Category: Funny stories

Tastes like…

Still hard to believe that the “Beyond Meat” COO was arrested for biting a guy’s nose. You really can’t replicate the taste of real meat, evidently.

Mom orders a drink

Last night I went out to dinner with my mom, who was supposed to meet me for dinner at Continental. But she showed up at Phillips Seafood. These restaurants are right next to each other and they don’t have walls (they’re inside Caesar’s Atlantic City).

She had just ordered a margarita at Phillips. So she smuggled it out wrapped up in a copy of Bartlett v. Mutual Pharm. Co., Inc. (1st Cir. May 2, 2012). When we walked over to Continental, they caught her. But she decided to just set the drink on the floor. Periodically she would lean down and drink out of this glass on the floor. Eventually it was gone so they took it away.

Nobody has a crazy, wonderful, nuts mom like I do. I’m lucky.

Take the hummus challenge

As you may know, I recently had a few people around for a party and decided it would be a good idea to settle the question: who makes the best hummus in Columbus?  Over twenty people voted and I tabulated the results.  There’s something for everyone.  Go to my Columbus hummus challenge page and see the results.

Boldface names II

Special thanks to Ben and Nathan for another “fabulous” 918 Christmas party.  This year I did not embarrass myself and incur the substantial wrath of Matt Brown; rather, I behaved according to the reasonable person standard and we can all be grateful for that.

I did have the jarring experience of meeting a hair-wax-loving chap called Bill Couch, which was very disturbing, since the other guests were getting us confused.  And I thought I was so original.  So I talked to him and told him that he would have to change both his first and last names for party purposes, which he agreed to do: he said, “Tell you what, you can have Bill, I’ll take BC3.”  Whereupon, poooof! my head exploded, because of course, I invented BC3.  I almost slapped him, but he was straight, and that would only deepen the divide.  So I just sort of walked away and bitterly complained to everyone else.

In other news, I now have a new pet.  My cat enjoys dusting under my bed with his body, drinking out of the toilet, and, inexplicably, soft-sided luggage.  Yes, I actually got his favorite suitcase out and am leaving around the house so he can lie on it.  It’s been an interesting experience so far; I never thought I would be a cat person, but it’s one of those things: when you live in the city, you don’t have a choice.

Finally, I have to suggest for anyone interested in the Supreme Court to check out The Brethren, a book by Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong.  OK, it’s real old, but it’s a “tell-all” that discusses events and cases during the first several years of the Burger Supreme Court.  I just ran across it and it’s hard to put down.

On storms

You might know that hurricane names are based on lists of names drawn up by committee years in advance.  I think I read somewhere that Atlantic names are one-third English, one-third French, and one-third Spanish to represent the countries in the region.  But I’ve decided it might be more satisfying to have our hurricanes named after strippers, whores, and drag queens rather than some bland lists of names in boy-girl order.

  • “Hurricane Cinnamon is breathlessly lurching toward Jacksonville!”
  • “Tropical Storm Trixie has grazed the island of Hispaniola.”
  • “The residents of Newport News have braced themselves for the arrival of Hurricane Virginia West.”  (special thanks to imposing local drag empress Virginia West)
  • “Tropical Storm All-Beef Patty has become unstable and has blown out to sea.”
  • “Tropical Depression Miss Thing has been brooding off the coast of the Bahamas for four days now.”

Objection, your honors

The Honorable William Klatt
373 South High Street, 24th Floor
Columbus, Ohio 43215

February 13, 2005

Dear William Klatt:

I’m a 26-year-old first-year student at Capital University Law School, and I’m writing to you in your capacity as the Tenth District’s administrative judge.  I had the pleasure of participating in Capital’s first-year moot court competitions this weekend at the county court complex.  For reasons that will become clear, you’ll be interested to know that I sat on the left side of the appellee’s desk in courtroom 23-B.

Today, after having wrapped up what I thought was a pretty tough oral argument, I returned to my seat so that my co-counsel could conclude our portion of the argument.

As I sat down, I noticed that I was listing strangely portside, oddly close to the wonderful view you have there in 23-B.  I remember thinking, The judges must have been even rougher on me than I realized if they can induce vertigo. I tried to sit up straight and found myself lurching in the other direction.  The reason for my precarious imbalance soon became clear: one of the casters in my very comfortable chair had come out, putting me in grave physical (and legal) danger.  As exhibit A, I placed the errant caster on our desk.

Co-counsel, valiantly trying to ignore the lurching and scraping noises behind him, continued giving his part of our argument as I righted myself and located a spare chair that had been conveniently placed near our table.

I am certain that your honors did not requisition this “ejector seat” function, but you might want to consider it for certain members of the bar.  I am currently studying products liability, and have a few theories under which you might justify the utility of such furniture.

We won the case, and I believe the judges did compliment us on our “poise.”

I look forward to practicing before the Tenth District Court of Appeals very soon, but perhaps in a more steady position.

Bill Cash III

And if you need help getting back to your car…

So we had two more rounds of moot court today.  I don’t know how but we have advanced to the Final Four, baby!!!  Life is good so far.  We go back for the semi-finals tomorrow and I don’t even want to speculate on who’ll be in the finals.

