it's all moved over to www.drdivo.com
You can still follow me in a reader or RSS feed, but the posts here are now over there and the new posts will be over there and not over here.
Claro?
DJHJD
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Bird brains - or, the second bird trial
Following the defeat of the Bellairean Bird Brain, I figured I was free from big bird for quite some time.
Oh, how foolish I was!
Only a few short weeks after the Bird Bath in Bellaire, I was, again, MINDING MY OWN DAMNED BUSINESS....
All of these bird stories start with an anxious, breathless, panicked phone call.
Anxious, breathless, panicked phone calls convey several things:
"Hello, this is Doug Hord" (I answer the phone in the same way my dad does, but somehow without his commanding, confident tone in my own judgment of such things).
(insert shrieking, panicked, breathless verbiage from recent bird shop client)
"Now,, just calm down - 'WHAT' happened?"
Something along the lines of her having been sued in small claims court for ownership or damages for a bird she had rescued (on TeeVee!) from the roof of a building near the Houston Galleria.
I was then regaled with the extensive, vile, rich history of the Plaintiff's perfidy. It seems that not only was he a bird smuggler, but also a card sharp, a villian, a Communist, a wife-beater, and he didn't timely change his motor oil.
In the opinion of my client, "He needs killin'" (as we say here in Texas).
Let's skip the pre-trial discussions (in which my client explained at every turn WHY he needed killin'), and skip right to the trial, in the courtroom of the Right Honorable Justice of the Peace (Precinct 5, place 2) Wm. Yeoman.
I have enormous respect for Judge Yeoman; in my many visits to his courtroom, I've only known him to be skilled, clear, polite, respectful and able to withstand the tirades of those who expect his courtroom to be far more Judge Judy.
Our trial setting was for the late shift - we were called hours in advance to advise us that the court would have limited seating room, as so many inquiries from "interested parties" had been received.
Uh, what was that?
I had, as witnesses, only my client, her manservant and myself. What interested parties?
It turns out that there's an enormous sub-rosa community of bird lovers who communicate via tom-tom signals, and they were (basically) ALL flying in to watch the epic battle of the two most powerful forces in Southeast Texas Bird-dom.
The issue at hand was, simply, this:
My woman, being the pre-eminent bird lady in the area, received a call from a distressed bird person who had observed a bird of the exotic variety on top of a tree/bush/aerial/roof of a commercial building. No amount of persuasion nor shiny object was luring the bird down from its aerie.
An emergency situation! They fired up the Isuzu pickup and dashed over with bird toys, lures and a ladder.
And, they recovered the bird. ON TEEVEE!
Through the magic of television, the progenitor of bird-dom's Dark Side learned that this bird had been rescued, believed it to be his (without having identified the bird, seen the bird other than on his 27" CRT television set, or inquired of my client) and brought suit in small claims to recover the bird's VALUE.
You could think of this as a "cash grab".
Again, we were commanded to produce the egg laying vermin in open court.
Things moved fairly swiftly in this courtroom drama. The Plaintiff laid on his case - primarily grounded in that my client was dishonest, lies, smoked filterless cigarettes and drank straight bourbon, kept her thumb on the scale and generally was a Loose Woman. And, she had his bird.
His bird was of one of the sexes, her bird was (she testified) of the other.
There were, no kidding, seventy-five plus people in the courtroom. It was JAMMED. Everyone wanted to pitch in and testify (for one side, or both), even though not one of them knew a damned thing about that particular bird's identity. They did wish, though, to carry on at great length about the looseness of my client, and/or the evilness and bird snatchery of the Plaintiff.
Cutting through all of this like a gentle but firm laser was Judge Yeoman, who indicated that he'd consulted the Veterinary College up to the A&M, had learned that only a surgical sexing could positively identify the bird, told those assembled that smart people would have their birds microchiped or tatooed, and sent everyone home with their licks.
Meaning, my woman didn't recover attorney's fees from the probably asset-less Plaintiff. My fee's being paid was now sketchier than the first gig.
However, the Plaintiff complimented me as we left the courthouse, and asked if I'd work for him in the future.
Mercifully, the State Bar rules would frown on such an arrangement. I was off the hook - temporarily.
For, bad things happen in threes, you know - and the THIRD bird trial was a mess of epic proportions.
Come back to read about trial number THREE and my being called out as the bird lawyer in court on a case NOT involving birds.
Oh, how foolish I was!
Only a few short weeks after the Bird Bath in Bellaire, I was, again, MINDING MY OWN DAMNED BUSINESS....
All of these bird stories start with an anxious, breathless, panicked phone call.
Anxious, breathless, panicked phone calls convey several things:
- A lack of prior planning or consideration as to outcomes
- The failure of efforts based on bluster, bluff, aggressiveness or combativeness to resolve a situation
- An ongoing effort to skirt rules, laws, regulations, common decency or just plain politeness that comes to disaster
- Running home to Momma to have her fix it all by defending your side without question
"Hello, this is Doug Hord" (I answer the phone in the same way my dad does, but somehow without his commanding, confident tone in my own judgment of such things).
(insert shrieking, panicked, breathless verbiage from recent bird shop client)
"Now,
Something along the lines of her having been sued in small claims court for ownership or damages for a bird she had rescued (on TeeVee!) from the roof of a building near the Houston Galleria.
I was then regaled with the extensive, vile, rich history of the Plaintiff's perfidy. It seems that not only was he a bird smuggler, but also a card sharp, a villian, a Communist, a wife-beater, and he didn't timely change his motor oil.
In the opinion of my client, "He needs killin'" (as we say here in Texas).
Let's skip the pre-trial discussions (in which my client explained at every turn WHY he needed killin'), and skip right to the trial, in the courtroom of the Right Honorable Justice of the Peace (Precinct 5, place 2) Wm. Yeoman.
I have enormous respect for Judge Yeoman; in my many visits to his courtroom, I've only known him to be skilled, clear, polite, respectful and able to withstand the tirades of those who expect his courtroom to be far more Judge Judy.
Our trial setting was for the late shift - we were called hours in advance to advise us that the court would have limited seating room, as so many inquiries from "interested parties" had been received.
Uh, what was that?
I had, as witnesses, only my client, her manservant and myself. What interested parties?
It turns out that there's an enormous sub-rosa community of bird lovers who communicate via tom-tom signals, and they were (basically) ALL flying in to watch the epic battle of the two most powerful forces in Southeast Texas Bird-dom.
The issue at hand was, simply, this:
My woman, being the pre-eminent bird lady in the area, received a call from a distressed bird person who had observed a bird of the exotic variety on top of a tree/bush/aerial/roof of a commercial building. No amount of persuasion nor shiny object was luring the bird down from its aerie.
An emergency situation! They fired up the Isuzu pickup and dashed over with bird toys, lures and a ladder.
And, they recovered the bird. ON TEEVEE!
Through the magic of television, the progenitor of bird-dom's Dark Side learned that this bird had been rescued, believed it to be his (without having identified the bird, seen the bird other than on his 27" CRT television set, or inquired of my client) and brought suit in small claims to recover the bird's VALUE.
You could think of this as a "cash grab".
Again, we were commanded to produce the egg laying vermin in open court.
Things moved fairly swiftly in this courtroom drama. The Plaintiff laid on his case - primarily grounded in that my client was dishonest, lies, smoked filterless cigarettes and drank straight bourbon, kept her thumb on the scale and generally was a Loose Woman. And, she had his bird.
His bird was of one of the sexes, her bird was (she testified) of the other.
