Guest Post by Bill M. Hours – A Concussive Blow To Contact Sports Coming to a Family Court Near You?

[Boozy: Today we welcome back Bill M. Hours, our erstwhile contributor, with another guest post to keep my goddamn queue from overflowing. Bill is an insurance defense attorney, a peon, a pleb, and an all around nice guy despite his work for the evil empire of Defense Attorneys. You can find him on Twitter at @billmhours.]

If someone you cared about asked for your opinion on whether they should play football; full contact, pads and helmets, grass-in-mouth football, what would you say?

Many of us today probably would caution against it. I know that when I run this scenario through my mind, my hypothetical self goes through various derivations of “fuck no” before deciding that phrases which aren’t broke don’t require fixing. I’d imagine that if one of my children ever asked me to let them play football, I’d most likely ask for a paternity test, but then also immediately lodge my opposition. In my case, this probably wouldn’t be too difficult to enforce because my spouse, while very interested in cooking, probably isn’t looking to be dealing with scrambled brains any time soon.

Perhaps I’ve tipped my hat too soon, in terms of expressing my opinion on the effects of football, but I don’t wish to make it sound like I hate ‘sportsball.’ In fact, where I come from, football in all its forms is a celebrated pastime. I even partook in the bashing of heads myself as a younger fellow (it was “Billy” back then), and I know from secondary experience that playing football can help young men in having an outlet to express hormonal emotions, and by helping them to develop discipline which can transfer into everyday life.

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InkedFur’s Furry Friday: Hewwo Copywighted Wowks! Who Owns Your Commission, Part 2

Hello my fuzzy little horde of anthropomorphic intellectual property infringements! It’s time once again for another Inkedfur.com Furry Friday here on Lawyers & Liquor, where I pop open the gates and let the technicolor zoo roam the streets with wild abandon. This time, in a continuation from our discussion of copyright and your totally original and not at all Disney derivative original character, we’re going to go totally vore and get into the meat of the matter. That’s right, this time we’re going to discuss who, in all actuality, owns that commission  you just paid someone to draw of a giraffe named Gerald seductively eating an ice pop or something.

Look, I don’t know what you fuzzy little assholes pay people to draw. That’s between you and whatever god you’re currently making cry.

So last time we covered a lot of the basic of what a copyright is, how you register one, etc. etc. etc. You know, all that advice that you guys are totally not going to listen to because, goddammit, you definitely have better things to do with your time and money then protect your art and fixed tangible ideas. This time we’re going to talk about something a lot more personal: what if the only fucking reason the art exists at all is you paid your hard-earned money to get someone to draw it for you?

Well. That’s a horse of a different art style, now isn’t it?

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