Early on in my blog I mentioned a photocopy that Professor Baker had distributed during class about a man that had spent ten years in prison because of the false testimony of the victim. This was when Professor Baker waved his hand in my direction, actually pointing it at me, and stated: “The court was wrong, she lied.”
Well, this evening, while going through my stacks, bundles and binders furiously digging for the mother lode of my Title IX material (which I failed to find) I found the photocopy. Jennifer Thompson, the woman in the article, had not lied, she had made an honest mistake.
Sunday Advocate, Baton Rouge, La., September 24, 2000, p. 22A.
I believe that within my blog or civil action I had specified September 29, 2000 as the on or about date that this statement and action by Mr. Baker was made. Therefore, this is also the on or about date that there was a CLEP happening. On this day it was raining hard in Gonzales, Louisiana. On this day I was subjected to incredible malevolence. I discovered the damage to my vehicle the next day, which would have been Saturday, September 30, 2000.
September 29, 2000 was also another landmark day as on this night my impotence broke. I had been unable to perform since the first day of law school. I had always thought it was the stress of the major career change that I was attempting. Now I am wondering whether it was the sight of Victoria Monier/McDaniel coming down the steps that did it.
This also means that my conference with Ms. Allgood occurred on September 28, 2000. I am not at all wondering why my impotence abated.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
How do you know that Mike Tyson had sex?
Pre-emptorily, my apologies to Ms. Allgood for having to relate what happened and my continued reflection on the experience.
The world will not be peaceful and safe until disarmament is complete. This may not occur until Marlene Allgood has reached menopause. Until such time, her right to keep and bear tampons cannot be taken away. Some nitwit on XOXO made the comment: "Regardless, Marlene Allgood has a strong case for libel." NOT. What an idiot. Jackass, it is the truth. The truth is a complete defense. She did it, get it?
Recently, I have been giving this incident with the tampon quite a bit of thought. My question is why would this classy woman swing a tampon under my nose? I first must set aside my simple knee-jerk presumptive opinion that the majority of female lawyers and female law students are of low moral character. Well, presuming that Victoria McDaniel is a lying slut that attempted and was successful in the completion of a preemptory 'strike' in case I did start to relate how sexually aggressive she had been, she could have said that I displayed or swung a condom under her nose. If this is among the acts that this lying slut attributed to me then I think that a more appropriate means of addressing the act could have been arrived at. For instance: asking me. At the time I would have been able to truthfully state that I had never purchased or used a condom in my life.
There are other reasons that I now think that Ms. McDaniel may have made that communication about me. In the fall of the year 2000, sometime after the incident with Marlene Allgood and the tampon, my wife purchased and brought home a condom. She asked that I use the condom. That was the single instance in my life that I had used a condom.
I had since, in the spring of 2001, bought a pack of three. I never used them, but had started thinking about it as something along the lines of: If you have no choice, when in Rome…. I am indebted to Camile Buras, Daryl Derbigny and Stephanie Jumonville, because if not for these jackasses I might have ended up using the condoms. I had plenty of opportunities.
Something else I finally figured out: The reason that there was a pattern of sexual aggressiveness interspersed with relative quite was because this woman, Victoria McDaniel, wanted me to chase her. She couldn't figure out that when I said I was not interested in sex, and made no sexual overtures, I really meant it.
In hindsight, I can now see that to most males that have never used a condom in their life that when one woman swings a tampon under your nose and then that males wife brings home a condom and asks him to use it, Victoria McDaniel wanted to have sex with somebody. This kind of thing must happen all the time. It is kind of like the question: How do you know that Mike Tyson had sex?
The world will not be peaceful and safe until disarmament is complete. This may not occur until Marlene Allgood has reached menopause. Until such time, her right to keep and bear tampons cannot be taken away. Some nitwit on XOXO made the comment: "Regardless, Marlene Allgood has a strong case for libel." NOT. What an idiot. Jackass, it is the truth. The truth is a complete defense. She did it, get it?
Recently, I have been giving this incident with the tampon quite a bit of thought. My question is why would this classy woman swing a tampon under my nose? I first must set aside my simple knee-jerk presumptive opinion that the majority of female lawyers and female law students are of low moral character. Well, presuming that Victoria McDaniel is a lying slut that attempted and was successful in the completion of a preemptory 'strike' in case I did start to relate how sexually aggressive she had been, she could have said that I displayed or swung a condom under her nose. If this is among the acts that this lying slut attributed to me then I think that a more appropriate means of addressing the act could have been arrived at. For instance: asking me. At the time I would have been able to truthfully state that I had never purchased or used a condom in my life.
There are other reasons that I now think that Ms. McDaniel may have made that communication about me. In the fall of the year 2000, sometime after the incident with Marlene Allgood and the tampon, my wife purchased and brought home a condom. She asked that I use the condom. That was the single instance in my life that I had used a condom.
I had since, in the spring of 2001, bought a pack of three. I never used them, but had started thinking about it as something along the lines of: If you have no choice, when in Rome…. I am indebted to Camile Buras, Daryl Derbigny and Stephanie Jumonville, because if not for these jackasses I might have ended up using the condoms. I had plenty of opportunities.
Something else I finally figured out: The reason that there was a pattern of sexual aggressiveness interspersed with relative quite was because this woman, Victoria McDaniel, wanted me to chase her. She couldn't figure out that when I said I was not interested in sex, and made no sexual overtures, I really meant it.
In hindsight, I can now see that to most males that have never used a condom in their life that when one woman swings a tampon under your nose and then that males wife brings home a condom and asks him to use it, Victoria McDaniel wanted to have sex with somebody. This kind of thing must happen all the time. It is kind of like the question: How do you know that Mike Tyson had sex?
Friday, February 23, 2007
Carlotta/Carlena
I remember this one dumb woman at Loyola School of Law, Carlotta or Carlena was her name. I believed she was of a mixed Spanish-Asian descent. I only mention this so that a mental image can be formed.
One day I walked into the Pine Street Café. Carlotta was sitting towards the back near the kitchen, in a booth against the wall, on the right, and facing me. We made eye contact. Carlotta/ Carlena began to move her head from side to side in a rhythmic manner while uttering the noises da duh, da duh, da duh, similar to the background soundtrack I had once heard in a cartoon wherein a herd of elephants, or other animal generally viewed as moving ponderously, was marching single file and the soundtrack was meant to convey the idea that these elephants were oblivious to the world around them. I approached her and stopped to face her at her table. I stated: "I couldn't hear the rocks from back there." A blank look came over her face. I stated it again and this time she got it.
