Mothers, Let Your Kids Grow Up to Be Lawyers!
This is not actually a courtroom you see me standing before, but this was the address where my case was supposed to take place, so I spent hours arguing with the homeless resident who lived in the stairwell and claimed the government put insects under his skin! I eventually found him guilty - guilty of being one great friend!
A hearty hi ho to you from your favorite legal representative, Leonard "J." Crabs, or as my close friends enjoy calling me upon repeated demand at gunpoint, "Leonard J. Crabs 2: The 'J' Stands For 'I'm a Lawyer!'." Although I haven't shown my charming visage around these parts recently, I can assure you that I have been serving up an impressive heaping of good ol' fashioned American legal justice the hot and spicy way, often choosing to show up in the courtroom wearing a colorful tank top which displays either my pride in America or in Valvoline motor oil, depending on how many jurors I'm attempting to impress with the collection of yogurt company tattoos across my upper arms. Don't foolishly believe the rumors floating around these parts, claiming that my recent absence has been due to the contraction of a certain disease which I will not name, but rhymes with "herpes" only it begins with the letter "h". I have been quite the busy bee lawyering the hell out of opposing legal storm troopers sent by the government or some other nefarious organization bent on destroying my credibility by spiking my Hawaiian Punch with drugs that make my hair slowly thin out. Sometimes it's a grueling, tough life being one of America's most pioneering legal pioneers, but once I've wrapped up a successful court case and the judge gives me that look as if to say, "Leonard, I'd like you to come over tonight and file my legal briefs," I can't help but feel like I've made a difference. An erotic difference.
Over the past six months or so, I've been involved (either directly or indirectly) in an assortment of heated legal battles, often as an attorney. The sheer number of court cases overwhelms me sometimes, as any untrained eye could see by simply gazing upon the towering stacks of legal documents scattered across my desk / workbench, many of which have highly lawyeriffic stuff written on them like "in regards to" and "payment due." I recently purchased a laptop computer to help me sort through and organize all my court cases, but this defective piece of faulty equipment instead lured me into "cyberspace" and attempted to entrap me by stealing my identity and using my credit cards to purchase images of unsavory gentlemen sitting on the faces of various shapely females. This is one of the many reasons why I try to stay away from this god-awful technology and the fine web of lies used to forge its cruel metallic pieces! Did you know that the game "Space Invaders" was based off true events? I lived through that deadly moon massacre, so I should know! However, I digress; I am not writing to inform you of the many heroic activities I engaged in during one of the many times our cruel alien overlords have attempts to conquer our planet and use us as human bait for the Creatures Living Inside the Sun. Let me take a moment to recall some of my most famous courtroom brawls I've been involved in during my last period of absence:
The Brooding, Sullen Dark Overlord Damien vs. General Electric - Although this was not my first case representing a creature of the undead (see "The Corpse of Roddy McPhaerson vs. Shady Pines Cemetery" or "The People of Raccoon City vs. The Horrific, Abominable, Deadly Zombie Plague"), it certainly was my first involving a vampire. The Brooding, Sullen Dark Overlord Damien has been a vampire ever since he was 15 and claims he was bitten by "a bi / curious high school senior" who was definitely a vampire because he "hated to play basketball and also thought the jocks sucked." Damien has a very popular Geocities site regarding his vampiritic activity and exciting daily events which include writing some kind of poetry about black bats (the flying kind, not the baseball kind) and using gray text so I have to squint frequently in order to determine if he is writing about Frankenberry or Count Chocula (it is usually Count Chocula). Damien developed very light-sensitive eyes from his transformation into a vampire, and as a result, he can not enjoy certain things that we humans take for granted, like running naked in our neighbor's flood lights and staring directly into the sun until it reveals its precious secrets. Due to this genetic flaw, Damien has to stay out of direct light at all costs or else he makes this really high pitched shrieking sound which I can only describe as "a weasel having its genitals scraped off with a sandbelt." At least that's how I described it to the jury, shortly before submitting a tape recording I made in my basement of a weasel having its genitals scraped off with a sandbelt. Damien would flee to darkness while muttering something like, "cursed rays of light, scorching my flesh without plight, destroying my eyes and tearing free my sight" before I'd tell him to kindly shut the hell up by forcefully introducing the end of my Legal Beating Stick to the front of his face.
