Lawyers And Threats

Over the past approximately six weeks dozens of allegations of improprieties have been leveled against my client Michael Pell. The insulting accusations stem mainly from people who judge how cool something or someone is buy size and a man who smells of finely crafted cheese and cowardice. These individuals, who, under the advice of the state attorney general of New York, where we are pressing our case, will remain nameless.

Their most harmful, and to my client financially damaging, claim is that he no longer posts anything on this site. Some have even accused this budding-young-go-getter of using a ghost writer -- hired muscle with a well carved haircut -- just to fill space. Outrageous, libelous hoodwinkery such as this will not stand. It's a mockery of free speech. So grievous an offense to the very nature of the rule of law is this that my office and I would take on the case for free if it was not already for the substantial retainer paid to my firm by Dianna M. Pell on the first of each month.

My client has sustained acute mental and emotional trauma as a direct result of the afore mentioned jies. His highly volatile psychological state caused him to take wrecklessly aggressive and wholy irrational actions that are beyond the scope of his normal character. Fueled by intoxicating liquors, which he rarelt touches unless needlessly agitated, and the relentless fear of lossed internet ad revenue for his blog, Mr. Pell sabotaged his own future. He lashed out at professors, his employers and coworkers. The following e-mail, sent late week to one of his proffessors, makes the extent of his dister clear.

Mr. Pell had recently received a grade of 43 out of 100 for an in class presentation. There were no notes attached. He was only told the article was not academically robust enough. Normally Mr. Pell would have let it go, knowing his final great rested entirely with he outcome of one project, but in his addled state he felt compelled to respond.

Yo Elizabeth,
First off I hate acting like a grade grubber here. But my wife makes me. She's a strident young lady. And from what I've read in her diary, she has a dark streak.

But to the point, I hear where you're coming from as far the article I selected for my presentation lacking the ability to make a reader break an intellectual sweat. Perhaps an article with a little more force than a historical analysis of fake television news would have made for better cerebral soup. But I honestly didn't know that was a qualification that would hurt my grade. I know I'm pressing here, but stay with me. The only reason I selected the SNL article was because the presentation the week before was also a little flaky in an entertaining kind of way and I wanted to keep up the pace. I'm the god damn class clown! Do you know what kind of pressure I'm under?

And, as pointed out during class, I thought there was some value to the article's more unfinished (I use "unfinished" here instead of shitty) aspects. You said it too in class and I have the whole thing on tape...video too.

So while I heartily agree that I could have picked a more robust article, I think my ignorance here should actually save me a few points. I mean, I know what article I select is not your call as you said, but throw me a fucking bone here. If you knew I was walking into an academic tiger pit, a heads up could have helped. That wasn't the only historical article I read for Christ's sake. I could have used one of the others pretty easily.

Plus I bet I spent a lot of time working on my project. I still talk to Aaron, the author of this much maligned article. He's not a bad guy. Portly yes, but smart as a whip. Not wise in an academic sense perhaps, and maybe not street-smart either, but he sure knows a lot about the A-Team.

But for once this isn't about Aaron. Look, maybe we can come to some kind of accord, in the middle. I have to go back to D$ -- my wife -- with something. Otherwise I'll look like a fool. Or have I already vaulted across that threshold? Ahh, no matter. The fact is that with only three more points to my grade I could still get a low-A on the project. That way I still loose some points for selecting an easy article and you can sleep at night knowing that you didn't usher me along to my academic ruin.

I hope I made my point. Looking back on what I've written a part of me I thought long dead shrieks in horror.

Thank you very much for taking the time to dicker with me,
Pell
Spring Break 99

As Mr. Pell's attorney I ask all readers to refrain from insulting this poor man.
Signed,

Cry Baby Michael Pell's Lawyer

Hoff blog, Hoff man
A night at the Pellboy Mansion
Welcome back faithful readers. Let me first apologize for my lack of recent blogging, but D$ and I have been fervently trying to get her inserted as President of the condo board here in Del Boca Missoura. We plan to have her in a puppet regime where Julia and I will secretly wield power from behind the scenes. Who are we running against, you ask? Common sense and a guy in a wheelchair. I like our chances here.
Today I was forcibly removed from the newsroom (yet another reason I have time to post this) and was told to “come back when I sober up.” Sure I’ve been keeping myself on a steady diet of uppers, downers, laughers and screamers, but that’s simply to aid in the handling of the stress that accompanies my daily life of ogling 18 year olds in short shorts. They had no right I tell you. None! And yeah, maybe I brought Julia to the office and had her sit down next to my desk. This girl who also writes for the paper, and who shall remain nameless for fear of retaliation, says to me, “Uh…Pell, why did you bring your dog to the office today?” I replied quickly that it was Bring Your Dog to Work Day and then slipped in a quick, “I love your body, Larry.” Evidently this did not hold water for her as she quickly went to the powers that be and ratted me out. When my boss approached I shouted “Nixon!” with intent of Julia attacking him before things got out of hand. Sadly, she approached slowly, sniffed his crotch and then licked herself before returning to my side. That’s when various insults were exchanged and I wisely went on my way.
Now onto more pertinent matters. Bryan Hoffman, or Frenchy as we know him, has been hounding me to finally write something. See, he’s unemployed, bored and thinks that he’s cock of the walk b/c he’s got a dog now too. A bulldog named T Bone or Porterhouse or Porkchop or something. Now there’s nothing more depressing in my opinion than a skinny, closeted Frenchman walking a man’s dog like a bulldog. Keep in mind, Frenchy’s mother has been paying me good money ever since college, unbeknownst to him, to “stay friends with him and make him feel like less of a loser.” Her words, not mine. Now he’s got some good observations, keeps me updated on important things like what the Eagles are doing in the off season and his dog’s bowel movement schedule, but he really needs to start listening to his mom and I. We’ve been pushing for him to enter the Bloomingdale’s executive training program for years. So if you’re reading this Herr Hoffman, please consider what we’re saying.
(Hah, and he told me he’d write a blog for me b/c I hadn’t written something in so long. Not bloody likely. Tune in later in the week though, maybe we’ll give the little guy a shot)