That Carlotta/ Carlena was attempting to insult me by her act was not lost on me. The apparent insult was that I was dumb and oblivious to what was going on around me. Unknown to Carlotta/ Carlena, I was not at all oblivious to what was going on around me, I just wanted no part of it. This is why the woman was dumb, she did not understand the KISS principle. That is Keep It Simple, Stupid. Simply, why doesn't a married man not have sexual intercourse with any person other than his spouse? Da-duh, because he is married.
I am not attempting to imply that Carlotta/ Carlena and I had any conversations of great length prior to or after this. I had only spoken to the woman once or twice. Her action on this day only confirmed what I had thought when I had observed her in a clutch of hens apparently engrossed in some deep subject and they glanced at me too frequently.
You can take that rotten box and keep it,
Cause baby I don't need it.
Frank Zappa (actually referring to the television)
One day I walked into the Pine Street Café. Carlotta was sitting towards the back near the kitchen, in a booth against the wall, on the right, and facing me. We made eye contact. Carlotta/ Carlena began to move her head from side to side in a rhythmic manner while uttering the noises da duh, da duh, da duh, similar to the background soundtrack I had once heard in a cartoon wherein a herd of elephants, or other animal generally viewed as moving ponderously, was marching single file and the soundtrack was meant to convey the idea that these elephants were oblivious to the world around them. I approached her and stopped to face her at her table. I stated: "I couldn't hear the rocks from back there." A blank look came over her face. I stated it again and this time she got it.
That Carlotta/ Carlena was attempting to insult me by her act was not lost on me. The apparent insult was that I was dumb and oblivious to what was going on around me. Unknown to Carlotta/ Carlena, I was not at all oblivious to what was going on around me, I just wanted no part of it. This is why the woman was dumb, she did not understand the KISS principle. That is Keep It Simple, Stupid. Simply, why doesn't a married man not have sexual intercourse with any person other than his spouse? Da-duh, because he is married.
I am not attempting to imply that Carlotta/ Carlena and I had any conversations of great length prior to or after this. I had only spoken to the woman once or twice. Her action on this day only confirmed what I had thought when I had observed her in a clutch of hens apparently engrossed in some deep subject and they glanced at me too frequently.
You can take that rotten box and keep it,
Cause baby I don't need it.
Frank Zappa (actually referring to the television)
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Privacy and DNA samples
I have previously touched on the following incident.
On or about February 5, 2003, Detective Jerry Mitchell of the Louisiana State Police visited me at my home in relation to series of murders in the Baton Rouge area. On the previous Friday two cars, presumably of Louisiana State Police, had been at my home. I was at work. According to one of my neighbors, these two cars had sat parked in front of my home for quite some time. When I had arrived home that evening, before I found Detective Mitchell's card in the door, my neighbor had hailed me and informed me of this. Detective Mitchell's card had a notation on it that he was investigating a series of murders.
I went on line to learn about the serial murders. I knew very little about them. I was able to discover the dates on which these women were murdered or last seen alive. I went to my file cabinet and started digging through my receipts. I was able to place myself about a hundred miles from the location of where one murder victim was found about an hour and a half before she was last seen.
Another murder victim, Pam Kinnison, I believe, had disappeared from her home, in the evening, on or about November 20, 2002. On this date I had been home most of the day except for went I went to Radio Shack or Auto Zone. I had put a new computer and pigtail in my pickup. I had to connect the wires from the pigtail to my existing wire harness. Rather than simply use crimp type connectors, I had elected to solder each wire connection together and cover each connection with shrink tube. I had been out in my driveway, working on my truck, from early in the afternoon until about midnight. I live in a neighborhood where the houses average 20 feet apart. My driveway is in the front. My neighbors had to see me out there.
After Detective Mitchell arrived at my home he began what I believe would be accurately described as a standard interview, which is a mild interrogation. I presented my receipts to him. He was curious as to why I had all these receipts. I explained to him that I had been a carpenter and saved my receipts for tax purposes.
He asked me my whereabouts on May 31, 2002. I did not have any receipts ready for this day as this date had not been reported as being a date {not that I had found) with any significance related to the serial murders. [However, it is likely that I was studying for law school exams on that date.] After Detective Mitchell left it occurred to me that this date represented some hold back information, that is, information law enforcement does not report for investigative purposes. Now, I believe that it is possible someone, likely Victoria McDaniel, with great specificity placed me in Baton Rouge or the surrounding area on that date. In hindsight, rather than present Detective Mitchell with any receipts I should have told him go screw himself as I had not been within 40 miles of Baton Rouge between the first week of December 2000 and around or about October 15, 2002. [I work and shop, practically live, in the opposite direction, that is, New Orleans.]
At or near the end of the interview Detective Mitchell asked me for a DNA sample which he wanted to collect from my mouth with a swab. I told him no. He retorted he could get a court order. I told him to go ahead, he had no probable cause. This is the reason for the title of this post. Not only had I not committed any serial murders, I have never committed any murder. Furthermore, I do not do anything that a sample of my DNA could be of interest or use to anybody. I was not about to give up anything just because some jackass from the Louisiana State Police wanted it.
I then told him about what had happened to me after I went to see Fred Defrancesh in the fall of the year 2000. I described the vehicle for him. I was attempting to give this idiot a heads up on what was going on here. If he had gotten my name from somebody, it was from a person that had an interest in having me cast in a false light. I suspected that Detective Mitchell was recording the conversation based on his apparent adjustment of something in his breast pocket inside his jacket. I think that it was a leather jacket.
In any event, after Detective Mitchell left I was greatly relieved. I now knew the who and the why of why people had been following me, I was a 'person of interest.' I did not know the why of why I had become a 'person of interest.' These people that had been following me had been doing so prior to the disappearance of Pam Kinnison. It occurred to me that it was a fact that Detective Mitchell would have known that not only did I not have anything to do with these serial murders, I generally did not even go in the direction of Baton Rouge.
This is when I decided to sue Victoria McDaniel. This lying slut must have had something to do with everything that had gone down in my life. It was just a matter of proving it. Little did I know at this time how corrupt the Louisiana Judiciary is.
On or about February 5, 2003, Detective Jerry Mitchell of the Louisiana State Police visited me at my home in relation to series of murders in the Baton Rouge area. On the previous Friday two cars, presumably of Louisiana State Police, had been at my home. I was at work. According to one of my neighbors, these two cars had sat parked in front of my home for quite some time. When I had arrived home that evening, before I found Detective Mitchell's card in the door, my neighbor had hailed me and informed me of this. Detective Mitchell's card had a notation on it that he was investigating a series of murders.
