Category Archives: Legal Woes

10 Days for NPH — Day Five

It was bound to occur.  The perfect storm.  

On this rainy day in May, the first work day after a 3-day weekend, I entered the depths of the Metro, only to find a gaggle of people waiting for a train, which was obviously delayed.  I sighed and looked up at the marquee, to see that the next train would not arrive for another 9 minutes.  As I stood on the platform, I watched as hoards of other commuters came down onto the platform.  Finally, the train arrived, already packed with people.  Half the platform emptied, as commuters squeezed their ways into the already-packed trains anxious to make it to their destinations.  Rather than force  my way in, I waited for the next train, which was scheduled to arrive in another five minutes.  I patiently played sudoku on the platform, walking away from any individuals displaying symptoms of the swine flu.

Finally, the next train arrived.  Although stuffed with humanity, I reluctantly pushed my way in, as the next train would not arrive for another 7 minutes and would also be bound to be packed.  I positioned myself toward the opposite door, flanked by a plexiglass wall and the door, and I held on for dear life.  The train moved forward, herking and jerking about, stumbling toward the next stop.  Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we arrived at the Rosslyn stop, where even more individuals boarded the train.  A woman pressed up against me, and the perfume emanating from her body immediately swarmed into my nasal cavity.  I could taste the alcohol and artificial botanicals on my tongue.  The train doors closed.  We lurched forward, stopped, lurched, stopped, lurched, stopped.  I held on as best as I could, while attempting to hold my breath for fear that a deep inhalation would lead to the Metro shutting down because of me—that I would be the sick customer.

Finally, I arrived at my destination.  I burst out of the train and headed up the stairs as a warm feeling simmered under my breath.  As I emerged from the depths of the Metro, I ran toward the nearest garbage and puked my breakfast out, much to the horror of those around me.  I stood there for just a while longer, head down, panting in relief.  At that moment, I did not think of Tina Fey NPH.  I did not think of a life of Hollywood fame and fortune.  Amidst my puking stupor, a fellow commuter came up to me and asked, “Are you okay?”

My mission, buried beneath nausea and bile, became clear.  I channeled Tina Fey NPH and replied, “I’m awesome.”  (Then I rubbed a gallon of hand sanitizer over my hands that touched the nasty garbage can).  Savor my devotion.

Discover me, Tina Fey NPH!


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Filed under Legal Woes, Life, Plea to NPH, Plea to Tina Fey, WMATA - Metro

10 Days for NPH — Day Four

Last week, I received a cryptic message from an anonymous individual to my pseudonym email address:

Should you fervently desire to meet the Great Neil,

Continue to read and examine this spiel.

Embark on the Post Hunt this forthcoming Sunday,

Win the P.H. and achieve your dream of Pay per Play.

I will emphasize this point just once more,

You can’t have NPH without P.H., you skanky little whore.

P.S.  I don’t really think you’re a whore, but it rhymes with more and is just freaking awesome.

Upon receiving this message, I jumped in glee.  I arose from the seat in which I stew in my lawyer juices and performed my NSYNC Bye Bye Bye dance, pumping my fists in the air.  Could this be it?  The key to meeting Tina Fey NPH?  I quickly searched Al Gore’s Internet to determine what this “Post Hunt” could be.  Alas, I saw the task that lay before me.  The Post Hunt was a scavenger hunt of sorts—for the brain!  Eureka, I thought!  I may not be able to outrun or outlast, but I can surely outwit, right?

However, in the midst of my celebratory dance and preparation for the Post Hunt, I began to wonder if someone was screwing with me.  Perhaps someone saw my pleas and desired, just for kicks, to elevate my hopes to the point in which I outright quit my job in a blaze of glory in order to fully devote myself to winning the Post Hunt and achieving my dream to meet and become best friends with Tina Fey NPH?  What if this is all a ruse to distract me from the real Tina Fey NPH?  But then, I thought, even if the prize was not Tina Fey, NPH, I could surely parlay my 15 minutes of fame into a shameless publicity tour in the hopes that Tina Fey NPH will happen to stumble across an article in the Washington Post, where one of DC’s finest lawyers is on the winning Post Hunt team, strips down buck-naked, and reveals a tattoo on her chest and buttocks that reads:  DISCOVER ME, TINA FEY NPH!!!  It’s a genius plan!

