Friday, November 14, 2008
Supreme Court rules 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere
I've never watched "Heroes," but that hasn't stopped me from hating Hayden Panettiere. First off, "Heroes" looks like a dumb show, and second, this dumb bitch was annoying me before she could vote. About a year ago, Hayden decided to get together with her whale-saving friends to make a failed attempt at disrupting a traditional Japanese long-pole dolphin hunt. LL Cool Jew's "low-simmer distaste...overboiled into full-fledged disgust" at this incident to the point that she actually took a moment to douchebag her. I proceeded to get even more irritated with her when she decided to open up her dicksucking hole during the democratic primaries and declare her allegiance for whichever candidate loves the whales. That irritation grew into a heartfelt deathwish once she started trashing my ancestral homeland. Now, Hayden has managed to piss off an even more august body of critics than myself and LL Cool Jew. Specifically, she has gotten on the bad side of these respectable titans of constitutional justice:
Yes, the other day, the United States Supreme Court ruled 5-4 against Hayden Panettiere. Okay, so of COURSE David Souter and Ruth Bader Ginsburg dissented entirely, but I can't trust a bitch who wears a doily around her neck anyway. And okay, FINE, they weren't exactly ruling against Hayden Panettiere so much as the Greenpeace hippie types trying to stop the Navy from playing with their underwater sonar equipment, but they basically said a big "fuck you" to echolocating whales off the coast of southern California. Assuming that Hayden's dumb ass decides to put down her elderly Japanese fisherman-disrupting surfboard and pick up a newspaper, she might recognize that it's not just a handful of rural folk from other cultures wreaking havoc on her beloved whales. It's the entire United States Navy, and her precious cetaceans aren't going to get in the way of the War on Terror.
Of course, Hayden is probably too busy showing off her coochie-cutter boxer briefs to Ellen Degeneres (adding further credence to LL Cool Jew's prophecy that Hayden's whale-loving ways doesn't mean she doesn't have a seat saved at the sushi bar, if you get my drift-net) to pay attention to the Supreme Court's decision that national security is more important than whales jabbering at each other in their John Tesh instrumental-esque language. I'm sure, however, once she realizes that our highest judicial body gave the finger to terrorist whalesong, she'll trade in those Ellen granny panties and taped-up strapless sweetheart top for an ugly sweatshirt demanding that everyone boycott the Navy along with Japanese, Norwegian, and Icelandic exports.
Therefore, before she catches on, I'm going to enjoy my last few remaining days of gloating-over-Hayden-Panettiere sentiment with a nice dolphin-unfriendly tuna melt. It's both a celebration of the Supreme Court owning her bitch ass and a salute to her latent lesbianism. Here's to you, Hayden...or as my whale-devouring Norwegian relatives would say, "Skoal!"
Labels: celebrities, fuck the planet, legal drama, lezbollah, media whores, retard rage, sluts
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: U.S. Army Spc. Jeremy Hall
DOB: 1985???
Occupation: patriotic atheist
Hometown: ???
Current residence: Fort Riley, Kansas
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: According to an article on CNN.com, Jeremy Hall was raised Baptist, but then he took up with some atheists and decided that was more his speed, so he rejected Josh Christ as his Lord and Savior. Converting to atheism or any other spiritual belief is 100% cool with the Constitution, and one might think that the dudes in the army (where Jeremy Hall is employed) would be okay with Spc. Hall exercising his constitutional rights. However, this is the military still boasting George W. Bush as its commander-in-chief and that apparently means onward, Christian soldiers. He was passed up for promotions because his inability to pray with the troops meant he wouldn't make a good leader. He was so harassed by his fellow men in uniform that the Army had to assign him a full-time bodyguard for his own safety. Therefore, Jeremy decided to do what any freedom-loving, red-blooded American would do: he's suing the tits off the Army, the Department of Defense, and Defense Secretary Robert Gates.
I applaud Jeremy for taking a stand, because from personal experience, I know that nobody should have to put up with harassment or intimidation at work. I also can only imagine it must be especially difficult in Jeremy's line of work. Apparently on his last tour in Iraq, his Humvee was attacked and he was nearly killed, and the first thing his fellow soldier said to him was, "Do you believe in Jesus now?" On other occasions his life was threatened, which sounds to me like behavior JC would surely condone. I know that Jesus, who all but said, "Hey, dudes, crucify me if you're so fucking intent upon doing so," preached humility and turning the other cheek, and forgave his Jupiter-worshiping Roman executioners, was totally the type who would make an exception from his generally pacifist teachings to kick some God-rejecting faggot's ass. Those Army evangelicals are certainly the embodiment of Christian love and compassion.
I find that attitude especially obnoxious, as I am a Christian myself. In fact, I'm Catholic, and we've since learned our lesson about getting too much Jesus in our military affairs. About a thousand years ago, Pope Urban II got this hare-brained notion that we should reclaim the Holy Land in Jesus's name, and so began the Crusades. Those worked so well that not only did we not take back Jerusalem, we ensured that the entire world thought we were a bunch of marauding, rapacious assholes. Not content with learning our lesson about militarily-imposed zealotry from the damn Crusades, another brilliant series of (probably insanely corrupt, affair-having, wealth-hoarding) popes decided to throw a party called the Inquisition, except by "party" I mean "witch hunt terrorizing Jews, Protestants, scientists, and anyone else with a brain having different ideas from the Catholics." That worked out well; thanks to the Inquisition, my religious faith can now be associated with things like the Iron Maiden, the rack, and stake-burnings. In fact, my own church didn't realize until John Paul II's hot ass decided to apologize to the entire world for the Crusades and the Inquistion. And the conquest of the Americas. And persecuting Galileo. And the church's involvement in the slave trade. And the Vatican's complicity in the Holocaust (basically, Pope Pius XII sitting around jerking off while the Nazis deported the Jews of Rome under his nose). My faith has at least finally realized how violently forcing our religious beliefs down other people's throats is sinful and contrary to the message of Christ, though it took us over a millenium to man up and say sorry. I guess that means sometime around the year 3500 the evangelicals will catch on that running their own Crusades (otherwise known as the Iraq War) is wrong, and so is hating on their brothers in arms who have exercised the religious freedom we are supposedly fighting the war to defend.