I went on line to learn about the serial murders. I knew very little about them. I was able to discover the dates on which these women were murdered or last seen alive. I went to my file cabinet and started digging through my receipts. I was able to place myself about a hundred miles from the location of where one murder victim was found about an hour and a half before she was last seen.
Another murder victim, Pam Kinnison, I believe, had disappeared from her home, in the evening, on or about November 20, 2002. On this date I had been home most of the day except for went I went to Radio Shack or Auto Zone. I had put a new computer and pigtail in my pickup. I had to connect the wires from the pigtail to my existing wire harness. Rather than simply use crimp type connectors, I had elected to solder each wire connection together and cover each connection with shrink tube. I had been out in my driveway, working on my truck, from early in the afternoon until about midnight. I live in a neighborhood where the houses average 20 feet apart. My driveway is in the front. My neighbors had to see me out there.
After Detective Mitchell arrived at my home he began what I believe would be accurately described as a standard interview, which is a mild interrogation. I presented my receipts to him. He was curious as to why I had all these receipts. I explained to him that I had been a carpenter and saved my receipts for tax purposes.
He asked me my whereabouts on May 31, 2002. I did not have any receipts ready for this day as this date had not been reported as being a date {not that I had found) with any significance related to the serial murders. [However, it is likely that I was studying for law school exams on that date.] After Detective Mitchell left it occurred to me that this date represented some hold back information, that is, information law enforcement does not report for investigative purposes. Now, I believe that it is possible someone, likely Victoria McDaniel, with great specificity placed me in Baton Rouge or the surrounding area on that date. In hindsight, rather than present Detective Mitchell with any receipts I should have told him go screw himself as I had not been within 40 miles of Baton Rouge between the first week of December 2000 and around or about October 15, 2002. [I work and shop, practically live, in the opposite direction, that is, New Orleans.]
At or near the end of the interview Detective Mitchell asked me for a DNA sample which he wanted to collect from my mouth with a swab. I told him no. He retorted he could get a court order. I told him to go ahead, he had no probable cause. This is the reason for the title of this post. Not only had I not committed any serial murders, I have never committed any murder. Furthermore, I do not do anything that a sample of my DNA could be of interest or use to anybody. I was not about to give up anything just because some jackass from the Louisiana State Police wanted it.
I then told him about what had happened to me after I went to see Fred Defrancesh in the fall of the year 2000. I described the vehicle for him. I was attempting to give this idiot a heads up on what was going on here. If he had gotten my name from somebody, it was from a person that had an interest in having me cast in a false light. I suspected that Detective Mitchell was recording the conversation based on his apparent adjustment of something in his breast pocket inside his jacket. I think that it was a leather jacket.
In any event, after Detective Mitchell left I was greatly relieved. I now knew the who and the why of why people had been following me, I was a 'person of interest.' I did not know the why of why I had become a 'person of interest.' These people that had been following me had been doing so prior to the disappearance of Pam Kinnison. It occurred to me that it was a fact that Detective Mitchell would have known that not only did I not have anything to do with these serial murders, I generally did not even go in the direction of Baton Rouge.
This is when I decided to sue Victoria McDaniel. This lying slut must have had something to do with everything that had gone down in my life. It was just a matter of proving it. Little did I know at this time how corrupt the Louisiana Judiciary is.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Asbestos or Cement with that J.D., sir?
I sat adjacent to Lori and J.R. in one of my classes. Lori and I had eaten out away from the school on a few occasions. I found her to be pleasant. I was not particularly concerned with any ulterior motives she may have had for seeking my company. That Lori sought my company is the way it was, and it began at orientation.
Just to explain this, I had entered one of the orientation sessions and there were not very many seats left. Among the remaining open seats the woman in the seat next to this seat looked at me, smiled, and patted the armrest of this empty seat. I went and sat next to her. I then learned her name was Lori.
Professor Medina was hosting this orientation session. Oddly, part of her introduction was informing the group that she was in good shape. This was the first time I observed her effusiveness {crow-like flutterings accompanied by big smiles.} Professor Medina also had some comment about a second bite at an apple. The woman was slightly strange.
Moving along. I believe the following incident happened in my final semester. I believe Lori, J.R., and I sat in the same row in professor Rault’s evidence class. {We had also sat in the same row in the class of Harges, the criminal law scholar.) J.R. mentioned going out to lunch. The group was going to be him, Lori, me and a woman that I knew by name, but forget now. With a wink J.R. told me it had been all arranged. I attached no particular significance to this.
After the class was over we exited the building. The woman that was going to lunch with us met us in front of the building. The driving arrangements were discussed. It was decided that I would go with this woman and J.R. would go with Lori. I did not mind her driving. Generally, when I went to lunch with Lori, we took her car. She preferred this and I did not mind, so I had no objection to allowing this other woman to drive.
We arrived at the restaurant. There was a big puddle in front, about 15 feet across. The woman that I had driven with wondered aloud how she was going to get across. I told her to lift her arms slightly and I put my hands under her armpits and carried her across. I held her out in front of me. I was quite strong at the time.
We entered the restaurant and were seated. A conversation ensued in which I learned the woman’s husband was a doctor. Lori commented that this woman’s husband had made some small conversation about whether it would be preferable to eat cement or asbestos insulation. Lori looked at me and asked: “Would you rather eat cement or asbestos insulation?” I replied: “Asbestos, for the roughage.”
These people were just a barrel of laughs.
Just to explain this, I had entered one of the orientation sessions and there were not very many seats left. Among the remaining open seats the woman in the seat next to this seat looked at me, smiled, and patted the armrest of this empty seat. I went and sat next to her. I then learned her name was Lori.
Professor Medina was hosting this orientation session. Oddly, part of her introduction was informing the group that she was in good shape. This was the first time I observed her effusiveness {crow-like flutterings accompanied by big smiles.} Professor Medina also had some comment about a second bite at an apple. The woman was slightly strange.
Moving along. I believe the following incident happened in my final semester. I believe Lori, J.R., and I sat in the same row in professor Rault’s evidence class. {We had also sat in the same row in the class of Harges, the criminal law scholar.) J.R. mentioned going out to lunch. The group was going to be him, Lori, me and a woman that I knew by name, but forget now. With a wink J.R. told me it had been all arranged. I attached no particular significance to this.
After the class was over we exited the building. The woman that was going to lunch with us met us in front of the building. The driving arrangements were discussed. It was decided that I would go with this woman and J.R. would go with Lori. I did not mind her driving. Generally, when I went to lunch with Lori, we took her car. She preferred this and I did not mind, so I had no objection to allowing this other woman to drive.
