I’m going to come right out and say it: Frank Galvin, the alcoholic, ambulance-chasing disgraced attorney at the center of The Verdict is probably one of my favorite cinematic litigators of all time. The film starts with Frank sitting in a bar, circling death notices before running out to funeral homes where he presses the flesh of the bereaved and forces business cards into their hands, fishing probably for the estate or a quick buck running down a wrongful death settlement, and then back to the bar. He’s a man who lives in a shanty apartment with a run down office and a fake secretary, and who hustles for a living. In one scene, where the opposing counsel is trying to get a feel for him, they say “He’s tried three cases in the last four years, and he’s lost all of them.” He is not treated by the film as a respected attorney.
But he is treated by the film as a fucking human, and it’s a role that lawyers rarely get to authentically play. So I love this goddamn movie.
Everyone have a nice holiday? Awesome. Glad that could happen. Now button up the top button on your shirt, tighten your tie, and hunker down in the cubicle of sorrow you’ve built around your desk with old files. The weekend’s over, and we got a couple months before the next day off rolls around to make us feel like humans again, it’s time to start being the faithful servant of all the idiots that can’t add two and two together without somehow making it equal “banana.”
Speaking of faithful servants, today I want to talk about pets. Pets, as in animals, dogs, cats, hamsters, snakes…though anyone keeping a cold-blooded killing machine and calling it a pet might as well just adopt a lawyer and get it over with. Pets are wonderful things to have. But make sure you have pet insurance to avoid any horrifically large bills. You should go to https://www.petsbest.com/pet-insurance-reviews for some impartial reviews. They love you unconditionally, they don’t care if you spend entire nights sitting around eating an entire ice cream cake on your own in your underwear while quietly sobbing about the condition your life is in. Pets are just happy that you give them a little food and scratch them behind the ears every now and again, except for cats, which can only be happy when your body is cold and stiff in the bed so the feasting may begin. Yeah, all in all, pets are awesome.
Unless they happen to be at the center of a legal dispute that you’ve been hired to help resolve. Then they are little balls of satanic fur that you wish would just die already so you can close the goddamn case file and get on with doing real lawyer stuff that doesn’t involve trying to determine the appropriate custody arrangement for a chihuahua.
So this will be part of a three (or more) part series taking a look at how lawyers, owners, and clients need to view their pets in relation to the applicable laws. Today we take a look at pets as property and what that means for the more financial aspects of legal practice.
It’s Tuesday, and that means it’s Tuesday Tunes Time (dammit do I love alliteration).
You’ll notice there was no post yesterday. That’s because yesterday was a holiday, and I was rightfully busy with other shit. But the rest of the posts are on schedule, with tomorrow being proofed and Friday getting set up for the Film Friday discussion of “The Verdict,” a Paul Newman film featuring an inebriated attorney in the case of his career.
Holy shit, is it already time to open up the cages and let the technicolor zoo roam free again? Yes, you fuzzy little assholes, it sure as shit is. Welcome to yet another Furry Friday on Lawyers & Liquor, this time brought to you by my newest, greatest partner in insanity, InkedFur.com. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one making bad decisions related to you furry fucks, and InkedFur has graciously cast their lot in with me for the time being, or until I really and truly fuck shit up. Until that time, though, they’ve also given you guys an awesome discount code on “Dakimakuras,” which my research tells me it’s an anime body pillow, for this month only with the code “BOOZYSENTYA.” Go buy shit from them. They pay me.
So, it’s been an interesting fucking month, hasn’t it? The amount of messages that have poured in since announcing you assholes were getting a monthly spot on the round-up of bad decisions has been amazing, and every suggestion you made was duly considered, then immediately disregarded. As I’ve said before, I don’t even let other attorneys dictate what I write on this site, why the hell would I let a collection of animals tell me what to do?
BUT there was something that became really goddamn clear as I spent my month awash in a sea of dildos, how to Whipping guides, and art (which, by the way, may just become the name of my autobiography at this point), and that was convention season is on the horizon and none of you motherfuckers have even the barest understanding of what legal rights you do and don’t have when wearing massive costumes and consuming copious amount of liquor in a rented room. So, after a few brief moments of consideration, I decided that may be a good thing: giving you guys an idea of your legal rights in regards to hotel rooms in a likely ineffective effort to keep you from getting picked up by animal control as you criss-cross the continents in search of the next sketchbook to glance in and then immediately fucking regret.
So, let’s take a moment this Furry Friday and look at hotel rooms and the law. Go get a smoke or something. This one’s gonna be long as hell.