a little more serious, but he did come up with a classic line about the store: "They were just trying to protect their donuts." Whether he was trying to be serious or not, this had everyone laughing.

Kempinen assured us that these cases are somewhat rare, but they do happen. So now I'm imagining myself in this role for the summer. I'm the guy that lays down the law on the bizarre and trivial. So if you're thinking about rolling through Winnebago County this summer and taking a magic marker and doodling on all the bananas, or hunting squirrels with Nerf guns, or assaulting an officer with a tube of chapstick, I'm all over your ass.

Tapediggity

I have a new enemy. His name is Tapeworm. (or Tape-dog, as no one calls him.) When I eat, he eats my food. Then he eats my stomach as retaliation for invading his space with my food. Thus I have two basic settings during the day – stomach pains from starving, or stomach pains from tapeworm attack. Tapeworm ruins my meals. He ruins my desserts. He makes me afraid to eat. He puts me in a foul mood. And, most importantly, he took our jobs. (‘E tuk er jaabs!)

What do we call such a foul creature, such a foreign entity invading a once-secure sanctuary, causing destruction and carnage with every movement, spewing filth with its pompous and brazen disrespect for the laws of common decency, and generally burninating the countryside? Rajeev? Close. We call him a terrorist. And I’m not talking a media scare-tactic/diversion-from-real-issues GOP style terrorist. I’m talkin’ the real deal.

Now, as I’ve tried to explain, it seemed cute when I bought him. I didn’t realize how big he would get. And now I can’t get rid him. I have tried probably 10 different medications over the years, plus the basic antacid tablets. I have had at least 5 major tests done. I even tried goddamn vegetables for a week. No results to speak of.

Anyone have any suggestions for how to counter such a threat?

(And please, save the actual medical suggestions. I don’t believe in real medical science - - like my good friend Mr. Christopher Diesel Zachar, I was brought up in the school of hard knock medial science. You heard me, fool.)

"Sometimes You Have to Puruse the Fa Shizzle"

That quote, uttered by the incomparable Mr. Martinez during our trip, completely and utterly failed to appropriately describe whatever he was referring to at the time. And I can no longer remember what he was referring to, not that it matters. In the spirit of this, I will give my latest movie recommendation - - go see the movie Over the Hedge. Quite possibly the cutest movie in the history of space and time to the infinity.

Also, if you haven't checked Andy's account of the Chicago trip and weekend, do it now. I don't have any other way to say this, but it was amazing from top to bottom. The ball game, the sleep number beds, the tequila lounge, the Cheesecake Factory, IKEA, Over the Hedge, Gennas, the after party, Bratfest, the Bachhuber barbeque, and....afterward. And, most importantly, the company. You know who you are :)

What can I say? Sometimes you just...yeah.

M*therf*ckin' Snakes On An X-Men

There are some events that change a man forever. I'm not sure X-Men III - The Final Stand was one of them. But I know for damn sure going to see it at the midnight showing with the diehards was a memorable experience in many ways.

First, a disclaimer - - I don't know if I will review X-Men III. If I do, I will at least wait a few days, for the sake of others who will see it. I will say that I thought it was pretty good overall, especially story and action-wise. Some of the action was spectacular, and some of the themes were particularly thought-provoking. However, the character development was spotty at best, and left the movie with a sour aftertaste. The first two X-Men built up a solid core of characters, and a lot of them were largely absent from this film for various reasons. So in the end, when the X-Men go to take on Magneto's army (not really spoiling anything here), out of the six (and later seven) characters who fight, only three of them had any significant role in the previous two films. In my opinion, they tried to make the movie too big, threw in too many characters, and diluted the core character development to the point where the emotional conflicts weren't all that emotional.

However, being at the movie was another story. Now, I'm a major movie/television buff, especially anything action/superhero/sci-fi related. But I learned quite clearly through Andy's quiz on upper-level dorkitude that I just don't have the chops. Not even close.

And then there was last night. We sat at the back of the theater, which was absolutely filled to capacity with the dorkiest guys I have ever had the extreme discomfort of being around. Now, I mean no offense to dorks, none whatsoever. I love dorks, many of my best friends are dorks, and many of them are some of the coolest people I will ever meet. I often love the same topics as dorks, and therefore sympathize greathly with the culture of dorkery. But this was a whole new level of dorkitude I could scarcely comprehend even existed. From RPGs to computer software to gaming systems to cheat codes to calculus, and back again. Everyone had vocal and passionate advocacy for one thing or another, and everyone else was equally as vocal and passionate as to why the first thing was inferior to the second. Most of the time I sat in silence, pretending that I was somewhere else, somewhere pleasant where things made sense again. I mean, I wasn't embarassed to be there, I was just....strangely uncomfortable.