We arrived at the restaurant. There was a big puddle in front, about 15 feet across. The woman that I had driven with wondered aloud how she was going to get across. I told her to lift her arms slightly and I put my hands under her armpits and carried her across. I held her out in front of me. I was quite strong at the time.
We entered the restaurant and were seated. A conversation ensued in which I learned the woman’s husband was a doctor. Lori commented that this woman’s husband had made some small conversation about whether it would be preferable to eat cement or asbestos insulation. Lori looked at me and asked: “Would you rather eat cement or asbestos insulation?” I replied: “Asbestos, for the roughage.”
These people were just a barrel of laughs.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
The Twilight Zone Breakfast Club
I have previously touched on the following incident.
I tried out for the moot court team. It occurred to me that these people were all lawyer wanna-bes. Which is not to say that some of them were not great people, but that they would use whatever legal means necessary to gain an advantage. As I have previously related, 29 people tried out and 28 people were selected. I was not selected. I suspected I would not be selected which is why I had to do a superior job. I was determined to make these people answer one day. As this does not appear as something that is going to happen, I will have to settle for second best, which is telling what they did.
Immediately on reading the hypothetical, I knew where the blame, if any, for the accident should fall, other than my client. I typed out a somewhat lengthy list of questions and possible answers that directed attention away from the object of my attack. The questions that I typed out were all directed at my witness. Then I waited.
I chose Martin Lang for my witness. Most people that had a witness recruited a friend. I paid Martin Lang $80.00 and all he could drink at Fat Harry's. I chose Martin Lang for a number of reasons that I do not care to elaborate on. Martin did not disappoint me. When I decided that I was going to pay a witness, I made the conscious decision that I wanted an employee. This fact has an effect on the rules. That is, I had a reasonable expectation that my employee would not share confidential information, an expectation greater than that expectation that I would have had, had I an acquaintance that I could have asked to be my witness for the competition.
The opportunity arose to disseminate my diversion. Stacey Miller, I believe her name was, asked me about the moot court competition. This happened at the Pine St. Café,' outside on the patio, one afternoon. I forget her exact question or questions, but the opportunity arose that I could give her my diversion. I delivered the questions and answers to her on a floppy disc. I just had to now hope that my fake plan of attack would be further disseminated to those people that were to be my opponents for the moot court competition.
The date and time arrived for my turn to compete. Martin Lang took the stand. Martin appeared out of sorts on this day. I had anticipated this. As Martin was my witness and had been identified as such to the coordinators of the competition I believed that a reasonable expectation would have developed that I was going to question him. Further, I had prepared a series of questions that went somewhere and attempted to demonstrate his lack of culpability. Furthermore, I had elaborately prepared Martin for his role, including giving him his background, how much he earned, what his hobbies were and why, and so forth. I passed on the opportunity to question Martin. The puzzlement on the faces of some of the other people in the room was actually a thrill, I hate to admit it.
I rose to question the object of my attack, the EMT. Jimmy was playing the role of the EMT. I hammered him. I stayed at least 10 feet away from him and I had him looking frightened. [Opposing counsel could have objected that I was badgering the witness, but none of us had any prior experience at this, as far as I knew.] I could have laughed out loud. I asked permission to approach the witness. I stepped right up to Jimmy and with a big smile apologized for my aggressive questioning. I asked his permission to ask him three more questions. When I was done with Jimmy it was apparent to the jury that this weak, lazy, self-serving EMT had been responsible, if any responsibility could be assigned, for the death of his partner, an EMT that had run off of a cliff in the dark, attempting to come to the aid and rescue of my client. This was an absolute thrill; I do not believe that it gets any better than that.
When I walked out of the building Jesse Beasley was on the sidewalk, apparently preparing to leave. Jesse was one of the people that I spoke with fairly often. He was a good guy. I began speaking with Jesse. The person that had been the Judge for the competition exited the building. I glanced at him. He was just standing there, looking at me. This was all the confirmation I needed that I had done a superior job. I looked at Jesse. He looked down at the ground and stated: "_________, these people have to travel together." I felt like clapping him on the shoulder and telling him not to worry about it.
Jesse turned to walk away. I asked him: "Did Kimone have a copy of my questions?" Once again Jesse looked down at the ground. When he looked back up he was facing away from me and had started to walk away. I felt like calling out after him and telling him that this was okay also as I had meant for the questions to be disseminated. Kimone had not demonstrated, during her turn to question, any reliance on any of my questions. It really would not have mattered if she had. When I had given the questions to Stacey Miller I had purposefully remained silent on what my expectations were that she was going to do with them. I had carefully thought about this and could find no violation of the bull feces honor code.
Maurice Ruffin, or his wife Tanzinika, had sat as a member of the jury for this competition. A day or some days after the competition Maurice stated to me: "_______, we didn't even see that." I believed that he was referring to my exposure of the EMT as a person culpable, if any culpability was assignable, for the death of the plaintiff's spouse. If he was not referring to this, then I have no idea what he was referring to.
When I was approaching the school for my turn at the competition, Maurice Ruffin had asked me: "Hey, _________, what's up with the Men in Black outfit?"
ROTFLMMFAO
PS I came across an article in a newspaper a year or so later about a case that had been decided, or was in consideration, where the facts paralleled the facts as presented within the hypothetical situation for this moot court competition. The question occurred to me whether law firms or law schools use cases that present interesting legal questions for moot court competitions to see what comes of it.
In Requiem:
Loyola University New Orleans
Loyola School of Law
I can make spaghetti.
I can make a lamp.
Lawrence Moore, S.J., I could tape your buns together and nobody would ever notice any difference.
I tried out for the moot court team. It occurred to me that these people were all lawyer wanna-bes. Which is not to say that some of them were not great people, but that they would use whatever legal means necessary to gain an advantage. As I have previously related, 29 people tried out and 28 people were selected. I was not selected. I suspected I would not be selected which is why I had to do a superior job. I was determined to make these people answer one day. As this does not appear as something that is going to happen, I will have to settle for second best, which is telling what they did.
Immediately on reading the hypothetical, I knew where the blame, if any, for the accident should fall, other than my client. I typed out a somewhat lengthy list of questions and possible answers that directed attention away from the object of my attack. The questions that I typed out were all directed at my witness. Then I waited.
