TO WIT: GOD OF THE LAW
Once upon a time there was a lawyer who was not very happy being a lawyer, and no, this is not about you. “I am not very happy being a lawyer,” he said to anyone who would listen, “it isn’t any fun.
“What do you want to be, dear?” said his wife one day who really wasn’t listening.
“I want to be God of the Law,” he said, “that would be fun.”.
“Take a bunch of the pills Dr. Tupperman gave you and have a nice lie down,” she said, “that will be more fun.”
“Do you know what I really want to be” he asked his secretary, “I want to be God of the Law, that would be fun.”
“And so you should be, snookums” she said, smelling a raise.
“Do you know what I really want to be,” he asked his bartender even before his first drink, “I want to be God of the Law. That would be fun.”
“I know what’cha mean, pal,” said the bartender. “Me, I always wanted to be the Lone Ranger. That would be more fun.”
“So, you want to be God of the Law, huh” said the tall, thin stranger who materialized out of nowhere in a puff of smoke and sat down next to him at the bar. He was an odd-looking fellow, possessed of a thin, angular face of an unusually reddish hue with a pointy beard, and a trench coat that fell all the way to the floor.
“You an attorney?” said the lawyer who only vaguely recognized the stranger.
“Let’s just say I’m a sole practitioner,” said the stranger with a smirk. He then reached into his coat and pulled out a ten-page typed contract, already filled in with names and dates and everything. “Read it if you like, but you’ll find it in order. I have access to the best legal minds the world has ever known.”
The lawyer read the contract and, sure enough, it promised to make him God of the Law. It promised him half the work in the county, it promised he’d win every case he ever took, obtain every remedy he ever sought, collect every judgment he ever obtained, persuade every judge and every jury, collect every fee, and be right all the time, every time, for the rest of his life. And the bargained-for consideration….
“You want my soul” said the lawyer incredulously.
“Only when you’re done with it,” said the stranger,” and remember, you’re a lawyer. You’re not promising me anything I probably don’t already have.”
“Who the devil are you talking to?” said the bartender, but in the next instant, the contract was signed, sealed and delivered. Then, keeping in part his end of the bargain, the stranger waived his left arm and half the lawyers of the local bar association instantly dropped dead.
From that moment on, the lawyer prospered as he had never prospered before. He won cases no one had ever won before, he obtained verdicts in amounts no one ever dreamed of before, he obtained injunctive relief without any hearings, and he got very, very rich.
“I believe,” said His Honor, looking directly at the jury, “that you ladies and gentlemen should not be misled by the total lack of evidence in Plaintiff’s case, and therefore I direct you to find in favor of the Plaintiff in ten times the amount prayed for plus 50% for counsel fees, and I enjoin the Defendant from appealing.”
“I believe,” said the Chief Justice, peering down over his glasses at the lawyers arguing before him, “that the trial court was absolutely right in its analysis, and I concur. The verdict will stand, and in addition, the Defendant and his counsel shall at once be taken out and shot.”
“I got another million-dollar verdict today,” the lawyer told his wife, but she didn’t even drop her emery board. “That’s nice, dear, can we go back to the villa in Spain?”
“I got another five hundred-thousand-dollar fee today,” he told his secretary. “That’s nice, snookums, can we go back to the villa in France?”
“I am God of the Law,” he told Dr. Tupperman, “but it isn’t any fun.”
“Here, swallow these. That will be more fun.”
“I am God of the Law,” he told his bartender, “but it isn’t any fun.”
“I know whatcha mean, pal,” said the bartender. “Me, I always wanted to be the Lone Ranger. Now that would be more fun.”
“I dunno,” said the lawyer, “maybe you’re right.”
With a red-smoky whoosh, the stranger re-appeared and sat down next to the lawyer. “Whatsamatter, bubele, don’t you like being God of the Law any more?”
“No,” said the lawyer, “it isn’t any fun. Can I be the Lone Ranger instead? That would be more fun.”
With that, the stranger pulled Amendment No. 1 from his coat, already filled in with names and dates and everything, and placed it on the bar. The lawyer immediately signed it, and in the next instant found himself out West, dressed all in white, on a big white horse. The black mask which covered the upper part of his face was just slightly askew, and he never saw the arrow that struck him just above his navel, knocking him to the ground where he was instantly scalped by Native Americans who then left his carcass to be devoured by red ants. Oy, and then his soul rotted in Hell for eternity and his wife took all the money and married a circus clown.
MORAL: Once you get to be God of the Law, stay the hell out of bars.
Copyright 1983, 2018 – S. Sponte, Esq.