I have to give props to Jeremy Hall for being a true patriot and demanding that the Army recognize his right to choose atheism as a spiritual belief. I also give props to his buddy Michael Weinstein, a retired Air Force officer and director for the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, who joined the suit with him and is using it as an excuse to make awesome statements to the press. After pointing out that he has received complaints about religious persecution from over 8,000 service members, Michael made a bunch of sharp statements criticizing the "Pentacostalgon" needing to get the message that our brave soldiers need have only one religion on the battlefield: patriotism. And whether the person in our military is a fundamentalist Christian, a Jew, a Muslim, or an atheist, they are making a sacrifice for our country and deserve better than threats from one another over religious freedom. I hope Jeremy Hall owns the Pentacostalgon's ass.
Labels: Catholicism, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, Dear God, defiance, hot dudes, legal drama, United States of Asskickery
Sunday, June 15, 2008
John Kass can go fuck himself in his hater ass
As buoyant as my spirits have been since June 13th, 2008, when the American court system produced the greatest triumph in the history of criminal justice (Robert Sylvester Kelly's NOT GUILTY verdict on all 14 of the bullshit counts of child pornography he was charged with), I just read an article that really pissed me off. John Kass, a columnist at the Chicago Tribune, penned a craptastic piece of garbage today entitled "R. Kelly verdict adds to his lawyers' list of greatest hits."
Kass then goes on to suggest that the men on the jury were a bunch of misogynistic pigs who weren't thinking of their female family members when they concluded that reasonable doubt existed. Surely if they had any modicum of decency or respect for women, they would want to convict R. Kelly just because they should share John Kass's paranoia that a big scary black man like Kells might despoil their daughters.
After these baseless, idiotic claims providing nothing save the knowledge that John Kass considers Kells guilty even after being proven innocent, he then goes to provide even more damning evidence. In addition to the notorious media mogul-turned-mail fraud perpetrator Conrad Black and drunken Walgreen's trespasser Shia LaBoeuf, Kells's attorneys have represented mob bosses, assassins, and murdered informants. Surely with such an unsavory client list under their belts, R. Kelly's legal dream team must have represented only guilty people. Ergo, R. Kelly must be guilty too. John Kass really has to stretch to find whatever dubious circumstantial evidence he can rework into a suspicious context, even if it means suggesting that R. Kelly's right to a vigorous defense alone proves his culpability.
After wading through several paragraphs of self-congratulatory attempts at coming up with catchy Cochran-esque rhymes like "If the mole's not a zit, you must acquit" and "If you don't see a mole, you must take a stroll," John Kass immediately launches into a deeply flawed analysis of how R. Kelly--portrayed as a certainly guilty dirtbag--was acquitted thanks to his dirtbag lawyers, who have built careers on releasing also assuredly guilty dirtbag mob hitmen back onto the streets to terrorize the Windy City.
Chicago R&B star R. Kelly—who also calls himself "The Pied Piper"—was acquitted of child pornography charges because of a mole or the lack thereof on a grainy video.John Kass obviously doesn't put much stock in fact-checking, because not only does R. Kelly call himself "the Pied Piper OF R&B," the mole was not the central issue that decided this case for the jury. When the defense gave its closing arguments, they pointed out that the prosecution had failed to identify the girl in the sex tape. If you can't prove the identity of the alleged victim, then you can't prove her age, and you can't prove that the tape constitutes child pornography. The jury actually cited the prosecution's failure to establish the alleged victim's identity as the primary reason why they acquitted Kells after only seven hours of deliberation. John Kass either doesn't think very highly of his Tribune colleagues' accurate reporting of the trial, or is so simply determined to hate a player that he is willing to overlook the fact that while neither the girl or her parents testified in the trial, both denied that the alleged victim was the girl on the tape before a grand jury in 2002 and the alleged victim's family were deeply divided regarding whether or not she was the girl from the tape. He also ignores the fact that the prosecution's star witness, "the woman" he mentions involved in the "plethora of perversions" (threesomes on R. Kelly's Space Jam-themed indoor basketball court), was largely discredited by the defense for attempting to extort Kells into buying her silence and to get leniency for her fiance who was facing felony gun charges.
The mole or mole deficit was a big issue in the trial. A tape of purported sex acts and a plethora of perversions involved a minor, a woman, and a man prosecutors said was Kelly. Defense lawyers said it wasn't a mole on the tape, therefore, it wasn't their client.