There were, no kidding, seventy-five plus people in the courtroom. It was JAMMED. Everyone wanted to pitch in and testify (for one side, or both), even though not one of them knew a damned thing about that particular bird's identity. They did wish, though, to carry on at great length about the looseness of my client, and/or the evilness and bird snatchery of the Plaintiff.
Cutting through all of this like a gentle but firm laser was Judge Yeoman, who indicated that he'd consulted the Veterinary College up to the A&M, had learned that only a surgical sexing could positively identify the bird, told those assembled that smart people would have their birds microchiped or tatooed, and sent everyone home with their licks.
Meaning, my woman didn't recover attorney's fees from the probably asset-less Plaintiff. My fee's being paid was now sketchier than the first gig.
However, the Plaintiff complimented me as we left the courthouse, and asked if I'd work for him in the future.
Mercifully, the State Bar rules would frown on such an arrangement. I was off the hook - temporarily.
For, bad things happen in threes, you know - and the THIRD bird trial was a mess of epic proportions.
Come back to read about trial number THREE and my being called out as the bird lawyer in court on a case NOT involving birds.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Story time!
I was thinking over the weekend - 'cause, you know, I do that.
I was thinking about all the "stories" I've spun over the years - to the amusement and hilarity of many, and how, as I've moved along life's path, many of these stories have come to be lost - and most, if not all, of my current friends are without connection to my amusement and tumultuous past.
So, now that I've participated in the brothers Koch lid-blowing party, I'm going to spend a few days regaling my readers with some "stories".
We'll start with one of the best - how I became known as "The Bird Lawyer."
There were three bird cases in all. Each was sillier and worse than the previous. There is something to be said for the value of the moniker "Bird Brain".
If you know me at all, you know that my best stories all begin in the same way .. "There I was, minding my OWN business, when.."
I was, quite contentedly, wallpapering my very first solo office one afternoon - a lovely and gentle pink cloth paper with vertical stripes. Wearing my only suit, I was happily and quietly applying paste to the back of the paper. The phone rang.
Don't most dramatic or horrifying stories start with the phone ringing?
It was Mary, she with whom I had attended law school and who was now a successful defense attorney.
Mary, you see, had become fond of birds. BIG birds. She started out with a big gray evil fucker, who screamed bloody murder and crapped all over the kitchen floor. I couldn't, for the life of me, understand it.
She had had a panicked call from the woman from whom she was buying birds. This lady owned one of the larger bird retail shops in Houston - one that continues to this day.
The bird shop owner had been served with a court order to release property characterized as stolen - one very large, one-eyed macaw. She wanted representation, and Mary, citing her relationship with the bird shop owner, said she couldn't handle it. Or I owed her a favor. Or something.
It being a stolen property recovery hearing, the event was to be the very next day. The issuing agency was the City of Bellaire PD, so this shindig would be hosted in the City's municipal courtroom, which was mere blocks from my (now unpapered) office.
I listened to my new client regale me with the horrors of her experience, and her lusciously detailed description of how this horribly unfair state was pressed upon her. For two hours. On a phone.
Basically, it went like this:
My new client had this bird, which she had acquired personally in Central America somewhere, brought in through the Brownsville Ag station years earlier, and had cared for for many years. His name was .. heck, I can't remember - the damned bird must still be alive, though, as they live forever. We'll just call him "Buster".
Buster was a fairly typical macaw, who bore a heavy metal staple around one leg that indicated at which Ag station he'd spent his quarantine and been cleared for lawful entry into the US. He had one eye that was gone - not just blind, but gone - apparently, he'd had some infection years earlier.
He was an ill-tempered bastard, and he was a good three feet tall. Warnings were issued to refrain from approaching him or his beak.
Buster lived in the aviary of my client's bird store, free of any tether, and without many other of God's creatures getting in his way.
One day, a new customer to the shop entered.
Lured, no doubt, by my client's regional reputation for high quality birds and a broad selection of bird support products, this new customer, we'll call "Ginger". There's actually a nifty word play in there that will suggest her real name to you, but we'll leave it at "Ginger".
Ginger was a member of a certain group of "professionals" who have as their primary business qualification "chutzpah".
Really, I can't and won't reveal her "profession", but you could have pinned this occupation on her from twenty paces. These days, she's driving a Lexus. I feel certain that's true. An RX400h, if I'm not mistaken.
Anyway, Ginger flounces into my client's bird shop and wanders back into the aviary, whereupon she espies "Buster" minding his own damned business up in the aviary tops.
"That's MY bird! That's my "Flouncy!" He was STOLEN from my backyard, and I WANT HIM BACK!"
I don't know how the ensuing conversation went, but my client is somewhat outspoken. I imagine that it did not go well.
So, Ginger returned to her normal range (Bellaire, Texas) and filed a complaint with the Bellaire PD that her "stolen property" (as I recall, not previously reported as stolen) had been located.
And, shortly thereafter, Bellaire PD deposited the warrant/subpoena for my client to appear with the merchandise.
And then, the phone in my office rang.
Now, we're forward to the next afternoon, and I meet (for the first time) my client outside the Bellaire Municipal Building (quite modest, back in 1990, with their tax base now they probably have their own Supreme Court). She, and her companion/partner/helper/manservant have "Buster" in a very large cage that is well covered. She's smoking about twelve cigarettes an hour. She's wound up to the hilt, and is ready for war.
She has another, similar bird with her, and her plan is to take the other bird into the court and deceive everyone that she can then pounce and alert the world that Ginger knows not her ass from a hole in the ground.
I personally know legions of title officers, mortgage officers, insurance agents and other folk who would, based solely on Ginger's professed profession, would agree wholeheartedly, but ..
I calmed and cautioned my client (who exhaled into my thirty year old face ignorant to my personal wishes) that such a choice would constitute criminal perjury, and .. she relented.
We entered the courthouse at the appointed time.
The Bellaire municipal courthouse was a lovely place (as compared to most comparable courtrooms), with theater styled seating in two sections, a nice light wood dais and bench for the Judge, who was a local attorney that heard speeding tickets and dog poo violations for one half day every so often. We, the Respondents, were four in number, my client, said manservant, me, and one very dazed young man who I had subpoenaed from Texas A&M.
Oh, and Buster. Buster in his massive cage, still covered, was brought into the courtroom (as we were ordered to do) but, he didn't like it so much.
Heedless of the vital nature that must be accorded those felonious non-residents of Bellaire who were nabbed exceeding their Very Special Speed limits, Buster announced his displeasure.
Did you know that a Macaw can drown out the noise of a crowded airport terminal?
Yeah.
LOUD.
The Judge Was Not Amused.
My client attempted to reduce the fussing level from within the covered cage. Order was restored. Dignity prevailed, but only until the Complainant (Ginger) entered the courtroom.
With her attorney, some standard issue suit, she entered leading a flying wedge of scrubbed white people. Good citizens all. There were a good twenty of them, total. Twenty. Leading citizens. Taxpayers all.
My side looked like relics from the shelter, with a baffled nubbin, me in a cheap suit, and this enormous box that squawked.
The docket for the next hour was called - the time for our denouement before Lady Justice was at hand.
Well, after the traffic tickets, and those who had left gum on the sidewalk.
Bellaire, you see, is like Houston's own little piece of Singapore. Sanitized. Modernized. An Oasis of Pretty (White) Affluent in the midst of the effluent.
Justice was meted out to those who were not well bred enough to be residents of Bellaire. Money flowed into the city's coffers.
And, then, it was Ginger's turn.
