I have so many new readers that one long-time reader is afraid that some of the newcomers might have missed some of my most offensive previous posts. Not wishing to leave the professionally aggrieved without cause to to huff and puff, this reader suggested that I pick a post form the olden days that still might pack a punch of political incorrectness and do a redo. That sounded like a chance to pick low-hanging fruit, which every lazy, shiftless, trailer park denizen like this blogger yearns to make his life's calling, so here's one from early 20007, before the subpriume meltdown started to really heat up, and before the word "bank" became a true four-letter word. Although the link to The West Virginia Record article no longer works, that article was merely a pretext for offering up a post that was certain to offend as many as it amused. Enjoy (or not)! This post is dedicated to every banker who's sued or been sued, and to the men and women who love them. As I read an opinion piece from The West Virginia Record, in which an anti-trial lawyer advocate, who wants to clean up the personal injury litigation mess that we have created in this country (and by "we" I mean "lawyers"), propounds that it will take "courage" to "reform" our broken civil trial system, I thought to myself: "Courage"? No, what this country needs is a heavy dose of plain old common sense, the kind of common sense I commented upon several years ago on another blog, but feel compelled to resurrect; the kind of common sense that was displayed by me and a few of my law school classmates when we used to sit in the law school grill, eating burgers and drinking beer, instead of studying. As a direct result of those brainstorming sessions (actually, full-blown brain hurricanes), we came up with a number of startling innovations and improvements to our system of dispensing justice, improving public health, and delivering legal services, among them: The Tort Wheel of Fortune. Instead of the crap shoot of a judge or jury, you just walked, rode or were carried into a room where your host — say, Pat Sajak — would spin a wheel with all possible trial outcomes on it, and you just took what was designated when the wheel stopped spinning. Sure, a woman badly frightened when a car backfired might win $4 billion, while a class of horribly disfigured babies scarred for life by a drug their mothers ingested during pregnancy and manufactured by a company which knowingly concealed its defects might take home only some lovely parting gifts, but HEY! This is America! Everybody wants that big pot of gold, and why should only those with a good lawyer be entitled to travel to the end of the rainbow? This way, everyone has a chance. Best part: all awards are funded by a consumption tax on those earning less than $13,000 per year. The Mobile Breast Check Station. Suggested by a beer-swilling, cigar-smoking female back-bencher (who anticipated by a decade, The Waitresses' "I Know What Boys Like"), this bright idea involved a converted school bus, staffed only by competent male law students, who would travel the nation performing, gratis, manual breast checks on women 18-40 years of age. No charge for the check because the examiners would pay the sponsor for the privilege of performing this public service. Our motto: "10 Lawyers, No Waiting. In by 9, Out by 5" Last, but hardly least, the Combination Pez-Dispenser and Professional Business Card Gun. We envisioned ourselves patrolling the roads, streets and superhighways of this great land, shooting Pez pellets with our professional cards attached, into the open windows of wrecked motor vehicles, back (and front) doors of ambulances, and homes where domestic disputes were occurring, as well as into emergency room entrances. With proper aim, the injured or otherwise aggrieved would not only be informed about a valuable professional service, but simultaneously would receive a refreshing breath mint, both delivered smack between your cheek and gum. We hadn't considered the next logical step of drive-by dispensing to morgues, funeral homes, and houses of worship, but with our ambition and high ethical standards, it would have been only a question of time. Courage? Sure, courage can assist a man in the game of life. Yet, the ultimate winner, the Übermensch, is a man willing to think not only out of the box, but also out of his mind, venturing into uncharted territory where an extra quart of pure grain alcohol and a tinfoil hat are all a man needs to rise above the madding crowd.
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