So, with three other brilliant minds (the AGs and the hubby), we embarked on the Hunt.  Initially stumped by the first clue, we abandoned the clue temporarily to tackle the other clues.  Like a well-oiled machine, the four of us steamrolled the competition by making quick work of the four other clues.  Finally, we returned to the original clue and began twisting our minds in the final leg of cranial gymnastics.  As the minutes wound down, and the answer did not come to light, my dreams of meeting Tina Fey NPH began to fade.  Would this be it?  Would my dreams become thwarted by two human statues standing before the Post Office, mocking me with their poses?  With defeat only 20 minutes away, I hung my head in shame.  I did not meet the great Tina Fey NPH yesterday, but I can hope that he will someday hear my pleas and marvel at my devotion.

Because Lord knows getting these tattoos on my butt and chest hurt like hell.

Discover me, Tina Fey NPH!!

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10 Spankin’ New Days for Tina Fey — Day Eight

Recently, an LA Superior Court judge dismissed a case against, among others, Sacha Baron Cohen, in connection with “Da Ali G Show.”  The woman, who sued as “Jane Doe,” alleged that she was defamed when Ali G made reference to her in a skit about amending the US Constitution.

Ain’t it better sometimes, to get rid of the whole thing rather than amend it cos, like me used to go out with this bitch called [Jane Doe] and she used to always be trying to amend herself.  Y’know, get her hair done in highlights, get like tattoo done on her batty crease, y’know gave the whole thing shaved n very nice but it didn’t make any more difference.  She was still a minger and so, y’know, me had enough and once me got her pregnant me said alright, laters, that is it.  Ain’t the same with the Constitution?

Claiming gross physical and emotional damages, Jane Doe sought $800,000.  The Court tossed the suit out, bringing up the purportedly obvious fact that “[n]o reasonable person could consider the statements made by Ali G on the program to be factual.”  I’m not sure I agree with the judge.  I mean, look at the guy:

Ali GImage Link

Seriously, doesn’t he look like a rap star training for the Tour de France and wearing a full-body Live Strong suit?  However, the judge continued:

To the contrary, it is obvious that the Ali G character is absurd, and all his statements are gibberish and intended as comedy.  The actor, Sacha Baron Cohen, never strays from the Ali G character, who is dressed in a ridiculous outfit and speaks in the exaggerated manner of a rap artist.  Ali G’s statements are similarly absurd.  For example, prior to the reference to Plaintiff, while ‘interviewing’ the author Gore Vidal, Ali G refers to the Constitution of the United States as having been written on two tablets, clearly intended to confuse the Constitution with the Ten Commandments.  Altogether, the program is obviously a spoof of a serious interview program.  No reasonable person could think otherwise.

Seriously though — what if Ali G were to refer to me in the upcoming feature-length film?  What if he talked about knocking me up and leaving his baby daddy responsibilities? 

. . . 

Hell yeah!  Any publicity is good publicity!  Ali G, if you’re going to refer to me, I only ask that you make sure to reference this Web site.  Let’s say that you are interviewing Dubya about torture.  I propose that you state the following:

Me wit you, fo sho.  I say torture all them mofos.  Like Alexis Nectar.  Bitch been callin’ me nonstop, torturing me and askin’ for me to pay for some baby.  I ain’t even the baby daddy!  That Maury Povich told me so.  But all that bitchin’ and torturing — after awhile, me bout to say anything to get that bitch to lay off.  Please visit for more details.  And Tina Fey, Discover Her!

Yes!  A new plan of attack!

Discover me, Tina Fey!

