Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Another dead baby?!? SUE THE PARENTS.

The next person who tells me I should go to the doctor for my various ailments can pay the $400.00 bill I just received from the place that did the completely unnecessary x-ray on my neck.

I'd love to know precisely what the $600.00 per month in health insurance pays for, because apparently it does not cover medical procedures.

We Yanks have a bad reputation for suing anyone and everyone for stupid reasons. I admit much of it is excessive, but to be honest, the vast majority of lawsuits are necessary. And its because of insurance that they are necessary.

Let's say you're down the shops doing a spot of grocery shopping. You're looking for the parsnips so you can make a parsnip maple cake, and so you're not really paying close attention to the floor. Then you slip on some wet tile and a 100th of a second later you're arse up in the middle of the produce section.

A simple slip and fall that takes less than a second can seriously eff you up. I know people who have broken hips, fractured legs and arms, cracked ribs, cracked their skulls, shattered kneecaps and collarbones, dislocated their shoulders, and torn more muscles and tendons than you even knew you had.

So you fall in the supermarket and BAM you break two ribs, get a concussion, and tear a rotator cuff. You have fallen and you cannot get up.

Since your injuries are quite serious, you may get taken to hospital via ambulance ($700+). (bet you thought that was free, didn't you?) In the emergency room, they will check you over, treat whatever breaks they can ($800+), maybe keep you overnight because hey you broke a few bones and got concussed ($10,000 per night, PLUS at least $300 per day for every nurse that glances in your general direction, and at least $600 per day for every doctor who reads your name on a chart). And that torn rotator cuff? That will probably need surgery ($10,000 for the anesthesiologist, $1,500 each for everyone else in the room, plus all of the aforementioned hospital costs).

Torn rotator cuffs are kind of a bitch. You'll need physical therapy or something similar ($1,500+ per appointment, and you'll need to go a few times a week in the beginning). You may need more surgery ($$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$).  More physical therapy ($$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$). Prescriptions, x-rays, MRI's, specialists ($$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$). All because you slipped on a wet floor in the supermarket.

When everything is finished, you will be receiving medical bills (and probably collection notices by then) in upwards of $50,000.

But that's what insurance is for right??!!?!?!? All those medical professionals will put those bills through your insurance, and your insurance will cover the bulk of the costs.


Your insurance company will cover nothing. 

except maybe you and your loved ones with hellfire
So you are left with 2 options--find a nice cardboard box to live in, or sue the supermarket.

We do a lot of these cases at work, and they settle for an average of $50,000.

After your trials and tribulations resulting from that fall in the supermarket, you probably will not see a cent for at least 2 years. By the time you go find a lawyer, you are in unholy amounts of debt, being hounded by hospitals and collection agencies and doctors and their lawyers multiple times a day by phone and mail and your credit is not even in the toilet, it's in the 7th layer of hell.

So you have no choice but to get a lawyer and sue someone. Most of our clients don't even get to keep the majority of the money we get from either settling or trying their cases--most of it goes towards the their medical bills, and on average, they walk away with about $5,000 for themselves. 

Y'all want to know another legal secret? Of course you do. :)

America's criminal justice system is a thing of wonder and hilarity. A good chunk of our practice is criminal defense, and probably two thirds of our criminal clients are repeat offenders. Nothing awful, mostly drug dealing, DUI's, petty theft, and drunken fights that turn into assault charges.

You would be AMAZED how many people we've gotten out of serious drug and DUI problems with naught but a stern warning and a small fine. How, you may ask? 100% of the time, it is because the cops making the arrests are idiots with zero common sense. 

I have nothing against the police in general (at least not the ones around here). But guys come on. A ton of them in multiple towns were dumb enough to completely botch breathalyzer tests that a five year old could perform, thus rendering the results of that test inadmissible in court (pretty much every single DUI we've gotten dismissed). Dumb enough to give false information to hospital personnel in order to get a blood test without a warrant (all evidence thrown out, cases dismissed).

Dumb enough to plant evidence on someone in front of EIGHTY witnesses. We sued the police department and the prosecutors office for that, and won. The prosecutors office and the police actually had to hand a large sum of money over to a drug dealer, it was epic.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

I can't believe what a bunch of nerds we are; we're looking up "money laundering" in a dictionary.

Office work, as I'm sure many of you know, is fraught with a number of unique dangers.

Like manila folders.

Y'all know how a paper cut feels. Paper can do a surprising amount of damage, especially to dry skin.

Any of you ever experience a manila folder cut?


I've had accidents with kitchen knives that have caused less damage. Once a manila folder got me between my thumb and index finger--it wouldn't heal for weeks.

I'm pretty sure every office has the rogue filing cabinet.

Something gets screwed up in its innards and thus the cabinet won't open and close properly. In one of my old temp jobs, there was a filing cabinet that could only be opened by repeatedly hitting it with a hammer.

In my current office, the rogue filing cabinet will actually try to kill you if you attempt to open the top drawer. It acts like it's going to cooperate at first, and then right when you let your guard down

the freaking thing tries to slit your wrists.

(The metal pulley things upon which the drawer should rest are broken, so at the last second they tend to ricochet right out of the drawer in the general direction of your face.)

The supply closet is just as perilous. We have done the same thing to the supply closet as I have done to most of the closets at home

 Because all three of us in the office are midgets, we cannot reach the two highest shelves, or the top of the filing cabinet. So naturally instead of placing things neatly in those high places, we just throw stuff up there and hope (1) that we will never need to get it down again; and (2) that is stays there on the first try.