John Kass gets worse. He then goes on to mock R. Kelly's art, and suggests that the melodic ambrosia better known as his next album will include songs gloating about his undeserved freedom and hoodwinking of the justice system:
But now that he has been acquitted, he'll probably release a new album, titled "Mole-ishus: Daddy's Home!" Apparently, he loves being called "Daddy," and because he's being hailed as In-no-¢ent, what better way to celebrate Kelly's freedom than with song?Again, John Kass, if you had bothered to do the quickest of Google searches you would know that his next album is actually called TP: Fourth Quarter, and the obviously sublime (if the first single "Hair Braider" is any indication) tracks for this most recent installment in Kells's seminal Twelve Play series have already been laid down in the Chocolate Factory. They probably don't have anything to do with his trial, except to possibly excoriate haters like John Kass who are unfairly persecuting R. Kelly via media trickery and legal shenanigans. Furthermore, while in some R. Kelly songs he does answer to the term "daddy," if the lyrics to "I'm a Flirt" can be considered a reliable exploration into Kells's preferred pillow talk terms, he also makes women call him by his actual name since after a tryst with him, they tend to slip up and call their significant others "Kelly" when their name is "Tommy." Furthermore, as long as he's mining R. Kelly songs for pro-child fucking themes, he could at least acknowledge lines like "show me some ID before we get too deep" which indicate that R. Kelly complies with laws defining the age of consent. John Kass thinks that he is so goddamned funny that his readers won't notice that he has no grounds for implying with that strategically placed "¢ent" that R. Kelly bought his freedom in spite of overwhelming evidence of his guilt. There IS no evidence, and that's why John Kass has to resort to using punctuation and bad parodies of the R-uh in R&B's lyrical genius.
Kass then goes on to suggest that the men on the jury were a bunch of misogynistic pigs who weren't thinking of their female family members when they concluded that reasonable doubt existed. Surely if they had any modicum of decency or respect for women, they would want to convict R. Kelly just because they should share John Kass's paranoia that a big scary black man like Kells might despoil their daughters.
Nine men were part of the R. Kelly Jury of Liberation. You've got to think some have daughters, or sisters, or nieces who are young teenagers. If not, let's just think on it a piece, in a parallel universe.It never occurred to John Kass that the jury was actually going to do its job and decide R. Kelly's fate based on the evidence rather than a groundless sense of protectiveness toward their female family members. Instead, he'd rather paint a portrait of an alternate universe in which R. Kelly is having a creepy pedophile tea party and children justify flocking there by quoting chronologically inaccurate butchered "Ignition (Remix)" lyrics (come on, idiot...after the show it's the afterparty, and after the party it's the hotel lobby, and round about four you gotta the lobby and then you take it to your room to fuck somebody) to their ironically unhappy chauvinist pig juror fathers powerless to do anything except ruin dinner. Shut the fuck up, John Kass. Your lame fantasies about how the jurors should reap their ironic karmic reward for not ignoring evidence of reasonable doubt and participating in a legal lynching of R. Kelly do nothing save make the Chicago Tribune look like a shitty paper for employing witless demagogues like yourself as columnists.
Consider the daughter of a juror, coming up to dad in the back yard, humming "I Believe I Can Fly" as pops finishes grilling several thick steaks. And maybe, she asks:
"Daddy? Can I go over to the R. Kelly's Acquittal After Party? You know what R. Kelly says. He says, 'It starts in the hotel lobby, and then on to the after party.' "
That's about time the old man stabs the steak with a fork about 52 times, saying "No. No. No. No. No!," leaving it dry and tasteless as his princess goes off to hang with the Pied Piper, acquitted on all 14 counts with the aid of his stupendous defense team.
After these baseless, idiotic claims providing nothing save the knowledge that John Kass considers Kells guilty even after being proven innocent, he then goes to provide even more damning evidence. In addition to the notorious media mogul-turned-mail fraud perpetrator Conrad Black and drunken Walgreen's trespasser Shia LaBoeuf, Kells's attorneys have represented mob bosses, assassins, and murdered informants. Surely with such an unsavory client list under their belts, R. Kelly's legal dream team must have represented only guilty people. Ergo, R. Kelly must be guilty too. John Kass really has to stretch to find whatever dubious circumstantial evidence he can rework into a suspicious context, even if it means suggesting that R. Kelly's right to a vigorous defense alone proves his culpability.
I called this acquittal months ago on the grounds that there was no evidence to prove R. Kelly guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and that was long before John Kass's own newspaper began publishing exhaustive accounts of the entire sordid legal drama. It's a pity that now, with all the information about the case and the trial at his disposal, John Kass is determined to spread the word that Kells is guilty even though a reasonable jury disagreed. Rather than give credence to facts supporting an acquittal, John Kass prefers to play on people's fears that R. Kelly will piss on their daughters simply because he wants to believe that R. Kelly is guilty. I can't help but wonder about John Kass's motives. If John Kass is so determined to manufacture non-existent evidence of R. Kelly's guilt, he must have some reason. In fact, I'd wager that there are two reasons.
1. This is John Kass:
2. This is Robert Sylvester Kelly:
John Kass is a fat, poorly-equipped newspaper columnist known primarily for his hatred of Chicago mayor Richard Daley and his love of beer can chicken who drives a Passat, while Kells is black, handsome, sings, plus is rich, and is a flirt. I don't have enough to time to document all the cars that Kells purports to drive, since his musical repertoire describes a veritable container ship's worth of automobiles in his garage. Needless to say, R. Kelly's fleet of Lexus coupes, Jeeps (which actually refers to luxury SUVs of all makes and models such as the silver Lexus parked outside his beach home that makes you think he's from the swamp the way he steps out with them gators on), Maseratis (color: smurf blue), Benzes, Rolls Royce Phantoms, Maybachs, Hummer Vees (see "Jeeps," supra), Cadillacs with D's thrown on them, and "old schools" makes John Kass's Passat look pretty pathetic.