Bellaire PD, you see, was NOT going to introduce this matter before the (unsuspecting) municipal judge. Bellaire PD was not convinced that a.) this was the bird that was previously Ginger's, nor b.) that it was stolen from Ginger.
They demurred. Ginger's standard issue suit with a bar card took over.
Ginger was, of course, her own star witness. She was immaculately turned out in a lovely suit, probably from Neiman's or Tootsie's. Her size one body hoisted those shoulder pads up off of the chair and she strode up to the bench, the picture of confidence and poise.
Her nineteen white friends and relatives sat up in their chairs, eager to hear about her wrongs and suffering.
She began.
I objected.
You see, just as you've learned from the 6,198,278,109.8 courtroom drama shows that have peppered our lives since the 1970's, the side INTRODUCING testimony has to give ANSWERS to QUESTIONS that that side's attorney ASKS.
Apparently, the standard issue suit skipped that day in law school, or something.
The judge, however, did not skip that day, and agreed with me. This process consumed a goodly amount of time, in fact, the half hour traffic docket was nudging us with its chromed bumper. Ginger would narrate, I'd object, the judge would agree, the suit would ask something like "So, Ginger, WHAT HAPPENED?" and Ginger would pick up her narration again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
We paused while the City of Bellaire hauled in some more cash from non-residents.
After that break, I just gave up with trying to have the Rules of Procedure control the so-called proceedings.
Ginger regaled the rapt audience with her tale -
"Flouncy", you see, had been HER bird, that she acquired from some trip she had taken with her (thoroughly bleached) husband to An Exotic Port of Call. They returned via Miami (MIA = the Miami Permanent Construction Zone and Drug Bazaar - courtesy of Dave Barry) where Flouncy had stayed his quarantine.
She LOVED Flouncy, and Flouncy LOVED her. She petted him, and loved him, and petted him and took care of his needs and ..
"Objection, relevance."
"Sustained."
And she LOVED him, and cared for him...
"Objection, relevance."
"Sustained."
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Flouncy, being the beloved, privileged Bellaire bird, was allowed to roam freely in the BACKYARD.
Bird. Backyard. Trees. Untethered.
Remember, chutzpah - not smarts.
The bird FLEW out of the backyard. By itself. Without a masked Bellaire bandit's assistance.
Whence the Bellaire PD had found it unlikely that Flouncy had been hijacked.
Ginger described Flouncy in minute and pointless detail. "Flouncy" aka Buster, was in his enormous, shrouded cage, finally silent.
The suit, sensing opportunity to shine, began to vilify my client, calling her inappropriate names (for any white woman a resident of Bellaire, anyway).
Objection. Sustained.
I declined to cross examine her utter lack of testimonial largess.
Following was an endless parade of thronging Whiteness - witness after witness praising Ginger's love for Flouncy.
"Objection. Relevance."
"Sustained." (a groan indicated long-suffering began to creep into the Judge's tone).
"Cross-examination?" "Sure. Ma'am, are you personally familiar with any fact that would suggest that Flouncy was stolen, rather than took a wrong turn at the tall tree in Bellaire?" "No."
"No further questions."
Lather, rinse, repeat.
I have always called this the Great White Case. You don't really HAVE a case, but you're very white and very upstanding, so you invite each and every upstanding white person that you know to come testify that you're both very white and very upstanding.
Frequently, this turns out swimmingly for the White Seekers of True Justice.
The did not count on the presence of He Who Wields Wit as a Weapon.
Finally, the parade of white people was halted, when the Judge (now well past his noontime relief) asked those yet unspoken whether any one of them had anything to offer OTHER than that Ginger LOVED Flouncy.
There was a murmur in the negative.
I was "on".
I lead with my client, whom I had hoped had been nosing around in the Ketamine back of her store. I was able to confine her to the limits of the matter at hand - where she had acquired Buster, when, how he arrived here in These United States, how he had lost his eye (Flouncy, you see, had lost HIS eye in an unfortunate contact injury, whereas Buster had lost his eye from a viral infection common to birds).
Now, it was time for the coup d'grace - my witness from Texas A&M.
On direct, I had him testify that each Ag quarantine station had their own unique code which was stamped permanently into the heavy metal staple that was applied to each bird at that station. The staple applied in Miami could NEVER be confused with the staple applied in Brownsville. Had he personally inspected Buster before the courtroom drama?
Yes.
Could he identify the staple on Buster's leg?
Yes.
Please share your identification of the Ag station through which Buster entered the US from your personal examination.
"Brownsille, Texas"
And Buster could not have come through Miami?
No. These staples are only applied by the US Dept. of Ag, only at the quarantine stations, and they cannot be removed without irreparable damage.
So, Ginger's bird, whom she has testified she personally brought in through Miami could not be the bird that you inspected today?
No.
Let's pass the witness with a heavy gravy of smug, please.
The suit winds up his opening pitch -
Couldn't the staple have been removed from Flouncy and replaced with a repaired staple from Brownsville?
No.
But, the staple could have been bought illegally from someone who worked at the Brownsville Ag station and then later put onto Flouncy's leg?
No. The stapler is only at the Ag stations, and couldn't be applied off site.
Maybe you're just confused.
No.
Maybe Flouncy's staple was improperly applied with a Brownsville mark at the Miami station.
"Objection."
"Sustained"
"This man (says the suit) is refusing to produce the stolen property, and he is delaying justice for my client. This man.."
"Your honor, I have a name. It's Douglas Hord. I gave opposing counsel my business card when we first met. I object to him referring to me as 'this man'."
Judge (with head down on bench, groans) "sustained".
The Judge, now three hours into sudden death overtime, grumbles "I wish it were Judge Wapner hearing this case instead of me."
Now, the suit pronounces (out of turn, again) that IT IS NOW TIME THAT THIS STOLEN BIRD BE PRODUCED!
"Objection, your honor. To prevail, the Claimant must first demonstrate that there was a theft, and then that my client is in possession of the property stolen. The Claimant has introduced anecdotal evidence that the property was lost, but none regarding a theft."
Judge: "After listening to this for five hours, I want to see the damned bird."
Client, now VERY unhappy, allows her manservant to reveal Buster in his cage.
Ginger: "FLOUNCY! FLOUNCY!"
Suit: "I believe that the Court should observe my client interact with her bird".
Fine. Whatever.
My client conveys the bird over to Ginger, who leans over (again with the chutzpah, but not smart - you couldn't have gotten me within five feet of that thing's hammerlock snout) and coos at the bird. "Flouncy, how I've missed you."
The bird spins his head around 180 degrees and looks at my client as if to ask "who IS this bitch?".
My client points out to the judge that Buster's LEFT eye is the one missing. Ginger had testified repeatedly that Flouncy's RIGHT eye was the one missing.
Ginger: "YOU SWITCHED THE BIRDS!"
Suit: "Your Honor, I believe that the Bellaire PD should now examine ALL of that woman's birds to find where she's put my client's bird!"
Me: " Perhaps counsel may next suggest that Flouncy was transported away by the Starship Enterprise, but I doubt that this is other than wild speculation, and there is nothing before this Court to suggest that my client has done anything but observe the orders of this Court."
"Sustained. Okay, look... is there anything else?"
No. No.
"Okay, in order to prevail, the Claimant must first prove that she was deprived of her property by theft, and then that Respondent possesses or controls that property. There has been no evidence introduced that a theft took place.."
The Great White Case stand up, en masse, and file out of the courtroom .. including the suit, and without waiting for the Judge to finish.
