Freaky Friday: Felonious Fortune Telling

Welcome to the May, 2018 edition of Freaky Friday here on Lawyers and Liquor!  Yeah, I know, I got my dates all messed up, this is normally supposed to be the second Friday of the month and all that, but we’re in the process of re-vamping the Friday post timing and shit to match up to the interests.  Freaky Friday will lead the month, followed by Fetish Friday, then Furry Friday on the third Friday of the month, with the last Friday of the month being open to topic suggestions from the Patreon supporters of the website.  So, now that all that boring shit is out of the way, let’s get on back down to the brass tacks of talking about the law and shit as it relates to the paranormal, the strange, the creepy, and the down right strange with your ghost host, the BOOzy Barrister.

If you’ve ever been on the streets of any major city, you’ve likely seen a couple of places with neon signs in the window that blink on and off, saying shit like “FORTUNES READ!” or “PALM READING!” or other shit that’s really similar to that.  It’s like a staple of the urban experience these days that there’s always some fortune teller willing to fire up the crystal ball, put on a headdress, and take your money in exchange for getting your fortune read in a room decorated to look like a Romani caravan from some bad 1930’s black and white Universal monster movie, right?  So you amble in the door, you plop down your money,  giggle with your friends even if you’re a member of the toughest of the biker gangs, and decide to see what the fates, or at least the person putting on weird accent across from you, has to say about your future.

[Newsflash: Your future will likely involve furries. I don’t know how at this point, but it’s a safe bet that furries will be involved].

It’s all in good fun, right! It sure is, Frank the Future-gazing biker. Right up until you realize that you may have assisted the fortune teller in breaking the goddamn law in your state.

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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: Alcohol Safety At Conventions

Hey you filthy animals, how was the turkey? In the afterglow of Fat Thursday, it’s time for another round of InkedFur’s Furry Friday here on Lawyers & Liquor, which means that it’s time for me to cast off the “normal lawyer” routine and embrace the Badger as we cast open the kennel doors and start talking about an issue geared specifically towards the Furry Fandom. Before we get into that, though, you need to be aware that the folks over at InkedFur.com are offering 25% off dakimakuras this month for only the first 25 readers that go to their site and enter the super-secret code…which you’ll find at the end of this article!

Cool, so, this month’s article is definitely self-aware. Like, “totally woke” self-aware, because it’s coming a week before Midwest Fur Fest, a huge fucking convention in Chicago, and it concerns a very specific type of convention safety. Namely, it concerns being safe with alcohol when you’re surrounded by thousands of unblinking fursuit eyes, and it’s geared towards the first-time attendee. Actually, I adapted this shit from a regular speech I give to high schoolers about safety right before they graduate, so, hey! You get to realize I’m like this all the fucking time and not just with the furry horde that has assimilated me!

That said, without further ado, here’s the Furry Friday guide to Alcohol Safety at Cons.

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Brud v. The Jews: A shver harts redt a sach.

Yesterday was pretty interesting, wasn’t it? I mean, among all the other things that were going on in the world on September 27, 2017 we saw Puerto Rico continue to suffer, high-minded debate about the impact of the Jones Act on maritime commerce and relief efforts not to mention the economic impact on a U.S. Territory, the death of a Hugh Heffner, and, of course, a lawyer in Jackson, MS decided that it was time to sue “The Jews.”

Oh, did you miss that one?

Continue reading “Brud v. The Jews: A shver harts redt a sach.”

Representing the Reprehensible: Part 1 – Boozy Rambles

Good  morning, or afternoon, or whatever time of day it is! Look guys, I’m not only writing a blog, I’m a practicing attorney, and that means from time to time shit runs late, like it did today and last week and…shit, I mean…every week since I took that ill-advised trip to the mountains to remember what it felt like to unclench my asshole for a few days. But that’s well in the past now, and it’s time for me to start doing shit that I’m supposed to be doing again, like updating this thing and passing on profane wisdom to those who need a swift kick in their perpetually idealistic asses. Which…you know…include letting people know that sometimes you’re going to represent people you abso-fucking-lutely despise.

I’m not just talking about your run of the mill “Oh, clients just flat out suck” type of person you despise either. Nope, not today my merry little shitstains. Today I’m talking about the client who causes your skin to crawl and your brain to say “Nope, fuck you man, you want to take this case you can talk to your ass cause that’s the one making the arguments.” I’m talking about the representation of the world’s reprehensible folks. You know the type I’m taking about, the one’s who go on and on about the purity and strength of the “White Race” while looking like Skeletor and having someone they can call “Sister Momma” with a straight face.

“Fuck them, Boozy,” people who definitely are Muggles will say as they read that paragraph, “Tell us why they don’t deserve a lawyer!”

I’m about to piss a lot of those fucking Muggles off though, guys, because here’s the simple truth: Lawyers aren’t supposed to make moral or judgment calls about their clients (even though we totally do), and that doesn’t just apply to the fluffy, furry, fuzzy fun fuckers…it applies to the hardcore Neo-Nazi assholes as well.  Because that’s our goddamn job.

I can hear the sounds of the non-lawyers blocking me on Twitter and removing the site from their news streams even as I type that. Well, good fucking riddance.

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