But when the Dork High Commander on Andy's right challenged him to a calculus competition, I had to draw the line. After my outburst, the conversation shifted back toward sci fi movies, which was more familiar territory. But for a few moments, shit was getting critical.

And then the previews started, and all was right with the world. Because I was about to witness perhaps the greatest trailer I have ever seen in my life. That's right - - Snakes on a Plane. It was so unexpected too. It was like this summer you'll see superheroes and unbreakable codes and blockbuster action, but not one of those movies will have this: m*therf*ckin' snakes on a plane. Perhaps this is why I enjoyed the movie more than my colleague. My mind was already completely blown beforehand, and everything else was just gravy.

One thing's for certain: I'm a believer. When I conducted my summer movie preview, I was skeptical about Snakes on a Plane. As much as it shames me to admit, the brilliance of the concept went right over me. But then again, most things do. But now, with the help of my friends, I have converted. And I can proudly affirm the following: We got m*therf*ckin' snakes on this plane!

One Giant Leap for Justice

Through a fantastic technological development, I have been able to procure a recording of my first trial this summer on behalf of the Winnebago County District Attorney's office. After having reviewed the proceedings on tape, I have drafted the official transcript. My first direct examination proceeded as follows:

Judge: Mr Vice, you may call your first witness.

Me: Sweet. The State calls (name omitted to protect somebody).
Can you please state your name and spell it for the record?

Witness: No thanks. I wish to remain mysterious.

Me: Fair enough. Do you know the defendent, Mr. Joseph Momma?

Witness: Yes, I have met him once before.

Me: Was this before or after you went to clown college together?

Defense: OBJECTION: Assumes facts not in evidence.

Me: No, you're assuming facts not in evidence!

Judge: Overruled.

Me: Thank you, your honor. As I was saying, you went to clown college with Mr. Momma?

Witness: No, I didn't say that.

Me: No, I said that. You agreed with me.

Witness: No, I didn't.

Me: So you admit to having worked as a clown?

Witness: No.

Me: Let me rephrase. So you admit to having worked as a clown?

Defense: OBJECTION: Asked and answered.

Me: No, you're asked and answered!

Judge: Sustained. Please move along, Mr. Vice.

Me: Now, at this party, where there may or may not have been any clowns, and you may or may not have been one of the possibly non-existent clowns, were you, in fact, attending this would-be party?

Witness: Huh?

Me: Your honor, would you please direct the witness to answer the question?

Judge: No.

Me: Very well. (pulls out a picture, shows it to witness) Mr. (witness), what did you see here?

Witness: Well, it looks like a little girl getting bitten on the leg by a fire hyrdrant.

Me: Excellent. When you see a girl getting bitten on the leg by a fire hydrant, what do you normally do?

Witness: Um, I suppose I would call the sheriff.

Me: And when you saw this and called the sheriff, what did he say?

Defense: OBJECTION: Hearsay.

Me: Your honor, the statements offered by the sheriff fall under the "irrational quotations" exception to the hearsay rule.

Judge: I'll allow it.

Witness: Okay, but I never called the sheriff. You just showed me the picture.

Me: So what, if anything, did you say or do, or think, or not think next?

Defense: OBJECTION - That question is vague and nonsensical.

Me: No, you're vauge and nonsensical!

Judge: (bangs gavel) Put down that trident, Mr. Vice! Objection sustained.

Me: Let me rephrase. What, if anything, didn't you say or not do next, if ever?

Witness: I'm not sure what you're referring to.

Me: But you admit that I am referring to something?

Witness: What?

Me: Mr. (witness), you testified only seconds earlier that you weren't sure what I was referring to. Is it your testimony now that you do know what I'm referring to?

Witness: Um, no?

Me: Aha! No further questions, your honor.

New Wave-Off

So my momentary freak out over the Trial Ad class was absolutely unnecessary. The assignment was minimal, and the class started two hours later than it usually will. Not only that, but the harsh reality of returning to the building this morning for class was lessened considerably by some thoughtful students. When I arrived at the class room, there was a "New Wave-Off" in progress. The students were competing over who had the best/worst New Wave music collection on the computers, and treating the rest of us to Pretty in Pink, Duran Duran, the Psychadelic Furs, etc. Now, I'm not a fan of New Wave/80's music by any means (I tend not to stray far from my ghetto roots), but I'm a HUGE fan of New Wave/80's music being played in class. It was simply awesome.

