Ramblings of a Jackhole

A buddy of mine shared this in coversation when talking about his first combat experience.

The first time I saw combat, it was intense, but fast. I mean the actual events were a blur in my mind. I vaguely remember what I did beyond taking cover behind a tree up on the small ridge before the command to fire was given, but I do remember my training and instincts kicking in. Plus the ringing in my ears was distinct. Maybe it was because we always wore ear protection when we did practice shoots, but my hearing was a bit messed up right afterwards.

The thing I REALLY remember though was seeing the aftermath of what happened. Dead, some burning, some dismembered (a 40mm grenade to a truck fuel tank goes BOOM!), and some just all torn to hell BODIES everywhere. 16 enemy total that first time ambushed by us since we were observing, and they suddenly were moving right towards us not know we were there, and we had to act first.

The scene afterwards is burned into my memory, and I will never forget it, and it is one of those events in my life that I reflect on when I start feeling “down”, or upset, as thinking about that reminds me of how much worse the world is in places elsewhere. I remember puking my guts out when I saw the carnage. Literally on my knees emptying my entire stomach because I just wasn’t prepared for what I saw, and it really shocked and horrified me right at first. Whomever said “war is hell” knew what they were talking about. I am proud to have served my country, but some of the stuff I was involved with while doing so, such as the combat experience, I’m not proud of. I’m not ashamed of it, but anyone that would be proud of taking the life of another human being isn’t right in the head if you ask me.

I think my buddy makes a great point. Glorification of killing is a bad idea. However, I will always hold in the highest regard those men and women of the military that fight, and kill when necessary, to protect our freedoms and way of life.

The Jackhole’s love of his life purchased tickets to the Def Poetry Jam. Surprisingly it wasn’t about some illiterate, hard-of-hearing poets. It was better than I had thought even though the lesbian poet wasn’t exactly the type of lesbian that you’d fantasize about. So besides being one of the few crackers there, it wasn’t bad.

However, on the way out a couple dudes stopped us and asked me;

“Hey cracker, what are you doing here?”

I said;

“Excuse me sir. Only my cracker brothers can call me ‘cracker.’

For example, when driving around with my homies listening to NPR and one of them asks me, ‘Hey cracker, pass me some of those Wheat Thins.’ to which I reply; ‘Hey cracker, you don’t get any of those Wheat Thins in MY ride and cracker, you’ll have to wait until we get to the art gallery.’

Now sir, you can call me crackAH, but you can’t call me crackER. Only other crackers can call me crackER.”

They then gave me my props and we each went to our vehicles, his a Lexus with gold rims and mine a Surburban with a Ryan Newman NASCAR sticker on the back. One should be careful with racial terms and stereotypes. Word.

Seriously though, my favorite poet by far was Poetri. He did his Krispy Kreme poem, fast food poem as well as a new one about driving. For some unknown reason I spent about $25 at various fast food joints shortly after we left.

While most of the poems were “directed” toward black audience members it was interesting, informative and entertaining for THIS crackAH.

Although I always have to ask myself that the stereotypes that they made of both their own race and other races, while normally humorous (even on low rated websites), is constructive in the long run.

This was forwarded to me without an author listed. If this is your story I apologize for copying it, but this is too funny and MUST be shared! And I just HAD to add a few pictures!

I never dreamed slowly cruising on my motorcycle through a residential neighborhood could be so incredibly dangerous! Little did I suspect.

I was on Brice Street – a very nice neighborhood with perfect lawns and slow traffic. As I passed an oncoming car, a brown furry missile shot out from under it and tumbled to a stop immediately in front of me.

It was a squirrel, and must have been trying to run across the road when it encountered the car. I really was not going very fast, but there was no time to brake or avoid it — it was that close.

I hate to run over animals, and I really hate it on a motorcycle, but a squirrel should pose no danger to me. I barely had time to brace for the impact.

Animal lovers, never fear. Squirrels, I discovered, can take care of themselves!Inches before impact, the squirrel flipped to his feet.

He shot straight up, flew over my windshield, and impacted me squarely in the chest. Instantly, he set upon me. If I did not know better, I would have sworn he brought 20 of his little buddies along for the attack.

Picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and leather gloves, puttering at maybe 25 mph down a quiet residential street, and in the fight of his life with a squirrel. And losing…

That should have done it. The matter should have ended right there. It really should have. The squirrel could have sailed into one of the pristinely kept yards and gone on about his business, and I could have headed home. No one would have been the wiser. But this was no ordinary squirrel. This was not even an ordinary angry squirrel.

This was an EVIL MUTANT ATTACK SQUIRREL OF DEATH!

His attacks were continuing, and now I could not reach him. I was startled, to say the least. The combination of the force of the throw, only having one hand (the throttle hand) on the handlebars, and my jerking back unfortunately put a healthy twist through my right hand and into the throttle. A healthy twist on the throttle of a Valkyrie can only have one result.

TORQUE. This is what the Valkyrie is made for, and she is very, very good at it. The engine roared and the front wheel left the pavement.The squirrel screamed in anger.

The Valkyrie screamed in ecstasy.

I screamed in .. well .. I just plain screamed.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a slightly squirrel-torn t-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, and roaring at maybe 50 mph and rapidly accelerating down a quiet residential street on one wheel, with a demonic squirrel of death on his back. The man and the squirrel are both screaming bloody murder. With the sudden acceleration I was forced to put my other hand back on the handlebars and try to get control of the bike.

This was leaving the mutant squirrel to his own devices, but I really did not want to crash into somebody’s tree, house, or parked car. Also, I had not yet figured out how to release the throttle… my brain was just simply overloaded. I did manage to mash the back brake, but it had little effect against the massive power of the big cruiser.

About this time the squirrel decided that I was not paying sufficient attention to this very serious battle (maybe he was an evil mutant NAZI attack squirrel of death), and he came around my neck and got INSIDE my full-face helmet with me.As the faceplate closed part way, he began hissing in my face. I am quite sure my screaming changed intensity.
It had little effect on the squirrel, however. The RPMs on the Dragon maxed out (since I was not bothering with shifting at the moment), so her front end started to drop.

Now picture a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a very raggedly torn T-shirt, wearing only one leather glove, roaring at probably 80 mph, still on one wheel, with a large puffy squirrel’s tail sticking out of the mostly closed full-face helmet. By now, the screams are probably getting a little hoarse.

Finally I got the upper hand … I managed to grab his tail again, pulled him out of my helmet, and slung him to the left as hard as I could. This time it worked … sort-of. Spectacularly sort-of …so to speak.Picture a new scene.

You are a cop.

You and your partner have pulled off on a quiet residential street and parked with your windows down to do some paperwork.

Suddenly a large man on a huge black and chrome cruiser, dressed in jeans, a torn T-shirt flapping in the breeze, and wearing only one leather glove, moving at probably 80 mph on one wheel, and screaming bloody murder roars by, and with all his strength throws a live squirrel grenade directly into your police car.

I heard screams.

They weren’t mine…

I managed to get the big motorcycle under control and dropped the front wheel to the ground. I then used maximum braking and skidded to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke at the stop sign of a busy cross street.

I would have returned to ‘fess up (and to get my glove back).I really would have.

Really… Except for two things.

First, the cops did not seem interested or the slightest bit concerned about me at the moment. When I looked back, the doors on both sides of the patrol car were flung wide open. The cop from the passenger side was on his back, doing a crab walk into somebody’s front yard, quickly moving away from the car. The cop who had been in the driver’s seat was standing in the street, aiming a riot shotgun at his own police car.

So, the cops were not interested in me. They often insist to “let the professionals handle it” anyway.

That was one thing.

The other?

Well, I could clearly see shredded and flying pieces of foam and upholstery from the back seat. But I could also swear I saw the squirrel in the back window, shaking his little fist at me.That is one dangerous squirrel.

And now he has a patrol car.

A somewhat shredded patrol car … but it was all his.

I took a deep breath, turned on my turn-signal, made a gentle right turn off of Brice Street, and sedately left the neighborhood.

I decided it was best to just buy myself a new pair of gloves.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Please forward it to your friends!

Changing oil.

[photopress:orig_oilchange.GIF,full,pp_image]

Cost Savings for changing my own oil = $0.02

Personally, I’ll give you my two cents and grab a couple of donuts.

