Kentucky Woman
Whatever did we do in the benighted days when we didn’t have lawyers to protect us from evil malefactors? Why, we usually worked the problem out ourselves, without violence, and without need for judicial intervention.
But, to give our attorney brethren credit, they have fought to preserve our fundamental rights as Americans. Like this genius in Kentucky who is protecting a shrinking violet’s right to dress like a prostitute in public. Poor, poor Kymberly (note the one-step-from-pay-to-play spelling of her handle) was tossed out of a mall for wearing a skirt deemed too short by the local mall cop. Rather than simply calling the mall, registering a complaint against the mall cop and probably getting an apology and a gift certificate to the local Waffle House, Kymberly called a lawyer.
I’ve just about had it with Americans, who, when their feelings get hurt over a minor slight, hire an attorney, rather than sacking up and dealing with the issue.
And I wait, with bated breath, to see the magnum opus of a complaint that Eastern Kentucky’s legal solons can craft from this unholy mess of a fact pattern. My bet? Either intentional or negligent infliction of emotional distress. I hope Eastern Kentucky’s bench is saner than its lawyers, and the first judge who gets the case dismisses it and sanctions the filing attorney.
And, Kymberly, enjoy your skanky 15 minutes of fame. The rest of your dreary, unimportant, meaningless existence is ahead of you.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.