Juggalo Law

Posts by Juggalo Law

I suppose there are any number of moments that one can point to that perfectly encapsulate the complete insanity, inanity, and impotence of the NFL’s response to Ray Rice knocking out his fiancée. There is the Ravens tweet, of course. That perfectly horrible bit of victim-shaming, a 144 characters-or-less bite-sized lump of horrifying misogyny. There is John Harbaugh’s endorsement of Rice, a recommendation so heartily unnecessary, it sounded like a Hall of Fame introduction.

But in weirdness alone, the most perfect moment happened last night. That’s when the NFL chose the legal profession as its moral and ethical cover. In the punch bowl that is the NFL’s announcement of a laughably inept “independent” investigation, the league dropped this fantastic turd of a non-sequitur:

“Director Mueller’s investigation will be overseen by NFL owners John Mara of the New York Giants and Art Rooney of the Pittsburgh Steelers, and the final report will be made public. Mara and Rooney are both attorneys.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… what?

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I asked my fiancée if she wanted to see naked pictures of Jennifer Lawrence. “Sure.” So I showed her. “She looks good.” Then she scratched her nose and went back to planning our wedding. “What about Kate Upton?” “Sure.” So I showed her. “She’s got huge boobs.” Her nose still itched. The seating chart was still totally fudged up. Pretty uneventful Sunday night as those go.

Last weekend, the Internet exploded in a terrific tumescence over naked pictures of women. You probably heard. But now, after the hot action, and while the whole world smokes a post-coital cigarette, we are left to sort through the regret. Chief among this shame is news that one of the stars of the tawdry affair may have been underage when the pictures were taken. Mc-kay-la: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Mc. Kay. La.

ESPN, your trusted source for manufactured controversy, chose to report on this actual controversy in the most opaque manner possible.

Here’s how…

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The Supreme Court of the United States (photo by Drew Havens).

Yesterday, the New York Times ran an article by Adam Liptak on the increasingly suspect “facts” that the Supreme Court cites in some of its opinions. Whether penned by the justices themselves or the little twits who actually do the heavy lifting on the opinion-writing, opinions from the Court have become a veritable wasteland of dubious figures, outlandish claims, and hardcore pornography. Or, rather, just the first two.

Sex-crazed Stephen Breyer, for instance, is said to have relied on a discontinued blog for a statistic related to public libraries. The blog, wackyliberryfacts.blogspot.com, has two posts since 2008 and both have to do with Michael Hutchence’s death. A good read, if maybe a bit too reliant on incorrect lyrics from Suicide Blonde.

On the right side of the Court (and history…?), coozehound Samuel Alito is said to have cited an unreliable fact about background checks done by employers in a 2011 opinion. The fact? That 47 percent of Americans can’t come up with Joe Biden’s name when asked who our Vice President is. Which, as far as I can tell, is a totally true fact! But its connection to background checks is tenuous, if not downright nonexistent.

Given the fact that our nation’s entire legal edifice threatens to crumble under the weight of a thousand erroneous internet “facts,” we’ve decided to help the Court out. Here are five ways the court can get around the shoddy fact-checking in judicial opinions.

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Steve Stipanovich guarding that co-pilot from Airplane.

“Sicilians are great liars. The best in the world. I’m Sicilian. My father was the world heavy-weight champion of Sicilian liars.” –Vincenzo Coccotti

Lying, of course, is that most human of traits. We all lie. It’s what separates us from the rest of these animals. My dog, for instance, would love to tell me that a gigantic rat broke into my apartment and pooped on my floor. But he can’t. Which is why he’s scurried under this ottoman and is currently avoiding eye contact with me.

This week, the world was entertained by a subset of that most human of traits. The lie told this week, however, was of a rarer breed, one borne of a toxic mix of hubris and imagination. This kind of lie, of the great big Costanzian variety, consists not only in covering a misdeed up, but in covering the liar in glory at the same time.

Josh Shaw committed that kind of lie this week. And in doing so, reminded the world that athletes are liars like all of us.

He also reminded the world of an athlete who shot himself almost 35 years ago…

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A great many of our most polarizing political discussions involve deciding what we should be able to sell. Pot legalization, for instance, is oftentimes framed as a debate over whether we should be able to smoke marijuana cigarettes at our leisure. But that debate’s over. It’s been won by the High Times crowd a thousand times over, no matter how many times a kid gets popped on a possession rap. No, the schism involves the sale of weed. The business of it. News articles about Colorado are less interested in doofuses smoking pot and more interested in the brave, new world of pot dispensaries. The business of America is business and all that.