I chose Martin Lang for my witness. Most people that had a witness recruited a friend. I paid Martin Lang $80.00 and all he could drink at Fat Harry's. I chose Martin Lang for a number of reasons that I do not care to elaborate on. Martin did not disappoint me. When I decided that I was going to pay a witness, I made the conscious decision that I wanted an employee. This fact has an effect on the rules. That is, I had a reasonable expectation that my employee would not share confidential information, an expectation greater than that expectation that I would have had, had I an acquaintance that I could have asked to be my witness for the competition.
The opportunity arose to disseminate my diversion. Stacey Miller, I believe her name was, asked me about the moot court competition. This happened at the Pine St. Café,' outside on the patio, one afternoon. I forget her exact question or questions, but the opportunity arose that I could give her my diversion. I delivered the questions and answers to her on a floppy disc. I just had to now hope that my fake plan of attack would be further disseminated to those people that were to be my opponents for the moot court competition.
The date and time arrived for my turn to compete. Martin Lang took the stand. Martin appeared out of sorts on this day. I had anticipated this. As Martin was my witness and had been identified as such to the coordinators of the competition I believed that a reasonable expectation would have developed that I was going to question him. Further, I had prepared a series of questions that went somewhere and attempted to demonstrate his lack of culpability. Furthermore, I had elaborately prepared Martin for his role, including giving him his background, how much he earned, what his hobbies were and why, and so forth. I passed on the opportunity to question Martin. The puzzlement on the faces of some of the other people in the room was actually a thrill, I hate to admit it.
I rose to question the object of my attack, the EMT. Jimmy was playing the role of the EMT. I hammered him. I stayed at least 10 feet away from him and I had him looking frightened. [Opposing counsel could have objected that I was badgering the witness, but none of us had any prior experience at this, as far as I knew.] I could have laughed out loud. I asked permission to approach the witness. I stepped right up to Jimmy and with a big smile apologized for my aggressive questioning. I asked his permission to ask him three more questions. When I was done with Jimmy it was apparent to the jury that this weak, lazy, self-serving EMT had been responsible, if any responsibility could be assigned, for the death of his partner, an EMT that had run off of a cliff in the dark, attempting to come to the aid and rescue of my client. This was an absolute thrill; I do not believe that it gets any better than that.
When I walked out of the building Jesse Beasley was on the sidewalk, apparently preparing to leave. Jesse was one of the people that I spoke with fairly often. He was a good guy. I began speaking with Jesse. The person that had been the Judge for the competition exited the building. I glanced at him. He was just standing there, looking at me. This was all the confirmation I needed that I had done a superior job. I looked at Jesse. He looked down at the ground and stated: "_________, these people have to travel together." I felt like clapping him on the shoulder and telling him not to worry about it.
Jesse turned to walk away. I asked him: "Did Kimone have a copy of my questions?" Once again Jesse looked down at the ground. When he looked back up he was facing away from me and had started to walk away. I felt like calling out after him and telling him that this was okay also as I had meant for the questions to be disseminated. Kimone had not demonstrated, during her turn to question, any reliance on any of my questions. It really would not have mattered if she had. When I had given the questions to Stacey Miller I had purposefully remained silent on what my expectations were that she was going to do with them. I had carefully thought about this and could find no violation of the bull feces honor code.
Maurice Ruffin, or his wife Tanzinika, had sat as a member of the jury for this competition. A day or some days after the competition Maurice stated to me: "_______, we didn't even see that." I believed that he was referring to my exposure of the EMT as a person culpable, if any culpability was assignable, for the death of the plaintiff's spouse. If he was not referring to this, then I have no idea what he was referring to.
When I was approaching the school for my turn at the competition, Maurice Ruffin had asked me: "Hey, _________, what's up with the Men in Black outfit?"
ROTFLMMFAO
PS I came across an article in a newspaper a year or so later about a case that had been decided, or was in consideration, where the facts paralleled the facts as presented within the hypothetical situation for this moot court competition. The question occurred to me whether law firms or law schools use cases that present interesting legal questions for moot court competitions to see what comes of it.
In Requiem:
Loyola University New Orleans
Loyola School of Law
I can make spaghetti.
I can make a lamp.
Lawrence Moore, S.J., I could tape your buns together and nobody would ever notice any difference.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Pepe LeCespul
Geez, I could go on and on. Yesterday, two more incidents occurred to me. Here is one of them.
In the fall of the year 2001, during orientation for Loyola Law School New Orleans, I had quite a bit of attention paid to me. More so than the beginning law student would expect.
One of the large group meetings was hosted by a Professor LeCesne, I am reasonably certain* of the professor’s name. During this meeting, which was held in a third floor auditorium, this professor waved his hand in the direction of the area in which I was seated and stated the word “Trash” three times. I do not know for a fact that this one word statement was directed at me as this professor did not have the balls to state my name when he stated the word, he also did not have the balls to point directly at me.
If this professor was indicating me he should have stated my name. Identifying somebody as trash is not defamatory. Identifying me by name or pointing directly at me would have given me the opportunity to at least question why this professor would identify me as trash in front of 200 or so of my classmates. If LeCesne was indicating me, who was the trash in this situation?
I wonder whether any of the other students present at this orientation thought that Professor LeCense was referring to me when he made this series of one word comments.
I wonder if this colored their perception of me?
*I am now beyond reasonable certainty. It was LeCesne.
In Requiem:
Loyola University New Orleans
Loyola School of Law
Lawrence Moore, S.J., Second Fellatist in Command
In the fall of the year 2001, during orientation for Loyola Law School New Orleans, I had quite a bit of attention paid to me. More so than the beginning law student would expect.
One of the large group meetings was hosted by a Professor LeCesne, I am reasonably certain* of the professor’s name. During this meeting, which was held in a third floor auditorium, this professor waved his hand in the direction of the area in which I was seated and stated the word “Trash” three times. I do not know for a fact that this one word statement was directed at me as this professor did not have the balls to state my name when he stated the word, he also did not have the balls to point directly at me.
If this professor was indicating me he should have stated my name. Identifying somebody as trash is not defamatory. Identifying me by name or pointing directly at me would have given me the opportunity to at least question why this professor would identify me as trash in front of 200 or so of my classmates. If LeCesne was indicating me, who was the trash in this situation?
I wonder whether any of the other students present at this orientation thought that Professor LeCense was referring to me when he made this series of one word comments.
I wonder if this colored their perception of me?
*I am now beyond reasonable certainty. It was LeCesne.
In Requiem:
Loyola University New Orleans
Loyola School of Law
Lawrence Moore, S.J., Second Fellatist in Command
Friday, February 16, 2007
Relentless
I just cannot give it up. There is actually quite a bit more to tell. I can still report quite a bit more before I actually have to go into any more details about the sexual harassment, specifically which person said what and when.