Guess Not

Leave it to the law school to thwart my one attempt at being studious. I was fully prepared to sacrifice this day to working on my assignment for tomorrow's Trial Ad interim class, and ventured up to the law building to waste a beautiful day. Lo and behold, the entire building was locked. Of course, I might have known this had I visited the building in the past week, but I didn't think it was necessary. Anyway, I was able to sneak in through the lockers area being painted, but found the doors to the hangfile area were also locked. I considered busting them down with a Rundown-esque display of force, but those doors didn't deserve such a fate. Plus, the painting crew was stationed nearby, and such action would have alerted them, quite possibly leading to a paint war. And having left my nonexistent paintball gun back in my equally nonexistent paintball weapons bunker, I had little choice.

Once again, the world is conspiring to make me not care about the law.

No, It's Not On. It's Off.

Victory is mine! Or so it would seem. My stomach has apparently bowed out of the conflict, as the last couple of days have been relatively smooth sailing. I still don't know why it got riled up in the first place, whether certain food substitutions helped, or what role robots played in the conflict, but I'll take it. Thanks for all of your support.

And if anyone walking around the Gilman/State Street intersection in the next couple of days gets hit with half a head of lettuce, that will be me, celebrating.

Cause and Effect?

Paradigms are shifting at the Vice camp, and a new line of thought has evolved. Call it the ultimate post hoc ergo propter hoc moment if you will, but hear me out. Maybe I've been going about this dietary conflict all wrong. For months I believed that the animal crackers were my enemy. Then, after extirpating the alleged animal cracker menace successfully (animal cracker free for roughly three weeks now), my stomach mounted a debilitating offensive, putting me in almost constant pain after every meal.

Coincidence? I'm not so sure. The simple answer could be animal cracker withdrawals, in which case it should lessen over time, and I should continue to fight the good fight. A more complex possibility is I now suffer from animal cracker deficiancy, and my stomach is acting as a victim rather than a combatant. The third answer is that one has nothing to do with the other, and I'm retarded.

I'm going to give this some serious thought. Rumors of an all-animal cracker diet have even surface, at least for a trial run. I could always add some things, such as peanut butter for protein, orange juice for fruit, and cake for the cake department. This will remain on hold for now, but it's a possibility.

I will give the vegetablization approach its chance, and if this doesn't work, all bets are off.

Vegetable Warfare

File this under the "Enemy of my enemy is my friend" department. Anyone that knows me can attest that I am no fan of vegetables, and I actively avoid any food with a vegetable-type substance involved. (Except french fries, which I still adamently believe qualify as health food). However, as many of you may know, I also have some sort of stomach condition - mostly likely heart burn - that forces me to eat only about half a real portion at any meal. Otherwise I get this terrible pain in my chest, a burning that can last for several hours. The reason I'm not certain it's heartburn is because it doesn't respond to any heartburn medications. I've had countless tests done (including a sonogram, which I highly recommend - very relaxing) and nothing has ever been discovered. So, could be heartburn, could be a tapeworm. Point is, it sucks. It's been an on and off thing for 6-7 years now, growing worse during high stress periods. And it makes it both hard and painful to enjoy eating, which is pretty damn infuriating.

So lately my heartburn/tapeworm has been acting up. By lately, I mean the past week or so. It's not a stress thing, because I've been done with finals for about 10 days now. For about the past year, I've tried to eat healthier and get in better shape, and I've done this by basically changing from a terribly unhealthy diet to a mildly unhealthy diet. (Hence my ongoing struggle with junk food, though less unhealthy forms) Despite these changes, I have still refused to invite any vegetable menace into my home.

However, this morning, shit hit the fan. I had a poptart for breakfast. One poptart. And some water. And about thirty minutes later, the heartburn/tapeworm struck hard. I was in pain for at least an hour as a result of such gluttony. This was inexcusable. My stomach had officially declared war on me.

Not one to shy away from senseless combat, I had to throw down. I went to the grocery store, bought myself the materials to make (gasp!) a salad. Now, I'll eat an occasional salad before meals, granted. However, the key is that this is before meals, aka real food. Today, I had a salad for lunch, and nothing else. My stomach wants to fuck with me, I'll starve the bitch into submission. I'll feed it all sorts of plants and shrubbery until it can't take anymore. The logic is simple. I hate my stomach. My stomach hates plants. Therefore, I ally myself with the plant kingdom. Now, I know that, ultimately, I'll be suffering as well, but sacrifices must be made in a time of war. And you bet your ass, I didn't have any heartburn/tapeworm flareup this afternoon. I went running, just to rub it in.