We filed a lawsuit against General Electric for failing to place "WARNING: LIGHT AHEAD" signs 500 feet before any and every source of light provided either directly or indirectly through them. I must admit that this particular case was a long shot, but we eventually settled out of court. GE's legal team offered me a $300 savings bond if I would "just make Damien shut up and stop reciting that damn poetry," but I was able to negotiate them to a $302 savings bond and one of those hilarious chattering teeth gag gifts that I always wanted. Have you ever seen those teeth go? They're remarkable! I put them on my desk and just laugh for hours while watching them do their thing. Sometimes I call in assistants and demand they "watch ol' Leonard's teeth go crazy" until 5:00 rolls around and the state forcefully makes me let them go home. I don't know what happened to Damien after I decided to settle out of court without consulting him, as I frankly got sick to death of sitting next to the little idiot after the first 20 minutes of the court case. He's probably either still in the courtroom or planning a school shooting somewhere.What is the mystery behind this delicious meal? I certainly do not know, but I do know this: it does NOT involve yeast, vinegar, and styrofoam, which I blended together in a futile attempt to mimic KFC's award-winning delicacy!
Leonard "J." Crabs vs. Kentucky Fried Chicken - One night I awoke to the startling realization that KFC is only popular for one reason and one reason only: people pay them money in exchange for their products! Now I had to ask myself, "Leonard, why can't you be that person who people pay money to in exchange for delicious chicken?" I couldn't think of a single reason why not, so I consulted my wife who lives down the street from me and claims she's not my wife (as part of a little game we play called "Who Are You and Why Are You In My House?"). Like always, she replied by waking up her fake husband, some guy who looks like a hairy boar only without the charming sexual prowess, and he stormed over to the window in order to give yours truly a good knock to the noggin! I escaped in time and beat a hasty retreat to my Legal Hut, which had previously been under attack by birds with severe indigestion problems. After a few lines of brainstorming, I came to the incredible conclusion that if I, Leonard "J." Crabs, were to somehow get ahold of KFC's original recipe, I too would be able to sell chicken for money! I represented myself and sued KFC, claiming that keeping their recipe a "patented secret" was against the Homeland Security Bill. Unfortunately, the case did not turn out how I expected it to, which means that the judge's head did not explode after I stared at it furiously and started shaking, hoping that I could produce the same effect as the misguided gentleman from "Scanners." I did, however, get the rare pleasure of calling myself to the legal stand and questioning myself during a pivotal point of the trial. Here's a particularly exciting excerpt that the court stenographer Stacy recorded and I edited for various purposes:
LEONARD "J." CRABS (AS ATTORNEY): "Mr. Crabs, is it not true that you are a handsome devil?" (Leonard then ran into the chair where people sit down when they're being asked questions in court, I forgot the name of it, like the Big Truth Stool or something)
LEONARD "J." CRABS (AS PLAINTIFF): "Yes sir, I'd like to think of myself as a somewhat dapper and dashing man!" (He then ran back to where he was previously standing)
LEONARD "J." CRABS (AS ATTORNEY): "And is it not also true that you once saved a orphan from a burning bear?" (He ran back to the legal chair)
LEONARD "J." CRABS (AS PLAINTIFF): "Yes it is."
DEFENSE ATTORNEY: "I object, your Honor! Mr. Crabs is obviously making no sense." (The Defense Attorney was ugly and stupid and smelly. He also spit when he talked)
LEONARD "J." CRABS (AS JUDGE): "Objection overruled, I find you in contempt of court, you jerk. You will now be sent to Russia and serve 15 years in the gulag."
JUDGE (AS JUDGE): "I think I will dismiss this case."
LEONARD "J." CRABS (AS JURY MEMBER): "Hey judge, I slept with your harlot wife."
At this point, I was forcibly ejected from the courtroom, unable to even pick up and take my briefcase containing all those used pairs of panty hose I found in the Motel 6 the previous evening. Since it was clear that my chances for a fair, successful lawsuit against KFC were slim, I decided to tackle another industry giant: Coca-Cola. I immediately filed a document demanding Coca-Cola release the patent-protected secret recipe for KFC's chicken or else I would sue them back into the middle ages. Coca-Cola claimed they had no way to disclose KFC's recipe, as they were not directly affiliated with each other, so I sued Coca-Cola for failing to be directly affiliated with KFC. Unfortunately, a rather large tornado swept through my legal offices that week and I lost all paperwork during the ensuing confusion (but on a positive note, a rather large tricycle flew into my livingroom and still resides there). I think I can safely claim victory on this one though, since I didn't outright "lose" the case, I was merely delayed by the heinous crimes of that floozy Mother Nature.