Things shift around a bit every time someone opens or closes the door, or opens the filing cabinet drawers, or rearranges the things on the shelves that we can reach until eventually

We keep the hammer in a better place now, hanging on the shelves.

Then there's that one coworker who leaves gross smelly food in the fridge for weeks and ends up making the whole office smell like a sewer.

Idk what it is with gross food smells, but it's like the food left in the fridge or the garbage will lie dormant and odorless for days, and then one morning you open the office door and WHAM you're hit with the stink of a dead body.

Bosslady is constantly leaving food in the office. CONSTANTLY. Bossman has yelled at her for this. I have yelled at her for this. I have thrown 2 sets of [apparently] expensive tupperware into the dumpster. Because NO.

 And yet she still continues to leave disgusting things in the fridge and in the garbage. 

And of course, there's the Russian Mafia.

Which I cannot discuss in detail, or I'd have to kill all of you.

Friday, April 17, 2015

So, what you're telling me, Percy, is that something you have never seen is slightly less blue than something else you have never seen.

It feels like the top half of my spine is attempting to part company with the rest of my body.

The doctors I have visited cannot agree on a diagnosis. One said probably a pinched nerve, the other said maybe muscle spasms. They sent me for x-rays of my neck only, which did not hurt at the time.

These people apparently completed eight years of college.

I lost respect for the first doctor the moment she whipped out the pain scale.

Like are you f**king serious.

Hyperbole and a Half did a much better pain scale, but even with hers I have trouble pinning a number on pain, which is probably why broken limbs have been ignored in the past and I don't notice when I sustain second degree burns whilst cooking.

I have no idea when that happened. I did not notice it until it went all scabby and itchy; all I know is that it is definitely a burn, and that my old doctor may definitely have been correct in his theory that I have some kind of neurological problem. 
My pain scale is more like binary code--there are only two options, 0 and 1.

The back pain went away not long after it got extremely severe, but then it came back in full force yesterday. I shall continue to abuse the muscle relaxers the first doctor gave me until it goes away again. I never filled the prescription for steroids because the side effects make me nervous, and I lost the prescription for physical therapy. I think I'll just go to M.'s shady Chinese masseuse instead.


I have acquired an upright bass. I can't really do anything with it until my friend's husband takes it apart to flip the strings (I'm left handed and as as I already play the bass guitar left handed, I am too dyslexic to learn it right handed), but I've been putzing around with it and holy hand grenades is that thing difficult to play. I didn't pay a lot of money for it though (pretty sure it fell off the back of a truck to be honest), so if I never get very good at it I'm not really concerned.

Lil Bro#2 has decided he would like to master the harmonica (Sam Lupin, you'll appreciate this) and so he has purchased a harmonica and plays it [badly] pretty much non-stop. It's kind of hilarious; wherever you go in Dad's house, if Lil Bro#2 is home, you can hear the faint sounds of the harmonica just playing random notes. He's sort of figured out the beginning of the William Tell Overture [by accident], so hopefully he will get good at it before Stepmom steals it and casts it into the fire.

One of our Russian mobster clients came in today wearing one of these:

It is worth approximately $70,000.00, and can only be repaired in Switzerland.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Expectations vs. Reality

I feel like television and movies give us some absurd expectations about life that we don't even realize until life fails to live up to those expectations.

Back in autumn, mumsy decided to get a chimney sweep to come in and clean out the fireplace and chimney in her new house.

Guys please tell me I'm not the only one who hears "chimney sweep" and immediately thinks:

EDIT: I realize many of you automatically think of chimney-sweep-Dick-Van-Dyke. I may be the only child in existence who hated the film Mary Poppins, so the chimney sweeps of other films and BBC period dramas come to mind first. Same difference--we expect a soot covered person in period clothing and that hat. 

A small soot-covered Victorian orphan boy did not show up at the house to sweep the chimney. It was just some burly dude with a bunch of tools.

We all agree that dramatic death scenes should have equally dramatic music, yes? Imagining the most dramatic events of your life that have not yet occurred, you probably add a great soundtrack to go with it. Even remembering past dramatic events, perhaps you mentally add Verdi's Requiem in the background.

This one time, a few friends and I were driving upstate to visit our friend Number2. At one point in the drive, one of the county roads ends at a T-junction, where it meets up with another county road that runs alongside a quarry and dammed lake. So directly on the other side of the road from the stop sign, there is a cliff and a several hundred foot drop onto jagged rock.

This is Upstate New York. Country roads. There are no police monitoring speed limits, so generally everyone drives 65 MPH+ on these windy roads. There are also no signs to warn you that there is a cliff and a several hundred foot drop ahead.

So we're driving along in the dark at night and M., who was driving, wasn't properly paying attention and that stop sign just appeared out of nowhere.

We were going like 80 MPH. We passed the stop sign. M. hit the brakes and swerved, but that cliff looked mighty close to us.

Somehow, presumably by the power of the Holy Spirit, the car did not go off the cliff. You could see the tire marks on the road from us skidding for months afterwards.

We retell this story with much dramatic flair, and a few weeks ago it occurred to M and myself just what we had been blasting on the car radio at that moment, a detail which has historically been left out of all of our re-tellings.

No my friends, we did not have a dramatic soundtrack of epic classical music with full chorus when we nearly drove off a cliff.

We nearly drove off a cliff to this:

I presume that is what saved our lives, because I cannot imagine a kind and loving God would ever let Wilson Philips be the last thing someone hears before plummeting to their death.