Just rude.
I don't remember how much I got paid for that one. We finished at 5pm. We'd been there since 9am.
Oh, but there's more. A lot more. And, you'll get to read all about it (or part two thereof) tomorrow...
I was thinking about all the "stories" I've spun over the years - to the amusement and hilarity of many, and how, as I've moved along life's path, many of these stories have come to be lost - and most, if not all, of my current friends are without connection to my amusement and tumultuous past.
So, now that I've participated in the brothers Koch lid-blowing party, I'm going to spend a few days regaling my readers with some "stories".
We'll start with one of the best - how I became known as "The Bird Lawyer."
There were three bird cases in all. Each was sillier and worse than the previous. There is something to be said for the value of the moniker "Bird Brain".
If you know me at all, you know that my best stories all begin in the same way .. "There I was, minding my OWN business, when.."
I was, quite contentedly, wallpapering my very first solo office one afternoon - a lovely and gentle pink cloth paper with vertical stripes. Wearing my only suit, I was happily and quietly applying paste to the back of the paper. The phone rang.
Don't most dramatic or horrifying stories start with the phone ringing?
It was Mary, she with whom I had attended law school and who was now a successful defense attorney.
Mary, you see, had become fond of birds. BIG birds. She started out with a big gray evil fucker, who screamed bloody murder and crapped all over the kitchen floor. I couldn't, for the life of me, understand it.
She had had a panicked call from the woman from whom she was buying birds. This lady owned one of the larger bird retail shops in Houston - one that continues to this day.
The bird shop owner had been served with a court order to release property characterized as stolen - one very large, one-eyed macaw. She wanted representation, and Mary, citing her relationship with the bird shop owner, said she couldn't handle it. Or I owed her a favor. Or something.
It being a stolen property recovery hearing, the event was to be the very next day. The issuing agency was the City of Bellaire PD, so this shindig would be hosted in the City's municipal courtroom, which was mere blocks from my (now unpapered) office.
I listened to my new client regale me with the horrors of her experience, and her lusciously detailed description of how this horribly unfair state was pressed upon her. For two hours. On a phone.
Basically, it went like this:
My new client had this bird, which she had acquired personally in Central America somewhere, brought in through the Brownsville Ag station years earlier, and had cared for for many years. His name was .. heck, I can't remember - the damned bird must still be alive, though, as they live forever. We'll just call him "Buster".
Buster was a fairly typical macaw, who bore a heavy metal staple around one leg that indicated at which Ag station he'd spent his quarantine and been cleared for lawful entry into the US. He had one eye that was gone - not just blind, but gone - apparently, he'd had some infection years earlier.
He was an ill-tempered bastard, and he was a good three feet tall. Warnings were issued to refrain from approaching him or his beak.
Buster lived in the aviary of my client's bird store, free of any tether, and without many other of God's creatures getting in his way.
One day, a new customer to the shop entered.
Lured, no doubt, by my client's regional reputation for high quality birds and a broad selection of bird support products, this new customer, we'll call "Ginger". There's actually a nifty word play in there that will suggest her real name to you, but we'll leave it at "Ginger".
Ginger was a member of a certain group of "professionals" who have as their primary business qualification "chutzpah".
Really, I can't and won't reveal her "profession", but you could have pinned this occupation on her from twenty paces. These days, she's driving a Lexus. I feel certain that's true. An RX400h, if I'm not mistaken.
Anyway, Ginger flounces into my client's bird shop and wanders back into the aviary, whereupon she espies "Buster" minding his own damned business up in the aviary tops.
"That's MY bird! That's my "Flouncy!" He was STOLEN from my backyard, and I WANT HIM BACK!"
I don't know how the ensuing conversation went, but my client is somewhat outspoken. I imagine that it did not go well.
So, Ginger returned to her normal range (Bellaire, Texas) and filed a complaint with the Bellaire PD that her "stolen property" (as I recall, not previously reported as stolen) had been located.
And, shortly thereafter, Bellaire PD deposited the warrant/subpoena for my client to appear with the merchandise.
And then, the phone in my office rang.
Now, we're forward to the next afternoon, and I meet (for the first time) my client outside the Bellaire Municipal Building (quite modest, back in 1990, with their tax base now they probably have their own Supreme Court). She, and her companion/partner/helper/manservant have "Buster" in a very large cage that is well covered. She's smoking about twelve cigarettes an hour. She's wound up to the hilt, and is ready for war.
She has another, similar bird with her, and her plan is to take the other bird into the court and deceive everyone that she can then pounce and alert the world that Ginger knows not her ass from a hole in the ground.
I personally know legions of title officers, mortgage officers, insurance agents and other folk who would, based solely on Ginger's professed profession, would agree wholeheartedly, but ..
I calmed and cautioned my client (who exhaled into my thirty year old face ignorant to my personal wishes) that such a choice would constitute criminal perjury, and .. she relented.
We entered the courthouse at the appointed time.
The Bellaire municipal courthouse was a lovely place (as compared to most comparable courtrooms), with theater styled seating in two sections, a nice light wood dais and bench for the Judge, who was a local attorney that heard speeding tickets and dog poo violations for one half day every so often. We, the Respondents, were four in number, my client, said manservant, me, and one very dazed young man who I had subpoenaed from Texas A&M.
Oh, and Buster. Buster in his massive cage, still covered, was brought into the courtroom (as we were ordered to do) but, he didn't like it so much.
Heedless of the vital nature that must be accorded those felonious non-residents of Bellaire who were nabbed exceeding their Very Special Speed limits, Buster announced his displeasure.
Did you know that a Macaw can drown out the noise of a crowded airport terminal?
Yeah.
LOUD.
The Judge Was Not Amused.
My client attempted to reduce the fussing level from within the covered cage. Order was restored. Dignity prevailed, but only until the Complainant (Ginger) entered the courtroom.
With her attorney, some standard issue suit, she entered leading a flying wedge of scrubbed white people. Good citizens all. There were a good twenty of them, total. Twenty. Leading citizens. Taxpayers all.
My side looked like relics from the shelter, with a baffled nubbin, me in a cheap suit, and this enormous box that squawked.
The docket for the next hour was called - the time for our denouement before Lady Justice was at hand.
Well, after the traffic tickets, and those who had left gum on the sidewalk.
Bellaire, you see, is like Houston's own little piece of Singapore. Sanitized. Modernized. An Oasis of Pretty (White) Affluent in the midst of the effluent.
Justice was meted out to those who were not well bred enough to be residents of Bellaire. Money flowed into the city's coffers.
And, then, it was Ginger's turn.
Bellaire PD, you see, was NOT going to introduce this matter before the (unsuspecting) municipal judge. Bellaire PD was not convinced that a.) this was the bird that was previously Ginger's, nor b.) that it was stolen from Ginger.
They demurred. Ginger's standard issue suit with a bar card took over.
Ginger was, of course, her own star witness. She was immaculately turned out in a lovely suit, probably from Neiman's or Tootsie's. Her size one body hoisted those shoulder pads up off of the chair and she strode up to the bench, the picture of confidence and poise.
Her nineteen white friends and relatives sat up in their chairs, eager to hear about her wrongs and suffering.
She began.
I objected.
You see, just as you've learned from the 6,198,278,109.8 courtroom drama shows that have peppered our lives since the 1970's, the side INTRODUCING testimony has to give ANSWERS to QUESTIONS that that side's attorney ASKS.
Apparently, the standard issue suit skipped that day in law school, or something.