I also doubt that John Kass has had the pleasure of doing things like having fun on the freakin' weekend, Cristal-poppin' in the stretch Navigator, having girls up in his room screaming "Hercules, Hercules!", making the room go black with his love jones, throwing hundreds up for grabs with mama, walking out the club with a shitload-a women, putting women on the counter by the buttered rolls, promising that it will be painless when he journeys to Uranus, or being frozen thanks to Jacob the Jeweler. John Kass is not a dog on the prowl when he's walking through the mall, he cannot remind you that he is the king of R&B, he doesn't require three honeys just to make him feel rizight, and nobody is running their hands through his fro while he bounces on twenty fours. John Kass isn't putting the D on chicks like Wallace, he isn't making anybody's body come like the CTA, he's not doubling up with two chicks both got dizzy legs, and he can't think of anything cooler than red bikinis and some pump-heel shoes while he's lounging around at his rule-free crib butt naked in sweat socks and house shoes. John Kass's voicemail does not suggest that he's sure to get right back with you if he's not asleep, smoking on some trees, in the middle of having sex, if he's not faded, or making a baby. John Kass is not in the Prada spot or the car lot being like "two of these, player." John Kass is not a marching band, and he is not the people. John Kass is not three's company, bitch, and you can't call him Jack Tripper. While John Kass has a club date, Kells is fucking with arenas. John Kass is jealous of R. Kelly, plain and simple. R. Kelly is a player, homie, and that's a well-known factor, as is the fact that John Kass is not. That's why John Kass is hating because Kells is about to fool like he's fresh out of jizail. John Kass does not have cash money, isn't rolling on them things, he isn't drunk off in the club, he's not a motherfucking thug, he's not smoking on some dro, he's not off that Ecstasy, he's not sipping on some Cris, and he's not throwing up his shit, so by definition he cannot possibly feel this shit.
John Kass owes Kells an apology for continuing to bastardize Kells lyrics and play on his readers' latent racist fears to smear him as a pedophile--excuse me, a child pornographer--even after the not guilty verdict was rendered. I'd advise John Kass to call up RSK at the Chocolate Factory and offer a personal mea culpa in exchange for some real talk along the lines of "bitch, I wish you would burn my motherfuckin' clothes with your triflin' ass...Milton!" but if John Kass thinks Kells is screening calls he's motherfucking right. That's for the haters; Kells returns calls to all the girls he likes.
Labels: assholes, crime and punishment, legal drama, retard rage, Robert Sylvester Kelly, scathing indictments
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
LET THE KELLS TRIAL INNOCENCE-FEST BEGIN!
Thank you to CorporateCard and Morrissey'sHair for both being concerned enough with the legal fate of Robert Sylvester Kelly to advise me that his trial was off to a rollicking legal start yesterday. Also, thanks to Morrissey'sHair for pointing out how impeccably dressed Kells was (per usual) and for noting, "Can't fade a playa." True that.
Anyway, back to day 1 of the People vs. Robert Sylvester Kelly. The prosecutor came right out of the gate with opening arguments delivered in a self-righteous, "Law and Order: SVU" sort of way. Engaging in blowjobs and watersports with a 13-year-old is reprehensible when you're a R&B thug, or any adult for that matter, taping it is worse, and R. Kelly supposedly did all that.
The defense, however, is relying on what they can prove and, more importantly, what the prosecution cannot: the fact that there's a high probability of the guy on the tape not being R. Kelly. You never see the guy's face, and the girl in the video remains unidentified. The alleged victim denied that she was in the video under oath before a grand jury, the tape was sent to a newspaper from an anonymous tipster rather than recovered from the R-uh in R&B's suburban Chicago mansion, R. Kelly has a brother who looks an awful lot like him, the tape is a fifth or sixth generation copy, and even the FBI couldn't identify the man on the tape. It seems to me that if you can't prove that the girl in the video is underage, much less whether the man pissing on her is in fact Robert S. Kelly from the Chi, then there is no case.
I saw the sex tape on the internets (unless, of course, that sex tape is deemed "child porn", in which case I don't know what you're talking about, and I plead the Fifth or whatever). You really can't tell who the man is, unless of course you think all black people look the same. In that case, the guy in the video shares Kells' skin color, so R. Kelly is guilty before he even makes the case for his innocence. However, assuming that the jury is not unabashedly racist, they'll see quite clearly that you can't tell if R. Kelly is the man in the video. Frankly, "black" is the only attribute R. Kelly and the guy in the video share, being that the video guy pissing on the alleged minor never demonstrates whether or not he is "handsome, sings, plus is rich" and is "a flirt," also critical points for positively identifying Kells. I should add that the guy in the video never demonstrates his skills as a "R&B thug" at any time (such as by causing the alleged victim to leave up out the room walking bowlegged, keeping her body coming like the CTA, or making the room go black upon exposure of his "love jones"), and the alleged victim never once says "oooh, Kelly, you make me holler, keep on jumpin' like an Impala" at any point during the scene either.
The great thing about this trial is that the defense is pointing out facts I didn't even know, and I know a LOT about R. Kelly since I'm pathologically obsessed with him. For example, I had no idea that Kells's dermatologic traits could provide the key to his acquittal, per CNN coverage of the case:
I saw the sex tape on the internets (unless, of course, that sex tape is deemed "child porn", in which case I don't know what you're talking about, and I plead the Fifth or whatever). You really can't tell who the man is, unless of course you think all black people look the same. In that case, the guy in the video shares Kells' skin color, so R. Kelly is guilty before he even makes the case for his innocence. However, assuming that the jury is not unabashedly racist, they'll see quite clearly that you can't tell if R. Kelly is the man in the video. Frankly, "black" is the only attribute R. Kelly and the guy in the video share, being that the video guy pissing on the alleged minor never demonstrates whether or not he is "handsome, sings, plus is rich" and is "a flirt," also critical points for positively identifying Kells. I should add that the guy in the video never demonstrates his skills as a "R&B thug" at any time (such as by causing the alleged victim to leave up out the room walking bowlegged, keeping her body coming like the CTA, or making the room go black upon exposure of his "love jones"), and the alleged victim never once says "oooh, Kelly, you make me holler, keep on jumpin' like an Impala" at any point during the scene either.
