Courtroom Humor

Courtroom HumorAs I prepare for trial in a couple of weeks (and realize my client will be in absentia) I fleetingly consider whether I should design a cardboard version of her, or drag in a mannequin to place in her chair…. thought I’d share some funny courtroom dialogue with you:

Q: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for blood pressure?
A: No.
Q: Did you check for breathing?
A: No.
Q: So, then is it possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
A: No.
Q: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
A: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
Q: But could the patient have still been alive nevertheless?
A: It is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere.

And my absolute favorite …
Defendant: Judge, I want another lawyer, because this one is incontinent.

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red pig with black name

I was born to be a writer. I loved words from the time I could speak and form sentences. I loved their beat, power and transformative qualities. On my seventh birthday I asked for a typewriter, wanting to simplify and “clean up” the pages and pages of prose that littered my bedroom. Stories burst from my head, wild, imaginative supernatural tales of ghosts and crows. I taught myself to type (in French first) and soon my fingers flew across the keys faster than I spoke. I had developed a “marvelous skill” and would make a “great secretary someday.” But I didn’t want to be a secretary. I wanted to be a writer.

Years later, after several hundred pages of half completed novels, I announced my life’s ambition: to be a poet. My family collectively cringed. Visions of poverty loomed large in their thoughts. The average poet earned a dismal $10 dollars a poem. But I didn’t want to make money. I wanted to be a poet. My family gently suggested a Plan B.

I decided on The Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars, a ridiculously competitive program that only accepted eight candidates a year. The application required a portfolio, (a what!) ten poems for consideration. I only had five. The deadline fast approached. Maybe you should apply for a community college, just in case, those close to me nudged, concerned I might fall and fall hard. Then I heard it, the phrase that changed my life, that fueled my ambition and passion, that taught me the most important lesson I ever learned—be your own champion—you’ll get in to that school when pigs fly!

I slipped the five poems into a manila envelope, licked the seal, handwrote the address and placed my future in the mail.

PS One week later I received a call, “Congratulations! We look forward to having you.”

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In July, 2014, I drove out to Gillespie Dam in blazing heat to the set of Gangland Undercover to watch my book, VAGOS, MONGOLS & OUTLAWS: MY INFILTRATIONS INTO AMERICA’S DEADLIEST BIKER GANGS, magically transform into a dramatic six part television series to air on the History Channel. As I pulled into the dusty, deserted parking lot of the dive bar restaurant where many of the indoor scenes were filmed, my heart pounded. And for a split second I debated whether to slide back inside my FJ Cruiser and haul ass out of there. I should have been excited, thrilled (and don’t get me wrong I was) to meet the actors whose real-life characters I captured on paper but instead I felt light headed, sick even, like I didn’t belong. After all I was only the writer.

I felt a little like Alfred Hitchcock who appeared in cameos in his own films like an inside joke. I searched for a producer, director, someone in charge until finally some kind woman with pretty hair and beautiful teeth took pity on me and offered me a cookie and a coke. She told me to have a seat the actors would be arriving soon for lunch. I slid into a booth with a checkered tablecloth, holding the cookie, suddenly ten years old again. After a while she informed me I was in for a treat, “they’re filming a television show, you should stick around, might be fun.” I nibbled the cookie.

Then Charles Falco walked in, waved and introduced me to “Darko,” “Stash” and his handsome double, Damon Runyon. “Hey everyone, I want you to meet Kerrie, she’s the reason you’re all here. She wrote my story.” I never did finish the cookie.

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