This weekend brought news of a burgeoning overseas market in human organs. And gay eyeballs. If you can’t see the connection, allow me…

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“I hear this place is restricted, Wang, so don’t tell ‘em you’re Jewish, okay?” –Al Czervik

The reason all conjugations of the word “hate” (hater, hating, haterade, hatin’, Hatty McDaniel) took on such ubiquity in the past decade or so has to do with how much fun hating on other people actually is. It’s the best and it serves as a through line for all human activity that is even remotely pleasurable. Soap operas, reality television, professional wrestling, stamp collecting, the white power movement… all built on a sturdy foundation of hate.

And nowhere is this more apparent than in our nation’s two most popular diversions other than titty bars: business reporting and sports.

This week, a New York Times reporter decided to throw an obscene amount of shade on New York Islanders owner Charles Wang and his legal problems. In the process, he employed an ethnic slur, called Wang a coward, and told the audience that Silky’s mink is made out of 100 percent rat ass….

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Did you say threesome, Dean?

“For sure. It’s the first time I’ve ever followed a court case. Because, I mean, it effects me personally, y’know?”

Scarlett was fiddling with a dildo the size of my arm when she explained to me how the industry felt about it.

“As far as I can tell, and I’m no lawyer, but as far as I can tell? This O’Bannon stuff means amateur pornography is over.”

The student-actress spoke into the webcam with a surprising confidence as she slowly gyrated her waifish body.

“Maybe I won’t make a ton of money. Won’t become rich like the stars do. But it sure would make getting through school easier. Which, I mean, all the producers say that’s what they’re trying to help me with. School.”

“And here’s another thing I think,” she said, her hands now doing something that could only be described as anything but professional.

“I believe in the ideal of amateurism. In the notion of ‘Hey, this is me and this is my real boyfriend and we aren’t getting paid for this.’ I believe in that. But I also could use a bit of money. To buy books. And food. Maybe more lube.” At this, the show stopped and she quickly covered up, suddenly demure and pitiful.

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“Man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world — and defines himself afterwards” — Sartre, you idiot.

When I began writing for this esteemed fashion website, I decided to use the name Juggalo Law because I didn’t have time to think of a good name. It originally had been offered up as a lame joke. In that way, it stuck, I suppose, because of its deeply descriptive powers. Here are some more lame jokes.

Names are important insofar as they signal to the outside world what our true character is. George W. Bush named Karl Rove Turdblossom. This is apt. This paints a picture in one’s mind.

But what of the names we call ourselves? Are we lawyers? Attorneys? Un autre petit nom de guerre? Je ne sais pas la réponse. Je suis simplement un clown.

Let us discuss the names we give ourselves…

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1974: It was a very good year?

Ed. note: The following is an article written by Juggs in December 2010. Consider this the Hall of Fame for the ATL Lawyer Letter Bracket going on now.

1974 was a good year. The IRA bombed the Tower of London, President Nixon was forced to resign in scandal,gasoline shortages led to long lines at the pump, asmallpox epidemic ripped through India, and faminesavaged the continent of Africa. So yeah… great year, history!

But in the midst of all this human suffering, there werelulz to be had. All it took was a litigious Cleveland Browns fan and an attorney with balls big enough to set the Cuyahoga on fire (awesome metaphor!).

After the jump, a letter from the fan, Dale Cox, followed by the rejoinder from ATL’s Lawyer of the Year for 1974, one James N. Bailey…

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Judge Claudia Wilken

My father was appalled by the way in which school mascots were often feminized for the girls’ teams. My own high school mascot, the fearsome Blue Jay, became the Lady Jay when donned by someone with a uterus. It’s unclear whether he was spurred to such offense by an instinctual feminism or a deep pedantic streak. He had both.

I was reminded of my father while reading ESPN’s sister website, espnW. It’s sports news and infotainment packaged specifically for a woman’s sensibilities. I think it has something to do with pH balancing? At any rate, it’s an embarrassing ghetto maintained by ESPN and given prominent position at the bottom of their webpage, near other hot sections like “Ombudsman” and out of season X Games coverage.

Published in said ghetto this week was an article on why dumb women make the best decisions regarding multi-billion dollar sports enterprises. This is only a slight exaggeration…

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