Posted by Kyle Jacobson , Wednesday, October 13, 2010 5:31 PM

I am in the middle of a custody battle for my brain. My body claims rights to access the information that lie within, while my job requests my brain in order to work long, draining hours, in a cubicle the size of a shoebox, since brains "don't take up that much space". I have no idea why they would want just my brain, but it's up to the courts to determine if they do receive any sort of settlement. The hearing went as follows:

"Judge, sidebar."
"Ummm... the bailiff can't call a sidebar."
"Oh, right. Sorry." Said the bailiff, disheveled. 
"Moving on... Let's start with opening arguments. Apple Rebate Center, you may begin."

             "It was a night, just like today, except for at night. This sad excuse for a boy (points to me; I flex) began to think. He thought such a thought, it could revolutionize the thinking industry. Do you know how much money is in the thinking industry?" Said the prosecutor, his feet facing the exit, his eyes facing the judge, and the rest of his body,  were directed toward the jury and a small nun. The jury broke into arbitrary laughter as they contemplated what exactly was going on.
             One man held up six of his fingers. The corners of his mouth tried to touch his eyebrows in excitement. He felt good/proud. He didn't know what it all meant, but he did know that the man was fishing for a number. And that's exactly what he gave him.

             "Six what?" asked the prosecutor. 
             "Pence, none the richer." Said the same man, now successfully touching the corners of his mouth to his eyebrows.  
             "What? No. Anybody else?"
             "Million?" Said a balding man. This bald man found it unnecessary for the narrator to point out his baldness. He prefers the term "anti-growing". 
             "Wrong," the prosecutor complained, wincing in frustration.

             The judge grew tired of this nonsense, and said, "Prosecutor, stop wincing, you'll get wrinkles. Also, for your information, the thinking industry makes as much money as they want, all they have to do is imagine it, and it satisfies them for the time being. They usually avoid paying their bills or house payments and go to bi-weekly meetings to imagine more money to last them the next few days. They usually die of starvation before they reach the third meeting."

               "Correct!" Screamed the Prosecutor ecstatically. "Now, try telling me that it's not important to have such a marvelous brain as Kyle's, working to boost the economy! If the thinking industry goes bankrupt, what's next? The housing market? Fish stores? Mom and Pop onion shops? A domino effect will take out the economy and plague our lives forever. The thinking industry is vital for our survival." The last words spoken by the prosecutor were completely false. The thinking industry holds no shares, no market value, and no taxable income. It is completely and incompletely non-profit to anyone looking from the outside in. A third party once said, "I don't understand, they just sit there and think up money, that will never actually exist." However implausible the argument, the jury grew teary eyed. Maybe because they were thinking about onions.
             "That is all." Concluded the prosecutor. Giving a hi-five to no one in particular. 

              "The defense may now try and follow a very moving opening statement with a not-very-well-thought-through statement if they wish." Said the judge.

              "We would, your honor." Said the defense frantically.
In memory of this man, who
is probably still alive.
                In a matter of minutes, we were expected, by the judge, to remove all parts of our argument that were well thought through. By the time we finished, we had a bit left over on the subject of belly button rings, and a small piece having to do with fertilizers being from distant planet. All of our well-thought-out arguments were quickly removed by the bailiff, who began using them to draw pictures of himself with wings and a bailiff outfit made entirely of macraméd sequins. The bailiff quietly chuckled, and then slowly lulled himself, and three others, to sleep.  We were going to have to change our strategy. We all arose, walked to the front, and put on our best puppy dog faces. We were additionally charged with animal cruelty. I knew we shouldn't have used real puppy dog faces. I just assumed since they were already dead... 
            According to the judge, they "let me off easy" with a mere seventy five years in solitary confinement, three hundred fifty hours of watching humane society commercials, twenty five hours arm wrestling with Martha Stewart, and a seven dollar and fifty cent fine (the judge had forgotten her lunch that day). 
            Also, my job ended up winning custody of my brain. In all the excitement of their victory, they ended up burning my brain at a horribly planned party. They left the party feeling oddly as though they had lost the lawsuit altogether. Several of the men additionally felt embarrassed for confusing my brain for the makings of a small fire. They got over this feeling of discomposure with ten pints of chocolate syrup and a marathon of Full House. As they say, "A brain is a terrible thing to light on fire."

                                This claim is valid. Moved to a 3,



1 Response to "Mmmmmm....Litigations."

Merrills Says:

"shouldn't have used real puppy dog faces" Ewwwwww. Smells like onions.

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