Not Your Therapist – The Specific Role of An Attorney

Welcome to Lawyers & Liquor, your now infrequent home for legal crap that comes out of my mind, with that being the mind of the Boozy Barrister though frankly these days does it really matter? I mean, is anyone really reading this for the author or is it more for the frankness and cursing that comes with it? Does anything I write here even matter to the extent that it helps some of those dipshits with degrees and not much else in their forlorn foray into the practice of law as a profession? Hell, nobody listens to me when I’m acting as an attorney, why the hell should they listen now?

Jesus on a Ritz Cracker, that’s about as maudlin as we can get, eh? That motherfucker has some mental problems from the sounds of things. Maybe some depressive episodes, a bit of anxiety, just one of those people that need an ear to listen to them and tell them everything’s gonna be okay.  Right? And who  better to provide that ear and shoulder to cry whiskey-soaked tears on then you, dear reader of the newly minted attorney variety, right? I mean, you’re a lawyer which means that, obviously, you’re an authority on a wide variety of topics. Surely you are the appropriate person to let me vent all of my emotional and mental turmoils on and spread oil on the troubled waters of the soul.

No. The answer to that rhetorical question is “no,” asshole. Or even “No, Asshole, Esq.” Either way the answer is a loud, resounding, and unequivocal “no.” Because being a lawyer qualifies you to do one goddamn thing: practice law. It does not qualify you to do any other form of service for your clients you dipshits. And that’s the point of today’s post: What being a lawyer isn’t.

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“CC: Client” – The Worst Form of Posturing

Welcome to another beautiful week here in the wide world of litigation and small firm chicanery.  I’m the Boozy Barrister, your guide through the minor hell that is the day-to-day practice of law in the real world, and this is Lawyers & Liquor, the internet’s equivalent of an overflowing septic tank of cynicism and legal ramblings.  

You know what I hate? You know what really gets under my fucking skin and makes me see red, white and blue (because even my fuckin’ anger is patriotic as shit)? Those goddamn letters that you get from opposing counsel in a case where they spend the whole goddamn time posturing and pissing on you, blowing themselves up more often than a remedial school for suicide bombers. These letters are the legal equivalent of two pussywillow thin frat boys standing on opposite sides of a room and screaming “Come at me bro” while not struggling very goddamn hard to get out of the grips of Teddy and Chugs (named for his particular skill)   because goddamn if that happened there may be a real fight.  It’s a lot of chest-pounding with little to no payoff and they are goddamn ridiculous pieces of a puffery that every lawyer sees right through.

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FurPlanet’s Furry Friday: FurryAir – At Least It’s Not Pet-Screwing

Welcome to another Furry Friday here on Lawyers & Liquor, where I pop open the doors to the rescue shelter that is the internet and allow all the strangely attractive six foot animals to roam free all over my mind.  I’m your host, the Boozy Badger, and while I have the Barrister’s dignity and self-respect bound up with some fuzzy handcuffs and shoved in a hotel clost let me take a minute to first thank the new Furry Friday sponsor here.  We recently replaced the Furry Friday sponsor with the awesome folks over at FurPlanet. These fine hawkers of furry literature have been in business in this community since 2004, back when most folks logged onto the internet with a message that screamed “WELCOME, YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” and have a huge selection of anthropomorphic novels, collections, and comics in their catalog given above. And, and, because they know how much you just love to save a penny or two, for the month of October 2018 you save 10% on every order with the code FBM2018 when checking out, not to mention you get a free $20 book

As Bubbles from Trailer Park Boys would say, “That’s a nice fucking kitty right there.” And we don’t know. The person running their shipping department could actually be a cat. Wouldn’t that make this shit all the more appropriate? Looking at the FurPlanet shipping options, they even have what appears to be an option to ship by air, which means you’ll get those products fast and clean with a cheap…wait. Hold on. I’ve received a message from the crew over at FurPlanet and I’m sorry to announce that there is a possibility the air shipping options may be cancelled. Apparently the new furry-based alternative to UPS didn’t actually pay for the planes, pilots, or shipping material.

Can you guess what we’re about to talk about today?

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Quack Quack Honk Designs Presents Freaky Friday: The Candyman Can.

Welcome to Freaky Friday on Lawyers & Liquor, the place where the demons of the legal profession and culture come out to play, and we’re not talking about malpractice and booze here. I’m your macabre mediator, the BOOzy Barrister, here to talk about the weird, dark, supernatural, paranormal, or just downright creepy aspects of the law, thanks to our sponsor for this post Quack Quack Honk Designs! If you get a second between the ghoulish and grim delights in store today in the crypt of the drunken asshole, feel free to swing on by and take a look at their storetheir rates, and the art shows they’ll be showing up at to pitch their devilishly delightful designs to the putrid populace, including their appearance this weekend, October 21, 2018, at Crafting With Grace in Ann Arbor, Michigan!

Now that we’re done with the selling of my soul to the not-so-demonic devil, it’s time to dim the lights and drag the legal Ouija board from the closet as we summon up the spirits of Supreme Court Justices long past to talk about this month’s super-special Halloween Haunt in the world of law. And, this month, given that it’s the month of all those creepy stories, myths, and tales, we’re going to turn to the legal case that underpins one of the most enduring myths of Halloween – and one that’s made the sphincters of parents tighten for decades now as their child gleefully digs into a bag of candy. This month we’re going to talk about the case of the Candyman.

But first, a standard disclaimer.

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Still Not A Lawyer, Part 2 – Let’s Talk About The Oath

Welcome back to another bright and sunny day here on Lawyers & Liquor, where the coffee is as black as my twisted heart and the stress is as overbearing as your mother asking when you’re going to settle down and find a nice boy or girl to share the joy of your life with. I’m the matzo-loving litigator, the Boozy Barrister, and today we’re going to continue our discussion of all the things that have to happen after you pass the bar exam. That’s right, we have another day of celebrating the professional celibacy, or, if you’re caught up in the character and fitness portion of this whole mess, legal cuckolding that is the newly admitted baby lawyer. Be you the recent admission with the ink still drying on your license or the gritty old attorney slowly aging into irrelevance, we here at Lawyers & Liquor believe that you, too, deserve to be roundly lambasted and lectured about the poor life decisions you, personally, have made to lead you to this point.

You may recall that last time we discussed the simple fact that even with the board of bar examiners saying you are minimally competent to practice law on the basis of a few essay questions and filling in the right bubbles here and there, that doesn’t make you an attorney until you’re actually admittedto the practice of law. And, as we talked then, the admission to the practice of law is more than a mere formality, because it involved shit like the Character and Fitness examiners digging deep into your sordid little past of keg stands, requiring you to supplement anything their darkened little souls require. It’s a form of legal confession, except you don’t just think the person hearing your confession may be jerking off, you know they probably are, and there’s no penance for the past in the majority of cases. But whilst you wait for the cabal of legalistic proctologists of the profession to finish snapping on their rubber gloves and just getting elbow deep all up in your shit, there’s something else you can start considering on the assumption that everything will turn out okay, and that’s when are you going to take your oath and become a lawyer.

Because lawyers? We not only fucking swear, we are sworn as well.

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