Some commenter to my original blog asked why did all these women want to have sex with me? The answer is that I do not believe that they did. [2-17-2007 I am no longer sure what the heck I believe about the motivations of these people.] Whether these women, and in some cases males, actually wanted to have sex with me is irrelevant to the issue of whether what they did constitutes sexual harassment.
I am going to be reposting my original blog, Judicial Malfeasance, as long as possible, on other free blog hosts. My objective, obviously, is to ensure the possibility that eventually when a web search is done for either of these law schools my story will come up. This is not going to end until the person that raped me has been arrested.
Some commenter to my original blog asked why did all these women want to have sex with me? The answer is that I do not believe that they did. [2-17-2007 I am no longer sure what the heck I believe about the motivations of these people.] Whether these women, and in some cases males, actually wanted to have sex with me is irrelevant to the issue of whether what they did constitutes sexual harassment.
I am going to be reposting my original blog, Judicial Malfeasance, as long as possible, on other free blog hosts. My objective, obviously, is to ensure the possibility that eventually when a web search is done for either of these law schools my story will come up. This is not going to end until the person that raped me has been arrested.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Drive by PWNing
I often drive by Loyola Law School. Of course, in general I only do so when I am in the neighborhood. Driving by the place is a thrill in itself. The school is chock full of lawyers. Some of our sitting local judges graduated from Loyola Law School New Orleans. At least one of the local sitting judges, Derbigny, was a professor at Loyola Law when I was there and knew me by first name.
This law school, via the administration, faculty, staff, and students, caused to be disseminated in the local community a false picture of me. As I have previously stated, the police were around the school when I was expelled, and then on at least two more occasions when I was around thereafter. Some of the students at Loyola Law came from the local community. One of them, a beginning 1L when I became a 2L, was the daughter of an acquaintance of several years. I had actually done some construction on their home. The wife of his acquaintance dropped the daughter off in front of the school one day and the wife and I had the chance to speak. We had spoken before, but I had not seen her in a while. On this day she was as friendly as she had been in the past.
Within a few weeks of this conversation I had been thrown out. I can only speculate that news of my expulsion and the attendance of the police on this day may have spread through the student body. I have not spoken to this acquaintance or his wife again since. Our acquaintance had been through work, and sometime after I began law school the husband had left the company to begin his own.
I wonder whether news of the police being around when I was expelled reached this young woman. Did she go home and tell her parents? Was their perception that I must have done something?
The thrill of driving by is this: For all the power and connections this law school has, they can do nothing about me driving by it. Because if they try to get a restraining order they will have to state their reasons, which will then become a matter of public record.
Loyola University New Orleans
Loyola Law School
Lawrence Moore, S.J., Second Fellatist in Command
This law school, via the administration, faculty, staff, and students, caused to be disseminated in the local community a false picture of me. As I have previously stated, the police were around the school when I was expelled, and then on at least two more occasions when I was around thereafter. Some of the students at Loyola Law came from the local community. One of them, a beginning 1L when I became a 2L, was the daughter of an acquaintance of several years. I had actually done some construction on their home. The wife of his acquaintance dropped the daughter off in front of the school one day and the wife and I had the chance to speak. We had spoken before, but I had not seen her in a while. On this day she was as friendly as she had been in the past.
Within a few weeks of this conversation I had been thrown out. I can only speculate that news of my expulsion and the attendance of the police on this day may have spread through the student body. I have not spoken to this acquaintance or his wife again since. Our acquaintance had been through work, and sometime after I began law school the husband had left the company to begin his own.
I wonder whether news of the police being around when I was expelled reached this young woman. Did she go home and tell her parents? Was their perception that I must have done something?
The thrill of driving by is this: For all the power and connections this law school has, they can do nothing about me driving by it. Because if they try to get a restraining order they will have to state their reasons, which will then become a matter of public record.
Loyola University New Orleans
Loyola Law School
Lawrence Moore, S.J., Second Fellatist in Command
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Rarely say quit.
Hello old friend,
Glad to see that you are still around.
Well, I am glad you are receptive to being bored.
North Carolina is on hold for now.
Here is the boring part:
I wrote last you last summer and told you about a blog that I had started. I continued the blog until this month, and then I deleted the whole thing. I am such a ball buster. I believe that I had quite a regular readership. I base this not on my 'hits,' which totaled fewer than 10,000, but on the fact that if you Google "my name" or "my name" you get a lot of hits on other sites that refer to my blog. I published the blog pseudo-anonymously, for 'just-for-fun' legal reasons. Quite a kick in the pants that way.
I would rather, just in case you had a mind to, that if you do happen to share this with anyone, you edit my name out. The just-for-fun part is this: If I had been sued for libel based on the contents of my blog, as I had not identified myself within the blog, I could answer with a general denial and the plaintiff's would have to prove that I wrote it. Any plaintiff that sued me would have had to prove that it was me that wrote it and that would entail getting subpoena's and so forth. Further, as my blog is an indictment of so many people, I could drag all of them into any such suit. So, if someone that I have supposedly libeled wants to sue me, they are going to have to prove it's me. Unless I admit it, they can't prove it is me unless they prove that many other things on the blog are also true or false and did or did not happen to me. In the pursuit of this proof, these people, mostly lawyers, would be risking that one of them might tell the truth. I know that this is a long shot [a lawyer telling the truth], but not one that a lawyer doing a risk assessment would ignore.
This 'general denial' thing is interesting. The law of the State of Louisiana does not allow them. However, I have been answered with general denials in two lawsuits and the judges let the general denials slide. Further, these same judges disallowed my motion for Statements of Facts, which are supposed to be in the answer to the lawsuit, anyhow.
Further, anybody that would sue me for libel has this problem. What if I win? What happens if I appear before a judge that is not corrupt? This is also a long shot, but again, not one that a lawyer doing a risk assessment would ignore.
Really, knowing what I know now, if I had ever made it through law school that is definitely something to be considered if I had to do some forum shopping. Which judge is corrupt in what way?
Think about the Schiavo case. My thoughts were originally that after a great deal of reflection the judge understood that her soul was trapped, and enough was enough. [Of course I understand that the Judge deemed the husband's position the more compelling.] In hindsight, I would like to know whether he received a break when he renewed his health insurance.
Well, later, Jambalaya Jim Costonis
Glad to see that you are still around.
Well, I am glad you are receptive to being bored.
North Carolina is on hold for now.