The goals are simple. No more debilitating pain due to going all out and devouring half a flippin' pop tart. No more going to a restaurant and being unable to order something because I'm still in too much pain from the last meal I had 5 HOURS AGO.

Now, by no means will this drive me toward vegetarianism. I'm thinking one salad or equally awful shrub-like meal a day, and actual flavor the rest of the time. But perhaps I can finally put one of my all time favorite statements into effect: "I'm not a vegetarian because I love animals. I'm a vegetarian because I hate plants."

Stomach this.
(points to genitals)

Oh Yes Ladies, It Is Clearly On

Top 10 Pick-up Lines in the History of the World:

10. "Do you like to dance? Well then, could you go dance so I can talk to your friend?"
9. "If I had to choose between one night with you or winning the lottery...I would chose winning the lottery...but it would be close...real close..."
8. "Hey baby. I'm single. Do you believe that shit?"

7. "Can I impregnate you with my Demon spawn?"

6. "Your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore....my face should be among them."
5. "So....I heard you wanted to fight me."
4. "If you were even half as gorgeous as me, I'd consider sleeping with you."
3. "I'm bigger and better than the Titanic..... only 200 women went down on the Titanic."
2."Roses are red, violets are blue, I have warts, so will you."
And finally...
1. "Excuse me, have you seen my enormous jar of "Penis Reducing Cream"?"

Bonus Round:

Top 1 Pick-up Line for Chuck Norris
1. "Now."

BOOM!

Your Power Level is: 84%

You have all the tools you need to be a success - both professionally and personally. You'll probably go beyond reaching your goals. You'll change the world (at least a little).

How Powerful Are You?

This sounds like me from 2 years ago. Wherefore art thou, my ambition?

Also, I didn't see a Killing Power test on there. Someone (cough* cough* Elise) ought to create one.

It's Mega-Maid - - She's Gone From Suck To Blow

Wait a minute, are vacuums with negative suction power really a good idea? I mean, at some point during the production process, isn't there one lonely hand raised to point out the problem with this? Between the product engineers, the scientists, and the consumer groups, won't anyone chime in? And, even if the product hits the shelves, shouldn't there be labels on the side saying "This piece of shit you're about to waste your money on will not only refuse to suction any of the unwanted matter from your carpet, it will actually increase the crap/carpet ratio by about 300%" ? Apparently not, since I just spent about forty-five hellish minutes pleading with mine, only to be brutally rebuffed. So now my parents are coming for lunch, and they'll probably stop by. When they ask me "Didn't that carpet used to be blue?" what am I supposed to say - "Originally yeah, but, um....erosion, and.....fuck you." ? Thank you, Dirt Devil.

We Don't Need No Stinking Thermostats

There are several reasons why I don't invite people to my apartment. First, it's pretty small, so not many people would fit comfortably up here, and the problem's only getting worse now that I don't have room in the closet to stack all of the corpses. Second, I'd prefer it to remain a mystery. What type of operation have I got up here - - a meth lab? Illegal trafficking of endangered species? A microwave? Probably, but no one's really sure, and I'm not telling. Third, I don't want any of you cheap bastards trying to swipe my GANGSTA ring. No. Way. In. Hell. Bitches.

But beyond that, the biggest problem is the tempestuous weather conditions. Currently we're rocking the subzero temps, and I'm desperately trying to find a pair of snowpants in case I need to brave the ten foot trek necessary to go answer my phone. And I can't turn the heat on because it's switched over to the AC. Now, in the winter, I never have to touch the heat because somehow it's always a flippin' sauna in here. Generally when I'm just sitting at home, if I wear any clothes at all, I'm in constant danger of spontaneously combusting. Then if I turn the air on, it goes straight from sweltering to frigid, stopping only for a brief moment in between for my air conditioner to point and laugh. But not today. Now it just sits there, mocking my entire lack of practical knowledge, because apparently I don't know how to work the one dial to change it anymore.

One question worth asking is why I still live here, I suppose. Truth is, my parents told me they'd cover my rent throughout law school if I kept it within a certain price range. Which is no small consideration, since I'm probably going to make it through law school and graduate without having any debt whatsoever. So here I sit, shivering, hoping the sun decides to get its lazy ass out of bed so I can shed the winter wear and go back to being slowly broiled. Unlikely as that is, if the next time you see me it appears that I have fewer toes than normal, there's at least a 65% chance that they froze off in the interim, a 2o% chance they were mauled be certain specii who don't like being caged up here anymore, and a 15% chance I lost them in 'Nam.