The judge, however, did not skip that day, and agreed with me. This process consumed a goodly amount of time, in fact, the half hour traffic docket was nudging us with its chromed bumper. Ginger would narrate, I'd object, the judge would agree, the suit would ask something like "So, Ginger, WHAT HAPPENED?" and Ginger would pick up her narration again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
We paused while the City of Bellaire hauled in some more cash from non-residents.
After that break, I just gave up with trying to have the Rules of Procedure control the so-called proceedings.
Ginger regaled the rapt audience with her tale -
"Flouncy", you see, had been HER bird, that she acquired from some trip she had taken with her (thoroughly bleached) husband to An Exotic Port of Call. They returned via Miami (MIA = the Miami Permanent Construction Zone and Drug Bazaar - courtesy of Dave Barry) where Flouncy had stayed his quarantine.
She LOVED Flouncy, and Flouncy LOVED her. She petted him, and loved him, and petted him and took care of his needs and ..
"Objection, relevance."
"Sustained."
And she LOVED him, and cared for him...
"Objection, relevance."
"Sustained."
Lather, rinse, repeat.
Flouncy, being the beloved, privileged Bellaire bird, was allowed to roam freely in the BACKYARD.
Bird. Backyard. Trees. Untethered.
Remember, chutzpah - not smarts.
The bird FLEW out of the backyard. By itself. Without a masked Bellaire bandit's assistance.
Whence the Bellaire PD had found it unlikely that Flouncy had been hijacked.
Ginger described Flouncy in minute and pointless detail. "Flouncy" aka Buster, was in his enormous, shrouded cage, finally silent.
The suit, sensing opportunity to shine, began to vilify my client, calling her inappropriate names (for any white woman a resident of Bellaire, anyway).
Objection. Sustained.
I declined to cross examine her utter lack of testimonial largess.
Following was an endless parade of thronging Whiteness - witness after witness praising Ginger's love for Flouncy.
"Objection. Relevance."
"Sustained." (a groan indicated long-suffering began to creep into the Judge's tone).
"Cross-examination?" "Sure. Ma'am, are you personally familiar with any fact that would suggest that Flouncy was stolen, rather than took a wrong turn at the tall tree in Bellaire?" "No."
"No further questions."
Lather, rinse, repeat.
I have always called this the Great White Case. You don't really HAVE a case, but you're very white and very upstanding, so you invite each and every upstanding white person that you know to come testify that you're both very white and very upstanding.
Frequently, this turns out swimmingly for the White Seekers of True Justice.
The did not count on the presence of He Who Wields Wit as a Weapon.
Finally, the parade of white people was halted, when the Judge (now well past his noontime relief) asked those yet unspoken whether any one of them had anything to offer OTHER than that Ginger LOVED Flouncy.
There was a murmur in the negative.
I was "on".
I lead with my client, whom I had hoped had been nosing around in the Ketamine back of her store. I was able to confine her to the limits of the matter at hand - where she had acquired Buster, when, how he arrived here in These United States, how he had lost his eye (Flouncy, you see, had lost HIS eye in an unfortunate contact injury, whereas Buster had lost his eye from a viral infection common to birds).
Now, it was time for the coup d'grace - my witness from Texas A&M.
On direct, I had him testify that each Ag quarantine station had their own unique code which was stamped permanently into the heavy metal staple that was applied to each bird at that station. The staple applied in Miami could NEVER be confused with the staple applied in Brownsville. Had he personally inspected Buster before the courtroom drama?
Yes.
Could he identify the staple on Buster's leg?
Yes.
Please share your identification of the Ag station through which Buster entered the US from your personal examination.
"Brownsille, Texas"
And Buster could not have come through Miami?
No. These staples are only applied by the US Dept. of Ag, only at the quarantine stations, and they cannot be removed without irreparable damage.
So, Ginger's bird, whom she has testified she personally brought in through Miami could not be the bird that you inspected today?
No.
Let's pass the witness with a heavy gravy of smug, please.
The suit winds up his opening pitch -
Couldn't the staple have been removed from Flouncy and replaced with a repaired staple from Brownsville?
No.
But, the staple could have been bought illegally from someone who worked at the Brownsville Ag station and then later put onto Flouncy's leg?
No. The stapler is only at the Ag stations, and couldn't be applied off site.
Maybe you're just confused.
No.
Maybe Flouncy's staple was improperly applied with a Brownsville mark at the Miami station.
"Objection."
"Sustained"
"This man (says the suit) is refusing to produce the stolen property, and he is delaying justice for my client. This man.."
"Your honor, I have a name. It's Douglas Hord. I gave opposing counsel my business card when we first met. I object to him referring to me as 'this man'."
Judge (with head down on bench, groans) "sustained".
The Judge, now three hours into sudden death overtime, grumbles "I wish it were Judge Wapner hearing this case instead of me."
Now, the suit pronounces (out of turn, again) that IT IS NOW TIME THAT THIS STOLEN BIRD BE PRODUCED!
"Objection, your honor. To prevail, the Claimant must first demonstrate that there was a theft, and then that my client is in possession of the property stolen. The Claimant has introduced anecdotal evidence that the property was lost, but none regarding a theft."
Judge: "After listening to this for five hours, I want to see the damned bird."
Client, now VERY unhappy, allows her manservant to reveal Buster in his cage.
Ginger: "FLOUNCY! FLOUNCY!"
Suit: "I believe that the Court should observe my client interact with her bird".
Fine. Whatever.
My client conveys the bird over to Ginger, who leans over (again with the chutzpah, but not smart - you couldn't have gotten me within five feet of that thing's hammerlock snout) and coos at the bird. "Flouncy, how I've missed you."
The bird spins his head around 180 degrees and looks at my client as if to ask "who IS this bitch?".
My client points out to the judge that Buster's LEFT eye is the one missing. Ginger had testified repeatedly that Flouncy's RIGHT eye was the one missing.
Ginger: "YOU SWITCHED THE BIRDS!"
Suit: "Your Honor, I believe that the Bellaire PD should now examine ALL of that woman's birds to find where she's put my client's bird!"
Me: " Perhaps counsel may next suggest that Flouncy was transported away by the Starship Enterprise, but I doubt that this is other than wild speculation, and there is nothing before this Court to suggest that my client has done anything but observe the orders of this Court."
"Sustained. Okay, look... is there anything else?"
No. No.
"Okay, in order to prevail, the Claimant must first prove that she was deprived of her property by theft, and then that Respondent possesses or controls that property. There has been no evidence introduced that a theft took place.."
The Great White Case stand up, en masse, and file out of the courtroom .. including the suit, and without waiting for the Judge to finish.
Just rude.
I don't remember how much I got paid for that one. We finished at 5pm. We'd been there since 9am.
Oh, but there's more. A lot more. And, you'll get to read all about it (or part two thereof) tomorrow...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Today's most poingnant and relevant discussion -
I spent a good couple of hours today reading about the Koch family, about the Birchers, the Tea Party, the astonishing spread of hate and intentional ignorance -
I was beginning to form the thought "why bother?"
Then, the conversation with Teddy:
Ted: So whats new in politics today?
drdivo: Oh, it's all the same. It's the same shit been going on since Andrew Jackson
Ted: I figured
Ted: the decline of intelligent thought in this country is making me sad
drdivo: It's making it challenging for me to be around people who are talking
drdivo: I just want to injure them
Ted: I stay away from them
Ted: There isn't anything in common, so there is no possible dialogue
drdivo: so true
Ted: They believe that once you are born, you're on your own. I believe we have a collective responsibility to society. We are arguing from two separate and irreconcilable bases of thought
drdivo: quite so
drdivo: and they resent ANY helping hand given anyone other than themselves
Ted: indeed. Although they might tread carefully. Worrying too much about the 2nd amendment may not be in their favor when the middle class is gone and there is a huge, armed underclass who comes to realize that they've been well and truly screwed by the very wealthy whom they supported for so long
(my comment at the end there)
I was beginning to form the thought "why bother?"