Here is the boring part:
I wrote last you last summer and told you about a blog that I had started. I continued the blog until this month, and then I deleted the whole thing. I am such a ball buster. I believe that I had quite a regular readership. I base this not on my 'hits,' which totaled fewer than 10,000, but on the fact that if you Google "my name" or "my name" you get a lot of hits on other sites that refer to my blog. I published the blog pseudo-anonymously, for 'just-for-fun' legal reasons. Quite a kick in the pants that way.
I would rather, just in case you had a mind to, that if you do happen to share this with anyone, you edit my name out. The just-for-fun part is this: If I had been sued for libel based on the contents of my blog, as I had not identified myself within the blog, I could answer with a general denial and the plaintiff's would have to prove that I wrote it. Any plaintiff that sued me would have had to prove that it was me that wrote it and that would entail getting subpoena's and so forth. Further, as my blog is an indictment of so many people, I could drag all of them into any such suit. So, if someone that I have supposedly libeled wants to sue me, they are going to have to prove it's me. Unless I admit it, they can't prove it is me unless they prove that many other things on the blog are also true or false and did or did not happen to me. In the pursuit of this proof, these people, mostly lawyers, would be risking that one of them might tell the truth. I know that this is a long shot [a lawyer telling the truth], but not one that a lawyer doing a risk assessment would ignore.
This 'general denial' thing is interesting. The law of the State of Louisiana does not allow them. However, I have been answered with general denials in two lawsuits and the judges let the general denials slide. Further, these same judges disallowed my motion for Statements of Facts, which are supposed to be in the answer to the lawsuit, anyhow.
Further, anybody that would sue me for libel has this problem. What if I win? What happens if I appear before a judge that is not corrupt? This is also a long shot, but again, not one that a lawyer doing a risk assessment would ignore.
Really, knowing what I know now, if I had ever made it through law school that is definitely something to be considered if I had to do some forum shopping. Which judge is corrupt in what way?
Think about the Schiavo case. My thoughts were originally that after a great deal of reflection the judge understood that her soul was trapped, and enough was enough. [Of course I understand that the Judge deemed the husband's position the more compelling.] In hindsight, I would like to know whether he received a break when he renewed his health insurance.
Well, later, Jambalaya Jim Costonis
Monday, February 12, 2007
SPEAKING ABOUT BLOOD
SPEAKING ABOUT BLOOD
Well, I think I have got the story about wrapped up. I have been sitting in front of the monitor trying to think of whether there are any other incidents worth telling.
The incident wherein I was hemorrhaging and tried to get it stopped is worth relating. However, I cannot present the incident other than as somehow related to everything else that has occurred to me since the fall of the year 2000. If I just sit back and try to imagine myself as some other person reading this blog the conclusion I reach is that this writer is paranoid and delusional. Things like this just do not happen, and if they did all happen, they cannot possibly be related and if they are all related, well, I had it coming to me for not screwing Victoria McDaniel. Here is a little of the story of the hemorrhaging.
I sat in the emergency room waiting area of the River Parishes Hospital in Laplace, Louisiana bleeding into a garbage can for at least, NO LESS THAN, 30 minutes before being seen. At this hour, about 10 p.m., on this particular day, there was one other person in the waiting area with me. The person was a woman, and she was waiting on someone else.
Eventually, I was escorted into the treatment area. I was directed into one of the draped cubicles. The nurse told me to lay down and put my head back. I knew better than to do this as I was bleeding so heavily I could have drowned in my own blood. The doctor, whose name escapes me at the moment, although I recall it may have started with an 'L,' or had an 'L' in it, maybe Lutz, Lum, or Alor [a few weeks ago the name of this doctor popped into my head, but I forgot it again], came in and briefly looked at me and left. I heard him enter the next cubicle and begin a conversation with the patient within. The doctor assured the patient that the bump on his head was just a big zit and that after he lanced it everything would be okay. The doctor made some joke comparing the guy's zit to his brain. I was still bleeding heavily.
The doctor left the cubicle. I sat there waiting my turn. After a while, when it seemed that way too much time had passed, I looked out of the cubicle to see if I could spot this doctor. He was standing over by the nurse's station, chatting and drinking a Diet Doctor Pepper.
I became slightly upset. I had been sitting there, patiently, swallowing my own blood until I was becoming nauseous. I went and stood by the sink in this cubicle and started letting the blood out of my nose rather than swallow it. This was best accomplished jet engine style. Of course, as the blood was coming out fairly heavily, the snorts only a few seconds apart and each snort an amount not less, in my estimation, than two tablespoons, quite a mess was being made. There was blood all over the place, but at least my stomach was settling down.
In hindsight, I wish I would have had a zit.
When the doctor finally did attend to me, he assured me that he may not be able to stop the bleeding. He made a number of comments about admitting me to the hospital. I thought, 'In a pig's ass.' He stuffed a tampon up my nose and I was ready to get out of there. A nurse wanted to check my blood pressure. She explained that they could tell how about how much blood I lost by checking my pressure at rest and then having me stand up. At rest my blood pressure was around 145, elevated because of the stress, I presume. When I stood up it dropped to around 100, according to the nurse. I found this to be a great relief, 100 is a good number. That is, it was a good enough number to ensure that I would not spend another minute in that nut house. I went home and continued to bleed.
I had my wife drive me to the VA in New Orleans. I was becoming paranoid at this point. My experience at River Parishes Hospital was like something out of the Twilight Zone. I continued to bleed, but the flow had lessened considerably. In my estimation it was now down to about a teaspoon every few minutes. I spoke with a doctor at the VA hospital in New Orleans. I am not even going to go into what I told him. However, as far as I can see, it all adds up. This doctor changed the tampon in my nose and the blood flow dropped to just a steady annoying trickle.
The next morning the bleeding continued and I went back to River Parishes Hospital. I forget most of what happened other than my nose being repacked. During my visit, another doctor, supposedly from Metairie, gave me his card. It identified him as a plastic surgeon. There were more comments about admitting me. This was not going to happen at this hospital.
That afternoon or on the afternoon of the next day my wife managed to schedule an appointment with an ENT near East Jefferson General Hospital. I believe that this doctor did not generally confront situations such as my bleeding presented. The waiting room was mostly elderly females with blue hair, blue eyelids, and red lipstick. Romero would have had a field day.