Zombophobes

It appears that the Haitiii have finally made an official denouncement of zombies. Let me be the first one to say it: it's about damn time. I've never been a fan of zombies, despite Hollywood's attempts to make them seem cool. The only good thing a zombie ever did was bite known terrorist Leonard Kaplan in the face, which only happened because I made it so. Don't be fooled by groups like People for the Ethical Treatment of Zombies and Undead Americans (PETZUA), or Scraggly-ass Hippies Uplifting The Undead Peoples (SHUT UP) - - zombies aren't good people. In fact, well over half of the medical experts I have consulted on this sound pretty confidant that zombies are NOT people.

Need further proof the uncoolness of zombies? Zombies are the number one cause of osteoperosis, because the first part of the body they bite is usually the spine. I know I've been the minority on this issue for years, but it seems like public opinion is finally changing. Perhaps one day I can finally shed the cruel term "Zombophobe," which my older cousin tagged me with after I expressed my undying hatred for Zimbabwe.

Existence in the Balance

AP: Madison - The following is an official press release from the offices of Mr. Vice, Commander of the Allied Forces and Leader of the Tactical Cracker Counterinsurgency Unit:

"My fellow Americans, I wish I could tell you the war against the Animal Cracker Nation is over. I wish I could strap on my fightin' pants, stand on Abe Lincoln's lap at the top of Bascom Hill and declare victory over crackerhood. But I cannot do that in good conscience. You may have heard reports that tensions have decreased, and that the battle appears to be over. It gives me great pleasure to confirm the fact that there have been no fatalities on either side for nearly two weeks now. Indeed, there have been no new movements of animal crackers into the region, primarily because Walgreens is crazy if they think they can charge me $2.20 for a 1 lb. bag I can get elsewhere for under $1.

On this front, it appears the battle is over; we have stormed the castle, we have taken the field, we have run up the flag, we have seized the day, and we have done any number of other patriotic things. Yes, the battle may be over, but lo, the war appears far from it. As much as it pains me to admit, we appear to have misjudged our enemy. This war is more than just an armed hostility against Animal Crackers; it is an ideological confrontation against the entire Junk Food species. For when a cautious detente was struck with the Animal Crackers, the Cadbury Mini Eggs stepped into the fight. While our armed forces had little trouble dispatching these "eggs," we were then confronted by rabid bands of Chex Mix, Jolly Ranchers, and Tootsie Rolls. And, in one of the most horrific displays of carnage I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing, multiple scoops of "Cookie-Doughn't You Want Some" ice cream in a waffle cone ambushed a courageous squadron of American troops outside of a local Cold Stone Creamery. They never had a chance.

So, regrettably, the fight rages on. Now, some of you may call me a warmonger. Some of you will say that we should accept our victory and try to maintain peace with all junk food-kind. But I respectfully disagree. We cannot be content with our apparent victory over the Animal Crackers while endless armies of chocolates, candies, and potato chips wait in the wings to annihilate our entire way of existence.

But do not be mistaken - - I believe we will win this war yet. For every bloodthirsty brand of junk food on the market, we have soldiers willing to risk everything for life and country. And let me assure you, heroes are in no short supply. Who can forget the inspiring tales of Colonel Sanders, Captain Crunch, General Tsao, and Sergeant Slaughter? And the heroism extends to the private citizens as well as the enlisted men, women, and fictional entities. You should all have witnessed the sacrifices made by the Easter Bunny; while he has been MIA for several weeks now, I know he's somewhere attacking people at random, spreading the message: We will persevere.

And on that note, I bring you another heartwarming tale of an American hero. Witness and behold freedom in action:

We do not know this soldier's name, and we don't know his rank, but we do know this: A coward dies a thousand deaths, but a crazed kitten with a dagger and a rifle is not to be fucked with.

So fear not, good citizens. This fight is one worth winning, and we have no intention of giving up. After all, this isn't France.

God bless America."

Incentives, or Not

So the law school sends out the email reminding us to renew our lockers for next year, and the date we're supposed to do this by is May 14th. Oddly enough, that's the same day we have to clean out our lockers or face fines. For some of us, this means cleaning out every single book we've had from first semester on (ie hundreds and hundreds)

Does anyone else think this is a little like your apartment company begging you to renew your lease, and then telling you to pick up all your shit so they can kick you out of the building as soon as you sign it?