Cole’S Law Blog

The Jewish holidays are among us and Thanksgiving is ten weeks away. A time when we will rejoin our families, eat food, and remember why we left them in the dust. Here’s a word of advice for the kids out there. If you think that your parents have emotionally damaged you, please be sure to file your complaint within three years of your legal independence at eighteen. The statute of limitations only lasts three years so you have until you are twenty-one to file a tort for intentional infliction of emotional distress for that time your mom told your prom date that she looked great but could probably stand to lose a couple pounds before the big night. So much for that $400 deposit on the limo with the waterbed. I wasted fucking three hours making that Teddy Pendergrass mixtape. But I’m over that……starting……..now.

There’s a kid in class who starts each of his questions with “this may not be important but…” or “I have a technical question that may not pertain to the thrust of the…” or “I was strangely fascinated by…” This kid sucks.[1] Please! Nobody has been “strangely fascinated” by a book over 1,000 pages in length since the one about the guy who turned a fish into blood and his body into Melba toast.[2] Law school, or at least the first year of it, is not about being “strangely fascinated.” It’s about what you know and what you don’t know; working stiff, grinding your teeth until you need a mouthpiece and a fucking blow job to get through your Contracts class.

As I have previously alluded to, it seems as though we’re regressing in age and comprehension of immediate surroundings. In addition to learning the language of legalese, everyday things are reverting back to the second grade. Every question seems to beget another one and the answers that have pertinent meaning become muddled with the rotten fecal matters of other ridiculous inquiries. It’s been six weeks now and the shit is beginning to pile up. Does anybody have a plunger?

Adding to my grade school theory, I have been on a juice box binge and have downed about eight Juicy Juice four ouncers since two sentences ago. No product has ever described itself more accurately. However, despite my rediscovered love for juice boxes[3] and already well-documented use of baby oil, I am worried about the other side effects. Although my depth perception is still intact, when I finally do handle a case, the opposing attorneys really will be able to sue the shit out of me. Although I previously mentioned that I don’t believe in things the homeless ask me for, I will probably need a change of diapers. I will then proceed to crawl on the floor and roll up in the fetal position. At least then I’ll be fascinated by what the hell I’m doing.