The great thing about this trial is that the defense is pointing out facts I didn't even know, and I know a LOT about R. Kelly since I'm pathologically obsessed with him. For example, I had no idea that Kells's dermatologic traits could provide the key to his acquittal, per CNN coverage of the case:
The defense asserts that Kelly has a "significant" mole in the middle of his lower back that has been there since childhood. But he said the man on the tape did not have the mole.
"There is no mole on his back," Adam (defense attorney) said. "Robert isn't that man on the tape."
Sounds good to me. Not only does this sound like Kells's back mole is the blemish of innocence, but it also makes a great excuse for R. Kelly to get topless in the courtroom. In other words, it's a total win-win for Kells supporters. NOT GUILTY!
Labels: armchair barristry, CorporateCard, crime and punishment, legal drama, Morrissey'sHair, Robert Sylvester Kelly
Monday, May 19, 2008
And this week in R. Kelly trial news...
I wish I had more exciting news to report about the greatest case in the history of American justice: the People vs. the Pied Piper of R&B, better known as Robert Sylvester Kelly.
However, not much has gone on this past week except more jury selection. Apparently they've selected all 12 jurors and 2 alternates, so they only have 2 alternates to go. The good news about this is that once they get the last 2 jurors on board, they can get started with the business of proving R. Kelly not guilty so that he can tour for the TP Fourth Quarter album out this July, thus permitting LL Cool Jew and I to attend another Kells concert and have our minds blown by his mackadelic nightspot realness.
The jury selection has been remarkably uneventful. There was some chick dismissed for being as obviously pro-Kells as I would be (she declared Kells to be "a musical genius" under oath...NOT PERJURY!), and a bunch of other boring impartial jurors chosen instead. The biggest news was when one prospective juror said that "he's not very smart," a remark at which "Kelly looked up, a hurt expression on his face," according to the Chicago Sun-Times. Who does that bitch think she is? Does she not know that R. Kelly is the world's greatest? How can anyone reasonably say that the person who wrote lines like (for example, the song I'm listening to now, "TP-2") "taking off your Secrets with my teeth," "you can put it on me like drawers," and "I'm about to tear your shit out, new millenium style" is "not very smart?" I would argue that the author of such lyrics is VERY smart. R. Kelly is many things, including but not limited to a mountain, a tall tree, a swift wind moving over the country, so I think it goes without saying that he's "smart" in addition to being a giant, an eagle, and a lion down in the jungle. In fact, a common word like "smart" doesn't actually do R. Kelly's brilliance justice, and to suggest he's not even "smart" and hurt his feelings is inexcusable.
At least Kells managed to recover and return to what he has apparently been keeping busy with during most of the jury selection so far: writing copious Post-It notes and sticking them into his pockets. Undoubtedly those Post-It notes are filled with a combination of sure-fire winning legal strategies and real talk. I really like the idea of Kells instructing his attorneys by writing blurbs like "only thing I'm trying to extablish is not who's right and who's wrong, but what's right and what's wrong." Kells is probably also encouraging them to use the "Tommy did it" defense. If the lyrics to "I'm A Flirt (Remix)" are any indication, on at least one other occasion a guy named Tommy has been confused for R. Kelly. Yeah, that must be what's on Kells's Post-Its. I'm sure of it.
Labels: armchair barristry, crime and punishment, legal drama, Robert Sylvester Kelly
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Judicial membership has its privileges
I just read a funny story over at MSNBC about a judge currently facing an inquiry for her behavior since ascending to her judgeship. Elizabeth Halvorsen, some district court judge in Nevada, has been locked out of her own courtroom for being straight-up ridiculous. Among her offenses:
- Riding around on a motorized scooter
- Ordered her bailiff to put her shoes on for her and massage her feet and back
- Ordered her bailiff to put a blanket over her and refill her oxygen tank
- Asked bailiff if he would prefer to "worship (her) from near or afar."
- Swore her husband in so she could ask him under oath if he finished his household chores
- Hiring her own posse of security-exempt Blackwater guards to protect her
- Called 911 on court administrators stopping by her office
- Caused mistrials in sexual assault cases by improperly meeting with jurors
- Falling asleep at the bench
I'm surprised that she didn't force her courtroom visitors to play croquet against her and threaten decapitation for painting her roses red. This bitch is a piece of shit as a public servant, but in terms of earning rock star points for ridiculous behavior, she's a fucking champion diva. I always figured being a judge would allow you to do cool stuff like hold people in contempt of court just for being assholes and fuck hot attorneys. I never knew you could demand worship and foot massages. I should have gone to law school.
Labels: crime and punishment, I LOVE IT, legal drama, ridiculous absurdity
Some would like to see him ball and chained...
...but he's a child of God, so his destiny is ordained. Who is he, you ask? None other than the inimitable Pied Piper/R-uh/King of R&B, Mr. Showbiz himself, the certifiable World's Greatest: ROBERT SYLVESTER KELLY. And what destiny is ordained? A NOT GUILTY verdict.