NOTE TO THE READER: I wrote this during my final semester of law school. I hope you enjoy it.

I’m sitting here, avoiding finishing my bar application, wondering if I really learned enough to take it. While I realize I can graduate the bottom of my class and still become governor, or even Vice-President, I need to pass the bar to become a lawyer. As it’s never too early to start studying for the bar, I’d like to share what I’d like to call ” The Jackhole’s Legal Lines.”

Contracts
Contracts can be summed up in two words, offer and acceptance (I guess that’s actually three words). This is pretty easy.

For instance, when I ask an attractive woman, “So, would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow night?”, that is an offer. When she says, “Sure, it’s better than reading a Bennett opinion” — (Let me have my dreams, okay?) — that is an acceptance.

However, a meeting of the minds must occur for there to be a contract. Now, my “phantom” date assumes I’m asking her to join me for a dinner at 801 Steak and Chop. I assume we’ll have some left over Hometeam Pizza I got last week that’s starting to curl at the edges, located under the two cans of Miller Genuine Draft which Brian Bentler left in my fridge sometime last year. This would not be a meeting of the minds.

Consideration must also be present for a contract to exist. Not all promises are enforceable. For instance, when dropping off my date and she says; “If you ever call me again I’m going to knee you in the groin… Again…” would not be an enforceable contract. That would be a gift. (I take it where I can get it).

However, while dating me may be an act of charity, there is consideration, albeit minimal on my part. Heck, professors are found of saying a single peppercorn is sufficient consideration to buy the Empire State Building. Personally, considering property taxes in New York City, I think the one with the peppercorn is getting ripped off.

I think there’s some stuff about breach of contract, unenforceable contracts and extrinsic evidence we should know about, but I left those notes at Zimm’s or Welman’s or somewhere like that.

Property
Every lawyer should know about “real property.” This includes two main categories: 1) land, earth, soil, dirt. Essentially everything like this except for the stuff you find in your navel and the stuff in which several local discount stores pot their plants; and 2) “fixtures” (e.g., buildings and other immovable objects that are part of the land. This includes my old truck, Sally Struthers, and several law students at local bars). There are a lot of terms to memorize. If I buy some beach front property in Nevada (just wait until the “Big One”) it’s not just “my land”; but I “hold a fee simple absolute interest.” Now get this, if I decide to give my land to my brother and I want to ensure it then will go to his daugther, my niece, I wouldn’t just give him my land, I would give him a “fee tail interest” in the land. Terms like these continue on in perpetuity in property law.

Speaking of, the Rule Against Perpetuities was announced in 1681 by William of Notingham as; “A contingent future interest which, by any possibility, may not vest within twenty-one years after some life in being, is void in its inception.” After establish this nearly intelligible rule (the California Supreme Court has ruled that not knowing this Rule is NOT malpractice, but neither is a lot of things in California), the law students of that era promptly planted Notingham’s butt six feet into the ground. This is the first time a “fee tail simple” was “touched by the land.”

Torts
Torts provide a means for “quick” money in the minds of many law students. But the road to tort money tends to be lined with many ambulances, pictures of yourself on the back of phonebooks, and changing your name to Harley.

To sue for a tort, one must be able to recognize a tort. It’s been alleged going on a date with me constitutes a tort. TV shows like Beavis and Butthead, The Simpson’s, and South Park also provide great examples of torts. For instance, when Mr. Garrison shoots your client Kenny instead of Kathy Lee, he and Mr. Hat (I’ll ignore respondant superior for now) could get into trouble three different ways.

First, killing someone is a crime and prosecutable unless you’re a senator from Massachusetts, a star athlete, a rap musician, or the president.

Second, if Mr. Garrison made a contract with Kenny promising not to shoot him, you could sue him for breach of contract. (See supra, or is that infra? Heck, just look back a few of paragraphs.)

Third, you could sue Mr. Garrison for causing the death of Kenny, which lead to his decapitation and his head to be drug away by rats. This would be the tort of conversion of ones head.