Hello youth of today! If you decide to become a famous legal desperado like myself, one day you'll be able to sue people like this! I can think of twelve reasons to sue these two individuals, possibly even more if I were able to see what exactly is going on between them underneath the table!
As I have demonstrated, I am clearly a force to be reckoned with when it comes to wrangling legal bulls in the dusty arena of the law. However, I couldn't help but notice that the number of active lawyers in America has dropped from 153,182,261 to 153,180,973 this last year, and it truly worries me to think that the youth of today may not aspire to become freedom-defending lawyers such as myself, only without my patented "lack of pants" legal tactic. I recently stopped by a local high school to observe their policy regarding the promotion of professional lawyering as a viable future for their students. I was simultaneously shocked and surprised when I learned that the school did not offer a single class devoted to aggressively brainwashing teenagers into becoming law students! How do citizens of the United States of the US expect our students to develop into socially acceptable, carbon-based creatures when we don't actively encourage them to join the legal industry by monitoring their brainwaves and sending a series of electric shocks to their genitals whenever they experience a negative thought regarding the judicial system? This, my dear friends, is why kids these days are growing up to lead unproductive, filthy lives as drug dealers or amateur film makers! I will attempt to counteract this lack of moral guidance by pointing out just a few of the many, many reasons why you teenagers should herd yourselves into a legal college right after you somehow manage to not fail out of high school.
1) Lawyers get all the chicks. I've had at least 17 wives, sometimes many at once! Let's face it; women lust for brainy, argumentative guys like me. I can't visit the grocery story or proctologist's office without women thrusting their loins upon. Do women have loins? I hope so, because there have been plenty of loins in my face lately, and I'd hate to make the same mistake I did years ago during that birthday party I'd much rather forget about at this point.
2) Lawyers are rich. You know that scene from "Duck Tales" when Scrooge McDuck leapt into that giant room full of gold coins and proceeded to swim around in them and generally bathe himself in other people's filthy, germ-encrusted money? Well as a prestigious lawyer like myself, you too will have a chance to experience a similar scenario; you'll get to speak to various animated ducks who mysteriously appear in the middle of trials and try to draw your attention away from the matter at hand by promising you the opportunity to swim in their ill-gotten coin vault! You must resist this offer at every chance, as their sole motive is to create holes in your legal argument by allowing the defense to claim you're unfit to practice law just because you're speaking to "imaginary, cartoon, talking ducks wearing suspenders." Nobody ever said the American legal system was perfect, and such a gaping flaw perfectly illustrates my point.
3) Lawyers have a lot of political influence. A few days ago I decided to place my vote for George W. Bush Jr. as President of the United States, and guess what - he ended up winning years before! I have so much political influence that I can effectively change historical events in the past, thereby altering the present and future. The only thing keeping this world from being ruled by cyborgs is me and my abstinence from voting on the bill proposed in 1983 entitled, "should we spend our nation's entire budget on constructing ultra-intelligent cyborgs which will murder us all?" You may personally express your gratitude by writing me large checks (that is, checks for large amounts of money, not those gigantic checks that people who won the "Publisher's Clearinghouse Contest" are given). I do not have any space to store such large checks now that I have the tricycle in my livingroom.
4) Lawyers are well respected. Why just the other day I was driving through the local Wendy's when the disembodied voice on the speakerphone kindly asked me, "would you like to Biggie-size that order?" These attentive folks were obviously "on the ball" and were aware of my courtroom clout, thereby granting me special privileges and favors not meant for common man. I chose not to "Biggie-size" my order, as I heard various rumors that agreeing to this causes testicular cancer, and while I certainly have enough "Little Leonards" in reserve (at my request, I have had over 13 testicles grafted on me to ensure that, if I were ever to lose one in some kind of brutal paper cut, I would have ample backup), it was not something I was particularly excited to enter into.
So to all the teenagers and youth of today, please look upon my exciting legal experiences and seemingly outlandish claims and please consider attending the legal college of your choice so you too may carry on the proud tradition of wearing a suit in court and beginning every sentence with the phrase, "and is it not true that". There will be many obstacles in your way, ranging from judges who hold irrational grudges simply because you vomited in their vehicle's glove compartment, to those hurdles that cause your character to trip and fall over when you fail to successfully leap over them in the smash hit Nintendo game "Track and Field," but your dedication will eventually prevail and you too will soon find yourself at the shiny end of a sturdy legal stick of justice. Just make sure you never, ever drink the Hawaiian punch at a pre-lawsuit party, under the risk of watching your hair plummet from your head in golf course-sized divots.
You've Got a First-Class Ticket to the Goldmine!
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