Then, the conversation with Teddy:
Ted: So whats new in politics today?
drdivo: Oh, it's all the same. It's the same shit been going on since Andrew Jackson
Ted: I figured
Ted: the decline of intelligent thought in this country is making me sad
drdivo: It's making it challenging for me to be around people who are talking
drdivo: I just want to injure them
Ted: I stay away from them
Ted: There isn't anything in common, so there is no possible dialogue
drdivo: so true
Ted: They believe that once you are born, you're on your own. I believe we have a collective responsibility to society. We are arguing from two separate and irreconcilable bases of thought
drdivo: quite so
drdivo: and they resent ANY helping hand given anyone other than themselves
Ted: indeed. Although they might tread carefully. Worrying too much about the 2nd amendment may not be in their favor when the middle class is gone and there is a huge, armed underclass who comes to realize that they've been well and truly screwed by the very wealthy whom they supported for so long
(my comment at the end there)
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Holiday depression, or just ... ?
I'm going to talk about depression for a bit.
The goal of this discussion, is to give those who don't deal with depression some understanding about what depression is, and to give those who are depressed and aren't getting treated some access to seeing that there is hope.
Even for someone who is themselves depressed, it is nearly impossible to see a depressed person as anything other than selfish and self-pitying. Even in mass media articles about depression, the tone is that it's all in the head of the depressed.
Being depressed is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, of pointlessness. There is only a certainty that nothing will get better, ever.
It's not something one just "snaps out of". It's not selfish, although the matter tends to be self-focused. It's not something that one can smile one's way out of.
It is a closed, self-fulfilling, self-validating circle that blocks out everything else.
You can't talk someone out of it. Helpful suggestions are not helpful.
My sister recently complimented my Zoloft for my improved mood and behavior. Uh, thanks. Zoloft did cut through the fog long enough that I could start productive talk therapy.
Medical research is now beginning to show that the vast pool of anti-depressants don't .. um .. do anything.
Productive talk therapy, with a patient who is intent on changing their life and their patterns does work. So does exercise. Sometimes.
Everyone is quite different in small ways; what works for one person won't necessarily work for someone else.
Bottom line, don't think you know what's wrong with a depressed person because you watched "Oprah" one afternoon, or because you've heard that SSRIs do wonders. You're just justifying your own judgment.
Try walking ten miles in the blinding fog of a depressed person and see how judgmental you're feeling thereafter.
The goal of this discussion, is to give those who don't deal with depression some understanding about what depression is, and to give those who are depressed and aren't getting treated some access to seeing that there is hope.
Even for someone who is themselves depressed, it is nearly impossible to see a depressed person as anything other than selfish and self-pitying. Even in mass media articles about depression, the tone is that it's all in the head of the depressed.
Being depressed is an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, of pointlessness. There is only a certainty that nothing will get better, ever.
It's not something one just "snaps out of". It's not selfish, although the matter tends to be self-focused. It's not something that one can smile one's way out of.
It is a closed, self-fulfilling, self-validating circle that blocks out everything else.
You can't talk someone out of it. Helpful suggestions are not helpful.
My sister recently complimented my Zoloft for my improved mood and behavior. Uh, thanks. Zoloft did cut through the fog long enough that I could start productive talk therapy.
Medical research is now beginning to show that the vast pool of anti-depressants don't .. um .. do anything.
Productive talk therapy, with a patient who is intent on changing their life and their patterns does work. So does exercise. Sometimes.
Everyone is quite different in small ways; what works for one person won't necessarily work for someone else.
Bottom line, don't think you know what's wrong with a depressed person because you watched "Oprah" one afternoon, or because you've heard that SSRIs do wonders. You're just justifying your own judgment.
Try walking ten miles in the blinding fog of a depressed person and see how judgmental you're feeling thereafter.
Full as a tick on a Junebug...
As we say here in Texas, anyway.
I'm as full as a tick on a Junebug - it refers to that a tick will suck the blood of its victim literally until it bursts. So, I could suggest that I'm full to the point of bursting.
Of what, you ask?
I'm as full as a tick on a Junebug - it refers to that a tick will suck the blood of its victim literally until it bursts. So, I could suggest that I'm full to the point of bursting.
Of what, you ask?
- racism
- people who resent government, want lower taxes because government is inefficient, and then bitch about government inefficiency
- US military spending
- people who steadfastly remain ignorant to the effects of their behaviors and choices
- gay Republicans
- gay conservative Christians
- married men who live "normal" lives but seek anonymous sex with men
- people who bitch about taxes in the US
- people who bitch about how unions ruined everything
- people who think that there are herds of unemployed, lazy, shiftless people on welfare who are ruining our economy
- people who blame illegal immigrants for illegal immigration
Thoughts on organized religion, ecclesiastical leadership and abuse
The further I move away from organized religion and ecclesiastical leadership, the more I am seeing that a consistent theme among such leaders is an urgent desire to "fix" what they perceive to be wrong with themselves.
Just as with the constant drone of conservative, anti-gay leaders coming out of the closet and braying for forgiveness, these committed self-healers find themselves in positions of authority and without the tools to actually teach what they preach. Conceptual knowledge and a good schtick is still a horrible disservice to those who look to these frauds as leaders.
Just as with the ardent anti-homo homos, these "healers" tend to lash out and further injure those who are in the most injury prone state.
What can be done about it? Nothing. People should just keep their eyes more open than they tend to do, I guess.
Just as with the constant drone of conservative, anti-gay leaders coming out of the closet and braying for forgiveness, these committed self-healers find themselves in positions of authority and without the tools to actually teach what they preach. Conceptual knowledge and a good schtick is still a horrible disservice to those who look to these frauds as leaders.
Just as with the ardent anti-homo homos, these "healers" tend to lash out and further injure those who are in the most injury prone state.
What can be done about it? Nothing. People should just keep their eyes more open than they tend to do, I guess.
Vacating...
Vacation. One vacates?
Vacates what, though? What if one's life now is such a change from what one's life was that going back to vacation with people who are from that "was" just inadvertently take you away from who you are now and return you back to where you've worked so hard to move away from?
Is there a successful vacation when you are assured of being thought of, interacted with and only seen as who you've always been known to be?
Or, does a successful vacation require going somewhere with only one's new self?
Vacates what, though? What if one's life now is such a change from what one's life was that going back to vacation with people who are from that "was" just inadvertently take you away from who you are now and return you back to where you've worked so hard to move away from?
Is there a successful vacation when you are assured of being thought of, interacted with and only seen as who you've always been known to be?
Or, does a successful vacation require going somewhere with only one's new self?
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sometimes, it's just SUCH a small world....
Subject: Hot waiter with whom I've flirted
Locale: BB's Cafe on Montrose
Event: Andrew, the very cute, very blond, very daffy waiter was there today. I greeted him effusively. I complimented him on his haircut. He's just not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.
Shortly after, Robert showed up and to cap off our lunch experience, Robert put on his "anti-UofH" floor show for Andrew.
It's quite the show. Only his "And then, I flew off of the top step and body checked the bitch while she was trying to bite my partner's arm" comes close to its drama and intensity.