The opponents are definitely getting harder, but I like to think we are, too.  We’ve dropped a lot of our prepared stuff and we sort of freestyle it now.  Yeah, in front of that bench, we’re just two bad-ass government attorneys.  A lot of times during these things I put my feet up on the desk when it’s not my turn to talk.  The judge, he all right.

A seriously amusing eventuality occurred today on the way into the courthouse.  (The second round was at our state appellate court in the county complex.)  We all pile out of our cars and head for the elevator.  This kind of clean-cut-looking guy follows us.  He is carrying a PeopleSoft bag and he has glasses, so I figure he is some kind of computer nerd just there to check on stuff over the weekend.

We all take the elevator up to 9 together.  I give my mom the instructions: “Look.  You can go in with us, but I don’t really want the judges to know who you are or what side you’re on.  Don’t make a big scene here, OK?”  She promises to be good.

On the 9th floor, we all take the skyway out of the garage and across High Street.  When we get to the courthouse, the door into the courthouse is locked.  There’s nothing to do except turn around and go all the way back down to the street.  And we don’t want to be late!  I’m a little incredulous, so I kind of punch the guy on the arm or something and say, “How come you didn’t know it would be locked?”  “Well, I’m never in here on the weekend.”  “Yeah, all right…”  We get back in the elevator.  Somebody asks him, “Oh, so why are you here?”

He says, “Well, I’m here for moot court.”  Oh shit. I say, “You’re not one of our judges, are you?”  “Well, I don’t know.”

Needless to say, the guy did turn out to be one of our two judges.  There was nothing I could do except lean right in during my intro and say, “Good afternoon, your honors…” and try not to smirk.

Well, we won, so I guess it didn’t cause too much injury.  My mom was pretty amused though.  Let’s let this be a good lesson about being decorous outside the courtroom as well as in.  :)


You have to wonder how this correction, about the Concorde’s last flight, was actually delivered to the Times.

An audio slide show that accompanied this article incorrectly referred to Joan Collins as being retired. Ms. Collins continues to make regular appearances on television and in film.

New York Times, 25 October 2003

More small thoughts

I guess all I have these days are small thoughts.  But hey, it’s summertime, the reality shows dominate, and you just gotta have some reality web log entries.  If you really want substance, America, go read my famous Michael Moore entry (still one of the most popular pages on my site).  I’ll be back with serious commentary in September.

That out of the way, here are more small thoughts!

  • Virginia’s new license plates advertise the state’s 400th anniversary — “1607-2007.” Couple of points for you, Virginia. 1) 2007 is four years away. There’s no guarantee you’ll even exist. Some guy from West Virginia might organize a recall election, and your whole state could be replaced by Arianna Huffington. 2) 400 years, huh? And it took you, what, 260 years to free all the slaves? 370 years to legalize interracial marriage? 400+ to spit that chaw out? My state is only 200 years old, and we’re way more sophisticated. Maybe you should catch up to the inland provinces before bragging about your proud history.
  • E-mail I got recently: “Bill F Cash, It’s a world of wine and United [Airlines] can take you there!” God, if only it were that simple.
  • News story about today’s California ballot lottery: “The letters H, B and S, were drawn as eighth, ninth and tenth, meaning that some high-profile candidates, commentator Arianna Huffington, Lt. Gov. Cruz Bustamante and actor Arnold Schwarzenegger will be relatively near each other on most ballots.” This is what passes for news? The order — not even the content — of the California ballot? Well, their state is only 150 years old. :) Still, pretty tragic.
  • Finally, I’ve come up with a couple of new shows for Bravo to air:
    Boy Meets Girl. Here’s the setup: a pretty gay boy shows up and has a shot at meeting fifteen potential fag hags. They line up the women, and they each claim to know so much about things near and dear to the gay boy’s heart, like eyebrows or dance music, while complimenting him on his “zaniness” and “totally sensitive side.” But what the gay boy doesn’t know is that some of the potential gal pals are actually scary dykes who’ve been recently shaven. The big finale of the show has the girl revealing the particular horrific personal insecurity — weight, height, breast size, awful middle name — that will come to dominate their fledgling best-friendship. Grand prize? Trip to a gay bar, of course, where the boy will ignore the girl and the girl will silently lust after hundreds of cute unavailables.
    Queer Eye for the Straight Teenager. A lecherous group of hairy fortysomethings drive around in an Impala cruising for hotboys in backward ballcaps. When they find them (typically at auto battery stores or maybe NASCAR), they offer smart fashion and dating tips such as: wearing less fashion and dating older men.

Three quotes

“The trouble then and now is that Democrats have about as much clout at the Statehouse as the University of Michigan boosters club.” – Dispatch

“‘I always thought that mayor of Hilliard would be the most honorable job in the world,’ said Kay, 40, who has lived in the town his whole life.” – Dispatch

“The Japanese Steak House will be closed, May 26, so that we may celebrate Memorial Day. Sorry for any convenience.” – sign