For those of you not obsessed with all things Kells, the trial of the geological eon, Illinois vs. Robert S. Kelly, started on Friday. So far nothing terribly exciting has happened, except the selection of three jurors. Jury selection is expected to last all week. Much more important is that R. Kelly has been coming to court stuntin' with tight braids and a custom suit. And since this isn't a fiesta, nobody's saying "my, my, my, my" when they see his frozen ice, as he left the three karat diamond earrings back at the Chocolate Factory. No need to showboat at his child pornography trial, although I'm sure his player's card is tucked safely in his money clip.
Now I've been hearing a lot of talk about "he's a pedophile" and whatnot, but apart from his damning marriage to the late Aaliyah when she was 15, I don't see how anyone can come to this conclusion from viewing the tape in question. If you haven't seen it, it's easily found with some internet searching, and I recommend you watch it before you jump to any conclusions about R. Kelly's guilt or innocence. It's absolutely not clear that Kells is the man in the tape, and even though I am one of the world's biggest R. Kelly fans, I can't pick his penis out of a lineup. All I know about his dick is that strippers keep it "on swole," it's a Capricorn, and if unleashed, it will "make the room go black."
Furthermore, since the alleged victim has denied that it's her on the tape, the prosecution has no way of proving the age of the girl supposedly involved in the child porn in question. All they can prove is that some black dude banged a chick in some mountain-themed room at R. Kelly's mansion. And I have no doubt that Kells's team of attorneys will work this reasonable doubt angle successfully, even if his head attorney doesn't really have much going on in the physical intimidation department:
Don't let the Lark scooter fool you; he may look like he's on his way to Costco to stock up on Ensure and Depends, but, according to the Chicago Tribune, "Edward Genson, the so-called dean of local defense lawyers, has represented high-profile personalities such as former U.S. Rep. Mel Reynolds, former Illinois inspector general Dean Bauer and media magnate Conrad Black. The 66-year-old attorney is known for displaying a stammering, disorganized courtroom demeanor that quickly transforms into a relentless, antagonistic cross-examination of prosecution witnesses."
In other words, the esteemed counselor isn't going to let his neuromuscular condition get in the way of totally owning the prosecution. There is no way Kells is going to be convicted and sentenced to 15 years. In fact, it's probably going to be a tougher job judging the hair braiding contest currently underway at R. Kelly's official website. Once they get a jury together, this trial's going to last a week and end in a verdict of "not guilty, y'all gots to feel me." He's going to be popping bottles of Cris with mamas to celebrate the release of TP Fourth Quarter this summer, a free man. Trust this.
Labels: armchair barristry, crime and punishment, legal drama, Robert Sylvester Kelly
Friday, April 18, 2008
Breakin' the laws
NO, I'm not talking about laws regarding defamation and libel. I take those very seriously, no matter what some crazy assholes might say. I'm talking about laws regarding sex. These used to make the news a lot more when they were seen as a way to harass and pester gay people. So-called "sodomy" laws made it illegal to be gay in some states, and rightfully these were overturned by the 2003 Supreme Court decision Lawrence vs. Texas. However, did you know that there are still some really stupid fucking sex laws on the books in various places? The "sodomy" laws (pertaining to oral and/or anal sex) are no longer valid as of 2003, but as far as I know, the rest of them are still technically enforceable.
It turns out, I'm a criminal in several states and municipalities. This just goes to show that no matter how much I try to abide by the law, I still somehow manage to be a bad, bad girl. It's in my nature, I guess.
Here's my rap sheet:
1991: I showered nude in Florida.
1997: I engaged in "private sexual behavior" with a Marine (actually a Navy dude) in the bathroom of baggage claim 4 at Bradley International Airport in violation of Connecticut state law.
2002: I had sex in the female superior and doggystyle positions in Washington, DC, where the only legal position is missionary. Well, and I fell off the bed headfirst while we were doing it doggystyle, so you could make the argument that for about five to ten seconds, I was executing a textbook reverse piledriver as well. I'm pretty sure I also gave the lucky fella a blow job, but it's unclear as to whether this law would apply to that.
1998 and 2003: I slept naked in Minnesota.
1998: I reached climax before my partner in California during foreplay ("foreplay"=69). Several times. This law is not only obviously antiquated, but it was also clearly written by an insecure one minute man, because these days a guy who can make his girlfriend bust more than once before he finishes up is considered a keeper and a hot lay.
2003-present: I regularly break New York's state law forbidding me from wearing "body-hugging clothing." Luckily New York state law also allows women to go topless in public so I'm in the clear there when I try to get some vitamin D for my tits every summer on Long Beach or Fire Island.
Now all I have to do is have anal sex in Cincinnati, bang someone I'm not married to in Georgia, suck someone off in Indiana, engage in a public display of affection with someone in Idaho for longer than 18 minutes, fuck a porcupine in Florida, conduct business in Nevada while wearing a penis costume, fuck in a graveyard in North Carolina (good thing that law's not in Puyallup, Washington because I did that there in 1996), get laid in a meat freezer in Newcastle, Wyoming, and have sex in a parked car in Carlsbad, New Mexico without the curtains drawn. I'll be a criminal legend on par with Akon. Now I better keep an eye out for a warrant-wielding cop as well as a process server.
Labels: crime and punishment, hilarious shit, legal drama, perversion, ridiculous absurdity, sex
Friday, March 28, 2008
Daily Douchebag: the Los Angeles Times
DOB: 1881
Occupation: getting duped by corpulent imprisoned con artists
Hometown: Los Angeles, California
Current residence: same
Douchebaggery: On St. Patrick's Day, Pulitzer Prize-winning entertainment reporter Chuck Phillips went to press with a story suggesting that Sean "P. Diddy/Puffy/Diddy/whatever the hell he's calling himself now" Combs was involved in the shooting of Tupac Shakur at a New York City studio two years before his death. When the story went to press, Diddy vehemently denied any involvement in that incident. Since the story was based on several FBI interview reports, the world authority on making stories out of official documents, The Smoking Gun, decided to investigate.