Another tort commonly found in Des Moines is that of false imprisonment. Ask a customer of a major hardware retailer or one checking out a trunk at a local car dealership. Professors enjoy asking students if one can be falsely imprisoned if they don’t know they are being imprisoned falsely. It’s like the question; “If Helen Keller falls in the forest . . . .” For example,

“A law student enjoys himself too much at an FAC, passes out in a room. Another student locks him in that room but unlocks it six hours later, but before the first student comes to. Is it false imprisonment?”

Personally, I say sue. A jury very well might say; “What if he woke up and needed to pee?” and award the big bucks.

One last thing to think about is proximate cause. For example, if your parents buy you Rollerblades(tm) for Christmas and, while using them, you are injured. If the law teaches us only one thing, it’s that, most certainly, you are not to blame for your own injury. You need to look at who else or what else caused your injury. For instance, was it due to a defect in the Rollerblades? Was it due to the fact Des Moines only fills its potholes during full moons on the second Tuesday of each month? Was it due to the fact that a pizza delivery guy almost ran you over trying to deliver a pizza in 30 minutes or less? Was it due to the fact your parents never taught you how to tie your shoelaces? There could be a multitude of proximate causes, and each may be your next deep pocket victim, er, defendant. Only Jesus Christ, whose birth is the basis of Christmas, and the ultimate reason you received the gift, could not be sued. But that’s only due to the inability to gain service on Jesus. See U.S. ex rel. Mayo v. Satan and his Staff, 54 F.R.D. 282 (W.D. Pa. 1974) (finding service upon Satan was not possible). Personally, I think Mayo could have simply served an agent of Satan. Bill Gates comes to mind.

Civil Procedure
That, of course, brings us to Civil Procedure. “Civil” is really a misnomer procedures involving lawyers. Just watch an SBA meeting. For the most part, civil procedure is done simply by following the recipes in the legal cookbook. In the federal courts, this is called the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure. It tells you to do A when you want to sue, to do B when you want to resist a suit, and to do C when you want to get disbarred. One can make a motion for about anything. An inmate even made a “Motion to Kiss My Ass.” See Washington v. Alaimo, 934 F. Supp. 1395, 1396 (S.D. Ga. 1996). The prisoner moved for “all Americans at large and one corrupt Judge Smith [to] kiss my got [sic] damn ass sorry mother fucker you.” Id. This is a very good example of what receives Rule 11 sanctions. See id. at 1400. This is the judicial equivalent to the penalty box in hockey. There are four important aspects of civil procedure to consider.

Standing is an important aspect, even though you are allowed to sit down when in court. To have standing you need to have personal interest in a case. For instance, if Congress passed a law preventing anorexics from hearing music in their heads and seeing unicorns in their offices, Ally McBeal would have standing.

Jurisdiction is a second aspect. When I was a kid and I broke a window or set the house on fire, I was placed in Dad’s court. When I didn’t eat all my food or ripped the clothes I was wearing, I landed in Mom’s court. (Considering I was wearing Mom’s dress, it wasn’t surprising). Our court system is similar to that, but don’t ask me which is federal and state court in that example. You can only get into federal court if the case 1) involves a federal law, or 2) if the”parties” are from different states; this is a “diversity suit.” Another example of a diversity suit is the red, green, and purple plaid suit my Uncle Elmo wore at his funeral. Aunt Mary said; “That was the only way to get rid of that hideous thing.” I sure hope she was talking about the suit.

The good news for those of you practicing law in state court, is us patent geeks are forced to stay out of state court. This works out well, as federal judges are much better suited for sleeping during court proceedings.

Service of Process is the third aspect. While it may be fun to hire Guido to beat down an opponent’s door until they suffer a heart attack (See Torts, infra), simply using the U.S. Postal Service is a viable and cheaper option as they provide their own weapons for free.

Class Actions are the final aspect. However, “class” is not present in most legal proceedings. This is a good one to know about, as except for representing a 20-year old lottery “co-winner,” class actions can be one of the most lucrative endeavors for attorneys. For instance, you could sue a major airline for $30 million on “behalf of” the class of “persons using that airline,” make a phone settlement for $3 million a few days later and take $1 million home without leaving your office (well, $400, 000 after taxes). Well, that is only if you live at your office. But we can talk about being a first year associate next issue.

Good luck to all of you getting ready for the bar. (No, not Grounou’s Bentler). Like attorneys say; “I’ll see you in court!”