Andrew, who has today started at UH, was somewhat overwhelmed.
Yes, UH has its problems, but Robert paints them out to be so vast and monstrous that there appears to be no valid reason that UofH is still operating.
Robert was called away to another engagement, and I mentioned to Andrew that I'm an adjunct at UH and Robert paints the picture out to be much worse than it really is.
"Oh, really? Maybe you know my dad - he's an adjunct at UH. Ken Jones".
(insert massive pause in space time continuum here)
"Ken Jones - as in married to Carla?" (Carla being she who during the cast party following opening night of "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas back around 1998 I complimented by telling her that she was so hot I had heterosexual thoughts about her)
"Yeah, he's my dad"
(insert flood of conflicted thoughts here, i.e.
Locale: BB's Cafe on Montrose
Event: Andrew, the very cute, very blond, very daffy waiter was there today. I greeted him effusively. I complimented him on his haircut. He's just not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.
Shortly after, Robert showed up and to cap off our lunch experience, Robert put on his "anti-UofH" floor show for Andrew.
It's quite the show. Only his "And then, I flew off of the top step and body checked the bitch while she was trying to bite my partner's arm" comes close to its drama and intensity.
Andrew, who has today started at UH, was somewhat overwhelmed.
Yes, UH has its problems, but Robert paints them out to be so vast and monstrous that there appears to be no valid reason that UofH is still operating.
Robert was called away to another engagement, and I mentioned to Andrew that I'm an adjunct at UH and Robert paints the picture out to be much worse than it really is.
"Oh, really? Maybe you know my dad - he's an adjunct at UH. Ken Jones".
(insert massive pause in space time continuum here)
"Ken Jones - as in married to Carla?" (Carla being she who during the cast party following opening night of "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas back around 1998 I complimented by telling her that she was so hot I had heterosexual thoughts about her)
"Yeah, he's my dad"
(insert flood of conflicted thoughts here, i.e.
- Your dad is one of the smartest guys on the planet - what happened to you?
- That explains why you've got such a great ass, 'cause your dad's ass ROCKS the house at age 54.
- I wonder if you're as MSM curious as is your dad...
- Well, crap, now I can't try to get into your pants!
- etc.)
my email to Darrin at Beck and Masten Buick GMC today
So, you're all aware that I'm a car whore. Currently, I'm captivated both emotionally and intellectually with the 2011 Buick Regal. I saw it at the Houston (pathetic) car show in January, and I got to drive one a couple of Saturdays ago. I've consumed every fragment and data bit of information that I can hunt down about the car, and I'm s-o-l-d.
Last week, after retuning from vacay with my fam, I found myself sans companions - as is my usual, but was newly unfamiliar to me - and I did my usual - which is to look at cars online. I was delighted to see that Edmunds.com had uploaded the Regal CXL turbo information, which was brand new to the net - pricing, equipment, etc. Edmunds provides a convenient "get a quote" link. Being a.) bored, b.) lonely and c.) insane, I completed the online form and was nearly immediately rewarded with a barrage of automated emails from the five (5) Houston area Buick dealers that I chose. Somehow, DeMontrond didn't make the cut (probably because they're not paying Edmunds off).
I had a single satisfactory conversation with one (1) Buick salesman following this web inquiry. His automated responder just tonight emailed me with a follow up, and I replied to him thusly:
Last week, after retuning from vacay with my fam, I found myself sans companions - as is my usual, but was newly unfamiliar to me - and I did my usual - which is to look at cars online. I was delighted to see that Edmunds.com had uploaded the Regal CXL turbo information, which was brand new to the net - pricing, equipment, etc. Edmunds provides a convenient "get a quote" link. Being a.) bored, b.) lonely and c.) insane, I completed the online form and was nearly immediately rewarded with a barrage of automated emails from the five (5) Houston area Buick dealers that I chose. Somehow, DeMontrond didn't make the cut (probably because they're not paying Edmunds off).
I had a single satisfactory conversation with one (1) Buick salesman following this web inquiry. His automated responder just tonight emailed me with a follow up, and I replied to him thusly:
Hello Darrin -Notes:
Enjoyed speaking to you last week.
Edmunds sent out five requests for quote for the '11 Regal GXL turbo.
You replied cogently, spoke in a reasonable way, and suggested you'd call me when one came in that I could drive. If one wasn't available as I would want (CXL turbo, 6AT pkg 5, espresso brown, cashmere), you'd help me order one.
I'm quite good with that answer, and you've got my business. When one comes in, I hope to hear from you and I'll dash right up there to check it out with you. I understand that they'll start shipping shortly.
You'll be quite entertained to hear of the other four responses:
- David Taylor - replied that the Turbo won't be out until next year 2nd qtr (they must be thinking of the GS, which I didn't inquire about)
- West Point - replied by phone and by email and blackberry at 10:30pm, then by phone and email and blackberry the next morning. After I spoke to you, I spoke to him, and he suggested that I could come in right then and buy one - he'd find me one. Uh, no.
- Beck & Masten South - replied by email that the Turbo won't be out until the Spring - see David Taylor, above.
- Casa - replied twice; internet "manager" (not the internet manager reflected on their website) replied that the turbo wasn't out, and they didn't know when that would be. I tried to reply to his email, and his reply address failed. Then, the internet manager (as listed on the website) contacted me by email to suggest that I'd really like the non-turbo, and I should come try one. After I had made it clear to them that I'd already driven the CXL base, and wanted the CXL turbo.
So, man, you're the only Buick guy in town who's actually processing what the customer is asking for. Kudos. Call me when they're coming off the truck and I'm looking forward to meeting you then.
Doug Hord
- If you're interested in a new Buick, go see Darin at Beck and Masten North.
- I love being again validated by my prior opinions of the idiots at David Taylor.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
More stupid shit from crazy white people
My dad sends me (for verification purposes):
From September 11, 2009 ….
IN CASE YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THIS READ CAREFULLY
In Houston, Texas
Harwin Central Mall: The very first store that you come to when you walk from the lobby of the building into the shopping area had this sign posted on their door. The shop is run by Muslims.
Feel free to share this with others. In case you are not able to read the sign below, it says
"We will be closed on Friday, September 11, 2009 to
commemorate the martyrdom of Imam Ali"
Imam Ali flew one of the planes into the twin towers.
Nice huh?
Try telling me we're not in a Religious war!
THIS HAS NOT BEEN AROUND.....SO MAKE SURE IT GOES!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truthfulness inspection:
From September 11, 2009 ….true
IN CASE YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THIS READ CAREFULLY
In Houston, Texas true-ish
Harwin Central Mall (untrue, no such place): The very first store that you come to when you walk from the lobby of the building into the shopping area (untrue) had this sign posted on their door. (true) The shop is run by Muslims. (true-ish, they're Americans)
Feel free to share this with others. (if you're a chickenshit white bigoted Asshat) In case you are not able to read the sign below, it says
"We will be closed on Friday, September 11, 2009 to
commemorate the martyrdom of Imam Ali"
Imam Ali flew one of the planes into the twin towers. (not even a little bit true)
Nice huh? (that you made a bunch of shit up and spread it around the other arrogant, bigoted, Paulist asshats that call themselves "Christian"? No, not really. So, not even a little bit true)
Try telling me we're not in a Religious war! (I think you're right, we're still fighting the Crusades, which we started as a diversion for the folks that could rise up against the leadership in rebellion and take over. The arrogant, bigoted, Paulist asshats that call themselves "Christian" are still at it. So, true.)