It turns out that Chuck Phillips has been slacking on his pimping when it comes to establishing the authenticity of his sources. The four "302s" he used as sources were actually typed from the Allenwood Federal Penitentiary by this portly fellow, Jimmy Sabatino:
Even worse than Chuck Phillips's failure to do so much as Google "Jimmy Sabatino" is the fact that he missed that the FBI hasn't used typewriters such as the prison model used to create these "302s" in over 30 years, FBI agents generally have enough of a command of the written word to remember that i goes before e except after c, and the FBI didn't even investigate the Tupac-Biggie bullshit! For whatever reason, the federal investigation into the whole East Coast-West Coast rap feud was handled by the Secret Service. Yet Chuck Phillips just assumed that these 302s were typed by a federal agent inclined to incorporate phrases like "peice of shit" into his reports, apparently without raising an eyebrow.
Chuck believed all sorts of whoppers that Jimmy Sabatino told, including his claim that he was a "rodie" on a New Kids on the Block tour at age 15, his cultivation of Mark Wahlberg's rap career, he was shut out of money owed on Biggie's posthumous album Born Again for "creative consultant" work, he was a "person of interest" in the murder of Biggie despite being incarcerated in Miami, he negotiated a peace treaty on Diddy's behalf with Suge Knight, that he was rebuffed by Tupac the night of the shooting and subsequently "dealt with" Tupac for disrespecting him, and was the son of a high-ranking captain in the Colombo crime family.
Having recently become far more acquainted with defamation law than I ever anticipated, I am confident in saying that I have been a far more responsible journalist than Chuck Phillips. For one thing, I have never written anything that I didn't believe to be true based on reliable sources. For another, I would never present anything as fact that was based on such obviously suspicious material. And my website is hardly the LA Times. Rather, my blog purports to be "the ultimate source for useless bullshit," which should be considered a disclaimer that ANYTHING printed here should not be considered reliable news or anything besides my opinion and (feeble) attempts at being funny. Unless, of course, one considers "useless bullshit" to be their criteria for news that's fit to print. If guys like Chuck Phillips can get a Pulitzer for outstanding journalistic techniques like rehashing forged documents originating from a federal prison that are easily disproven by a simple Google search, I'd like to know when I can expect to receive that honor for my achievements in the field of bullshit generating. I'll have to work the funds for a new tschotschke shelf into my budget to display it and prevent Chingy! and Caesar from getting at it, as I imagine they would find that a Pulitzer makes for a most delicious chew toy. Then again, maybe I'm out of the running for this prestigious honor as, unlike Chuck, I have never actually recklessly disregarded the truth and committed defamation or libel. So much for my future lucrative career in blog-based journalism. Fuck...I guess I'm stuck with this science crap.
Labels: assholes, crime and punishment, Daily Douchebag, fat fucks, legal drama, media whores
Monday, March 24, 2008
Heads up to the Kells legal team
Last week, I received the following e-mail:
From: Morrissey'sHair, Esq. (mhair@brokemotherfuckersllp.com)It's a refreshing change to contemplate someone else's legal drama besides my own, and I am particularly concerned with Robert Sylvester Kelly's legal woes. I may be one of the only people in America who believes steadfastly in his innocence, or at least the strength of his defense case. How can a man who looks so snappy in courthouse finery be culpable in urinating on a minor? Sha right. Furthermore, how can the Pied Piper/R-uh/King of R&B be anything BUT The World's Greatest?
To: Razzy (razzy@razzy.org)
Dude,
This morning while getting ready for work I was listening to Kells and a disturbing thought dawned on me: How on Earth can Kells enjoy his constitutional right to a fair and impartial jury of his peers when he is The World's Greatest? Seems that by definition, The World's Greatest is peerless; thus, any jury empaneled won't meet Constitutional muster. I can't believe his attorney hasn't brought this issue to the court's attention!
Morrissey'sHair raises an excellent point about R. Kelly's Sixth Amendment rights, and he's a real lawyer with a bar card and everything. I'd think that in addition to arguing for his singular status as "World's Greatest", the prosecution would be hard-pressed to fill a jury with marching bands, swift winds over the country, stars up in the sky, mountain peaks on high, lights at the end of the tunnel, lions in the jungle, pots of gold at the end of the rainbow, and everything else R. Kelly purports to be in that classic song. It's too bad Morrissey'sHair doesn't practice criminal law in Chicago because he'd have this case dismissed in a heartbeat.
Labels: armchair barristry, crime and punishment, legal drama, Morrissey'sHair, Robert Sylvester Kelly
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Daily Whatever: Sorry, guys
So my legal drama continues and I am feeling pretty shitty today. I'm not even going to try to be funny, because I am feeling positively miserable for a variety of reasons that undoubtedly I'll tell you all about soon enough. I even cried yesterday. In front of people. In the Gospel of Razzy, that's a mortal fucking sin. So to make up for the fact that I can't possibly come up with anything creative or amusing today, I'll instead reflect back on happier times when I actually succeeded at doing so.
Breaking up is hard to do, but rejecting assholes is easy The font of ranting from whence all my current legal drama sprang
VD BS is so romantic It just wouldn't be right not to include at least ONE posting about anal sex.
