I don’t think I’ve ever seen a docket with this much activity from all parties but with so few dispositive orders from the judge. Is it really so much better to let this situation continue than to get both parties on the phone and tell them to shut up until Greer pays his fees and gets the documents to Hardin (or doesn’t do those things)? That would take five minutes and be entirely appropriate. I can’t say I like these judges very much when they are the reason this is allowed to continue.
At the center, Plaintiff Russel Greer gestures wildly with his right hand at the rapid onset of trauma lumps on his head, the layers of sweat from days, if not weeks, of avoiding bathing, repulsively glistening upon the entirety of his face. His tie hangs loosely about his neck, his shirt unbuttoned at the top, his suit wrinkled and disheveled. His beard and hair, barbarous and oily. He holds up in his left hand a rope, tied into a noose, slipped over his own neck, unwittingly tightening it as he continuous his outburst. His demeanor aggressive, blinded by his own ignorance and narcissim. Spittle erupts from his jowls, drool slicks his lower lips and chin as he demands protection from the perceived slights at the hands of Undersigned Defense Counsel Mathew D. Hardin.
At the right, Hardin smiles both contentedly and smuggly as he glances through the fourth wall at the audience. His presence, immaculate, yet daunting. Cordial, yet imposing. Emblazoned upon his lapel is an emblem of the defendant, a small yellow-green kiwi bird. His suit is clean, his tie is sharply knotted, his posture full of the confidence and grace of a chiseled roman statue. In his hands he holds a silver platter, with the line of rope neatly coiled atop, politely permitting Greer to his own demise.
All the while at the left, looking down on the two, sits the Honorable Judge Jared C. Bennett. His posture is slouched deep in his judges' throne, in his left hand precariously and thoughtlessly dangles his sign of authority, the gavel. His right hand is slipped under his black robe, wontonly pleasuring himself while he looks upon the two men in the pitifully mismatched competition, like an emperor in the colosseum, pervertedly endulging in the scene of lions devouring their helpless prey. His head lazily cocked to the side, his expression mixed with listless self-satisfaction, and the predatory gaze of the coomer-soyjak.
***
Perhaps another kiwi who is actually capable of art (or an advanced proompting engineer), could render this scene more effectively. While many may opt for the du-jour Studio Ghibli slop, this really ought ot be done in courtroom sketch style, which, as I've clearly illustrated, is far beyond my ability.
Thank you for reading my propaganda.