This doctor first sat me in a chair in which he did most of his examinations. He pulled the plug. The deluge began, although not as heavily as it was when I had first walked into River Parishes Hospital. After a little while of fiddling with my nose he asked whether I had any health insurance so that I could be admitted to the hospital. I told him I did not. He led me to a large storage closet in which he had another chair. For some reason, at the time and even now, the chair brings to mind something I once saw in a horror flick. From behind him, out of some varnished birch cabinets, he retrieved a set of tools. He went at my nose. I had the distinct impression that he did not use these particular tools very often. For most of the time he was working on my nose, the expression on his face could accurately be described as OMG, WTF. He unsuccessfully attempted mulptiple times to cauterize the rupture, but I believe the rupture was in a not directly accessible spot. Eventually, he was able to cauterize the rupture. When he was done this doctor seemed very concerned whether I perceived his work as having assisted me. I assured him that he had. The bleeding had now dropped to maybe a drop down the back of my throat every few minutes.
Let me tell you this. This doctor was frightened. But he did the job. I would go back to him. I could, with no remorse, urinate on the doctor at River Parishes Hospital.
I had my wife stop at a convenience store, I think on the corner of Clearview Parkway and West Esplanade. I think it was a Danny & Clyde's. I wanted a soft drink to get the taste of blood out of my mouth and the feeling of it out of my throat. The clerk asked me if I had been painting. All I could do was shake my head back and forth.
1:45 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
Well, I think I have got the story about wrapped up. I have been sitting in front of the monitor trying to think of whether there are any other incidents worth telling.
The incident wherein I was hemorrhaging and tried to get it stopped is worth relating. However, I cannot present the incident other than as somehow related to everything else that has occurred to me since the fall of the year 2000. If I just sit back and try to imagine myself as some other person reading this blog the conclusion I reach is that this writer is paranoid and delusional. Things like this just do not happen, and if they did all happen, they cannot possibly be related and if they are all related, well, I had it coming to me for not screwing Victoria McDaniel. Here is a little of the story of the hemorrhaging.
I sat in the emergency room waiting area of the River Parishes Hospital in Laplace, Louisiana bleeding into a garbage can for at least, NO LESS THAN, 30 minutes before being seen. At this hour, about 10 p.m., on this particular day, there was one other person in the waiting area with me. The person was a woman, and she was waiting on someone else.
Eventually, I was escorted into the treatment area. I was directed into one of the draped cubicles. The nurse told me to lay down and put my head back. I knew better than to do this as I was bleeding so heavily I could have drowned in my own blood. The doctor, whose name escapes me at the moment, although I recall it may have started with an 'L,' or had an 'L' in it, maybe Lutz, Lum, or Alor [a few weeks ago the name of this doctor popped into my head, but I forgot it again], came in and briefly looked at me and left. I heard him enter the next cubicle and begin a conversation with the patient within. The doctor assured the patient that the bump on his head was just a big zit and that after he lanced it everything would be okay. The doctor made some joke comparing the guy's zit to his brain. I was still bleeding heavily.
The doctor left the cubicle. I sat there waiting my turn. After a while, when it seemed that way too much time had passed, I looked out of the cubicle to see if I could spot this doctor. He was standing over by the nurse's station, chatting and drinking a Diet Doctor Pepper.
I became slightly upset. I had been sitting there, patiently, swallowing my own blood until I was becoming nauseous. I went and stood by the sink in this cubicle and started letting the blood out of my nose rather than swallow it. This was best accomplished jet engine style. Of course, as the blood was coming out fairly heavily, the snorts only a few seconds apart and each snort an amount not less, in my estimation, than two tablespoons, quite a mess was being made. There was blood all over the place, but at least my stomach was settling down.
In hindsight, I wish I would have had a zit.
When the doctor finally did attend to me, he assured me that he may not be able to stop the bleeding. He made a number of comments about admitting me to the hospital. I thought, 'In a pig's ass.' He stuffed a tampon up my nose and I was ready to get out of there. A nurse wanted to check my blood pressure. She explained that they could tell how about how much blood I lost by checking my pressure at rest and then having me stand up. At rest my blood pressure was around 145, elevated because of the stress, I presume. When I stood up it dropped to around 100, according to the nurse. I found this to be a great relief, 100 is a good number. That is, it was a good enough number to ensure that I would not spend another minute in that nut house. I went home and continued to bleed.
I had my wife drive me to the VA in New Orleans. I was becoming paranoid at this point. My experience at River Parishes Hospital was like something out of the Twilight Zone. I continued to bleed, but the flow had lessened considerably. In my estimation it was now down to about a teaspoon every few minutes. I spoke with a doctor at the VA hospital in New Orleans. I am not even going to go into what I told him. However, as far as I can see, it all adds up. This doctor changed the tampon in my nose and the blood flow dropped to just a steady annoying trickle.
The next morning the bleeding continued and I went back to River Parishes Hospital. I forget most of what happened other than my nose being repacked. During my visit, another doctor, supposedly from Metairie, gave me his card. It identified him as a plastic surgeon. There were more comments about admitting me. This was not going to happen at this hospital.
That afternoon or on the afternoon of the next day my wife managed to schedule an appointment with an ENT near East Jefferson General Hospital. I believe that this doctor did not generally confront situations such as my bleeding presented. The waiting room was mostly elderly females with blue hair, blue eyelids, and red lipstick. Romero would have had a field day.
This doctor first sat me in a chair in which he did most of his examinations. He pulled the plug. The deluge began, although not as heavily as it was when I had first walked into River Parishes Hospital. After a little while of fiddling with my nose he asked whether I had any health insurance so that I could be admitted to the hospital. I told him I did not. He led me to a large storage closet in which he had another chair. For some reason, at the time and even now, the chair brings to mind something I once saw in a horror flick. From behind him, out of some varnished birch cabinets, he retrieved a set of tools. He went at my nose. I had the distinct impression that he did not use these particular tools very often. For most of the time he was working on my nose, the expression on his face could accurately be described as OMG, WTF. He unsuccessfully attempted mulptiple times to cauterize the rupture, but I believe the rupture was in a not directly accessible spot. Eventually, he was able to cauterize the rupture. When he was done this doctor seemed very concerned whether I perceived his work as having assisted me. I assured him that he had. The bleeding had now dropped to maybe a drop down the back of my throat every few minutes.
Let me tell you this. This doctor was frightened. But he did the job. I would go back to him. I could, with no remorse, urinate on the doctor at River Parishes Hospital.
I had my wife stop at a convenience store, I think on the corner of Clearview Parkway and West Esplanade. I think it was a Danny & Clyde's. I wanted a soft drink to get the taste of blood out of my mouth and the feeling of it out of my throat. The clerk asked me if I had been painting. All I could do was shake my head back and forth.
1:45 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
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