Blame it on Benedixteen Man, Blame It on Rio was an awesomely ridiculous movie. Almost as ridiculous as the Pope. But infinitely more awesome.
More dumbfuckery on the Lower East Side Judging by the number of Google Image hits this post gets, there's a lot of you who really want to see Pete Wentz jerking it to a Morrissey poster
Cheaters never prosper unless you are dumb enough to let them Good times fucking my former high school classmates in Tacoma
Robert, you did this, Kells, I heard you did that. Nothing turns my frown upside down like a little REAL TALK. See, girl.
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Chris Hansen SO. HOT.
Razzy v. Rick Friar: Hilarity will likely ensue Hearken back to happier times when haters just sent me stupid e-mail and didn't resort to attorneys and threats of litigation (and hilariously, this comes up in a Technorati search for "nerd rage" along with posts called things like "How to totally get your way in World of Warcraft" and "Here I am...rock you like a geeky nerd"). BONUS: titty pictures.
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Taylor Swift I'm throwing HotLawyer a bone for being the total helpful hotness
Important Details Women's magazines totally suck.
I'll be back tomorrow in better spirits. Trust.
Breaking up is hard to do, but rejecting assholes is easy The font of ranting from whence all my current legal drama sprang
VD BS is so romantic It just wouldn't be right not to include at least ONE posting about anal sex.
Blame it on Benedixteen Man, Blame It on Rio was an awesomely ridiculous movie. Almost as ridiculous as the Pope. But infinitely more awesome.
More dumbfuckery on the Lower East Side Judging by the number of Google Image hits this post gets, there's a lot of you who really want to see Pete Wentz jerking it to a Morrissey poster
Cheaters never prosper unless you are dumb enough to let them Good times fucking my former high school classmates in Tacoma
Robert, you did this, Kells, I heard you did that. Nothing turns my frown upside down like a little REAL TALK. See, girl.
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Chris Hansen SO. HOT.
Razzy v. Rick Friar: Hilarity will likely ensue Hearken back to happier times when haters just sent me stupid e-mail and didn't resort to attorneys and threats of litigation (and hilariously, this comes up in a Technorati search for "nerd rage" along with posts called things like "How to totally get your way in World of Warcraft" and "Here I am...rock you like a geeky nerd"). BONUS: titty pictures.
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: Taylor Swift I'm throwing HotLawyer a bone for being the total helpful hotness
Important Details Women's magazines totally suck.
I'll be back tomorrow in better spirits. Trust.
Labels: excuses, legal drama, Razzification
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: helpful Razzyphiles
Name: Whatever is on your driver's license/passport/valid government ID, unless you consider yourself a Razzy Hater, in which case you should fuck promptly off
DOB: various
Occupation: various, but all involve being supportive and totally ruling
Hometown: various
Current residence: Razzy Kills (in Dutch, that means "Razzy Creek"!)
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: Because when he said "I'm gonna sue you," you all really felt for me. The past two days have been very stressful for me, but thanks to all the excellent advice I've received about my current legal trouble, I think I'm going to be okay. In fact, I think I'm going to continue to totally rule. My business is being handled, and I feel better about the whole shitshow because not only am I confident that I have done nothing wrong, I've received so much kind support and advice from so many of you. Without all those Gchats, comments, phone conversations, personal conversations, and e-mails, I wouldn't be nearly as calm and prepared for battle as I am now. You guys TOTALLY rock, and I don't care if you say something as simple as "You rule, Razzy!" or give me specific and comprehensive legal advice. Your moral and technical support absolutely means the world to me, and I thank you with far more sincerity and candor than the
In particular, I'd like to emphatically honor the following Razzyphiles:
HotLawyer
JerseyGirl
Morrissey'sHair
LL Cool Jew
BigBagel
Benzo
Senioritis
Twathopper
J-Sexy
SisterChristian
My PI
KatieScarlett
Wmania
Fallonius Monk
ElCyd
L&L
For those people and others who have sent me sentiments of support and helpful advice, I feel so much gratitude that I am actually unable to express it right now. Win or lose, my spirit is indomitable thanks to you all. I love you guys. TRUST!
Labels: grad school bullshit, legal drama, Razzification, Razzyphiles
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Daily Dude I Want to Hit: my soon-to-be lawyer
Name: TBD
DOB: TBD
Occupation: barristry, awesomeness
Hometown: TBD
Current residence: New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: It's only Tuesday, but it's already been a brisk week here in the RAZZY.org legal department (and by "legal department" I mean my friend HotLawyer). I'm not going to really talk about what's going on right now, except to say that I'm not surprised that an abusive, misogynistic bastard has turned to the legal system as a means of further harassing me. I thus intend to lawyer up myself and let the professionals handle it. So does anyone know a good attorney on the fair isle of Mannahattas who knows a lot about defamation law? Holler at your girl.
DOB: TBD
Occupation: barristry, awesomeness
Hometown: TBD
Current residence: New York, New York
Why I Want to Hit that Hotness: It's only Tuesday, but it's already been a brisk week here in the RAZZY.org legal department (and by "legal department" I mean my friend HotLawyer). I'm not going to really talk about what's going on right now, except to say that I'm not surprised that an abusive, misogynistic bastard has turned to the legal system as a means of further harassing me. I thus intend to lawyer up myself and let the professionals handle it. So does anyone know a good attorney on the fair isle of Mannahattas who knows a lot about defamation law? Holler at your girl.
Labels: assholes, Daily Dude I Want to Hit, free fucking speech, grad school bullshit, legal drama, overcompensation, Razzy Haters, sexual assault
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