THIS HAS NOT BEEN AROUND (this has been around in circles, so not true a tiny little bit).....SO MAKE SURE IT GOES! (this isn't really a claim as much an exhortation, so knock yourself out)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My note back to my dad:
"We're not in a religious war".
http://www.snopes.com/rumors/photos/martyr.asp
It's FALSE.
I live in Houston and have for 29 years. There is no "Harwin Central Mall". There is a "Harwin Central Mart". There was no 9/11 hijacker named "Ali", and "Imam" is not a name, but is rather a title for a Muslim religious leader.
Imam Ali http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imam_Ali was the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, and was the ruler of the Islamic Caliphate after Muhammad died. In 656 C.E.
Imam Ali, who was the leader of the largest organized area of the world at the time, was assassinated on the 19th day of Ramadan (a lunar calendar) and died on the 21st day of Ramadan. This happened to fall, in 2009, on September 22, 2010 by the Georgian calendar.
The owners of the store, who were astonished and baffled by white, Christian bigotry in reaction to their observation of a religious and cultural leader's death one thousand five hundred years ago, continue to this day to receive hundreds of hostile letters and phone calls, many of which threatened them with death and destruction of property.
Please tell your buddy Al thanks from me for making the world a safer place.
Oh, it took me less than ten seconds to dig up this information. It took me far longer to write it into the body of an email, because most people like your buddy Al who send this horseshit onward won't click links containing facts to see for themselves.
The following graphic is for your buddy Al, and for anyone else who looks at the world the way he does:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just one more note on a related subject:
From September 11, 2009 ….
IN CASE YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THIS READ CAREFULLY
In Houston, Texas
Harwin Central Mall: The very first store that you come to when you walk from the lobby of the building into the shopping area had this sign posted on their door. The shop is run by Muslims.
Feel free to share this with others. In case you are not able to read the sign below, it says
"We will be closed on Friday, September 11, 2009 to
commemorate the martyrdom of Imam Ali"
Imam Ali flew one of the planes into the twin towers.
Nice huh?
Try telling me we're not in a Religious war!
THIS HAS NOT BEEN AROUND.....SO MAKE SURE IT GOES!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Truthfulness inspection:
From September 11, 2009 ….true
IN CASE YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THIS READ CAREFULLY
In Houston, Texas true-ish
Harwin Central Mall (untrue, no such place): The very first store that you come to when you walk from the lobby of the building into the shopping area (untrue) had this sign posted on their door. (true) The shop is run by Muslims. (true-ish, they're Americans)
Feel free to share this with others. (if you're a chickenshit white bigoted Asshat) In case you are not able to read the sign below, it says
"We will be closed on Friday, September 11, 2009 to
commemorate the martyrdom of Imam Ali"
 |
| Picture is real |
Imam Ali flew one of the planes into the twin towers. (not even a little bit true)
Nice huh? (that you made a bunch of shit up and spread it around the other arrogant, bigoted, Paulist asshats that call themselves "Christian"? No, not really. So, not even a little bit true)
Try telling me we're not in a Religious war! (I think you're right, we're still fighting the Crusades, which we started as a diversion for the folks that could rise up against the leadership in rebellion and take over. The arrogant, bigoted, Paulist asshats that call themselves "Christian" are still at it. So, true.)
THIS HAS NOT BEEN AROUND (this has been around in circles, so not true a tiny little bit).....SO MAKE SURE IT GOES! (this isn't really a claim as much an exhortation, so knock yourself out)
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My note back to my dad:
"We're not in a religious war".
http://www.snopes.com/rumors/photos/martyr.asp
It's FALSE.
I live in Houston and have for 29 years. There is no "Harwin Central Mall". There is a "Harwin Central Mart". There was no 9/11 hijacker named "Ali", and "Imam" is not a name, but is rather a title for a Muslim religious leader.
Imam Ali http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imam_Ali was the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, and was the ruler of the Islamic Caliphate after Muhammad died. In 656 C.E.
Imam Ali, who was the leader of the largest organized area of the world at the time, was assassinated on the 19th day of Ramadan (a lunar calendar) and died on the 21st day of Ramadan. This happened to fall, in 2009, on September 22, 2010 by the Georgian calendar.
The owners of the store, who were astonished and baffled by white, Christian bigotry in reaction to their observation of a religious and cultural leader's death one thousand five hundred years ago, continue to this day to receive hundreds of hostile letters and phone calls, many of which threatened them with death and destruction of property.
Please tell your buddy Al thanks from me for making the world a safer place.
Oh, it took me less than ten seconds to dig up this information. It took me far longer to write it into the body of an email, because most people like your buddy Al who send this horseshit onward won't click links containing facts to see for themselves.
The following graphic is for your buddy Al, and for anyone else who looks at the world the way he does:
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Just one more note on a related subject:
Fighting back when they already own the government
I love talking with Teddy. His thoughts on the Target situation:
When commercial organizations support political or ideological causes antithetical to your very being, there is only one way to successfully deal with it.
When they perceive that their cost of business is higher than supporting the causes which try to kill or limit you, coupled with an awareness of tens of thousands of individual communicated decisions to purchase elsewhere, they'll change.
So every time you purchase something you could have or would have purchased at Target, send the local store a note that informs them of how much business they lost.
For those OCD souls among us, follow my lead in sending your local Target store a summary of all the money you spent there in the last calendar year and notify them that next year, the total will be zero.
Teddy reminded me that he mostly shops at Amazon online, and I have been noticing my own tendency to do the same. I wonder if Jeff Bezos could consider opening up an online pharmacy by mail....
"HEY JEFF!"
It is so disappointing though, they were the anti-walmart and now they are no better than the Arkansas asshats. Corporations in this country seem hell-bent on proving that they are, in fact, evil.
When commercial organizations support political or ideological causes antithetical to your very being, there is only one way to successfully deal with it.
When they perceive that their cost of business is higher than supporting the causes which try to kill or limit you, coupled with an awareness of tens of thousands of individual communicated decisions to purchase elsewhere, they'll change.
So every time you purchase something you could have or would have purchased at Target, send the local store a note that informs them of how much business they lost.
For those OCD souls among us, follow my lead in sending your local Target store a summary of all the money you spent there in the last calendar year and notify them that next year, the total will be zero.
Teddy reminded me that he mostly shops at Amazon online, and I have been noticing my own tendency to do the same. I wonder if Jeff Bezos could consider opening up an online pharmacy by mail....
"HEY JEFF!"
My email to Target's CEO
I've been a Target customer, loyal beyond reason, for twenty-nine years.
I deeply regret that Target management has concluded that their best business strategy is to promote political entities that advocate me personally having no human rights, that I be done violent death and be relegated to a sub-human existence.
I believe that you must understand I can no longer support Target in any way with my recommendations, my time nor my money.
I will be providing both the store manager and the pharmacist with the attached letter next week when I advise them in person that I am transferring my prescriptions to a commercial enterprise that does not actively and openly seek my person and my life being damaged, and that I will never be back.
I deeply regret that Target management has concluded that their best business strategy is to promote political entities that advocate me personally having no human rights, that I be done violent death and be relegated to a sub-human existence.
I believe that you must understand I can no longer support Target in any way with my recommendations, my time nor my money.
I will be providing both the store manager and the pharmacist with the attached letter next week when I advise them in person that I am transferring my prescriptions to a commercial enterprise that does not actively and openly seek my person and my life being damaged, and that I will never be back.
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