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10 Spankin’ New Days for Tina Fey — Day Six

This past weekend, I started writing my new spec script.  This time, I’m writing an episode of How I Met Your Mother.  As I was brainstorming storylines, I closed my eyes and began to imagine devoting my life to writing.  To be fair, my current life as an attorney is indeed devoted to writing, so the transition would not be entirely earth-shattering.  I imagined my life as a writer, living in LA or in Manhattan; long hours in the writers’ room; chugging mug after mug of coffee to keep my brain fresh and the words humorous.  After years of strenuous work, I imagined finally becoming a show runner and developing my own series for a major network.  I saw the show take off, both critically and in the ratings.  Perhaps my show would unseat American Idol for prime time network dominance.  Would my show be a comedy?  A drama?  A dramedy?

However, my fantasies immediately became interrupted when I began to think of how my traditional Taiwanese parents would react to my sudden change of career path.


ALEXIS and her HUBBY are in a restaurant with Alexis’ nameless parents, MOM and DAD.  Dad is restless, sighing and staring at his watch, which shows a time exactly 30 minutes beyond his normal dinner time.  A sizzling rice soup arrives, and the four begin to eat.  Alexis and Hubby appear nervous and tense.


So mom and dad, you know how I had something to tell you?


Oh, you finally pregnant?  It’s about time!  Your eggs are old.  Boy or girl?  You eat more.  You eat for two now.

Mom scoops additional soup into Alexis’ bowl.


No mom.  I’m not pregnant.


Ay!  You cannot get pregnant?  I will die with no grandchildren!

(to Dad)

This is your fault!  She is your daughter!


Mom!  We haven’t even tried to get pregnant.  It’s not about that.


What is it then?  You need money?  You still have a job?  You both laid off?


Well, it’s kind of related.  We both have jobs, but I wanted to talk to you about my job.


Oh, you go back to big firm?  I tell you many times you need to go back to big firm and make big money.  You finally listen!  You hear that?  Your daughter finally listen!



You pay the check then.  We order more!

Dad waves at the SERVER, who promptly attends to the table.


(in Mandarin)

A Peking Duck and a whole fish.


From the tank?


Oh yes, yes, yes.  I go pick our fish.

Dad leaves the table with the server and proceeds to point at various options for the slaughter.


Mom.  Listen to me.  It’s not that.


You sick?  American health care very bad.


No!  It’s not that. 


I’m quitting my job.  


To make more money, right?


Well, maybe in the future.  

Hubby places his hand on Alexis’ back and nudges her.

ALEXIS (cont’d)

I’m going to quit my job to be a writer.


Huh?  Write for what?  Lawyer newspaper?


No mom.  For TV.  I want to be a TV writer.

Mom sits at the table, food dangling from her mouth.  


You say again?  My English no good.  I thought I hear you say stupid.


Mom, I got a position.  It’s just a starting position, but it’s a position where I can finally do what I love.  I’m going to write for TV.

Dad returns to the table, holding his hands up in victory.


I picked biggest fish for us!


You go tell them to put fish back!  Alexis is poor!  




They cannot pay!  Go save fish!

Dad runs off, screaming to the nearest server.

MOM (cont’d)

Are you crazy?


Mom, it’s my dream.  It’s what I’ve always wanted to do.


And my dream was to live with my doctor daughter and her doctor husband.  I don’t have my dream.  Why I send you to Harvard for law school?  You go to Harvard to be a lawyer.  You don’t go to Harvard to work for TV.


Well, actually mom, it’s not uncommon.  Many lawyers become television writers.  Like David E. Kelley, or Rick Eid.  They were both lawyers who became very successful writers.


Your daddy and me are too old for this.  How you going to make money?  How you going to buy a house for your daddy and me to live?


Oh, well [Hubby] is still working at a big law firm.  He’s going to make partner and support us all!

Oops.  I just realized that I haven’t revealed that portion of the plan to the hubby.  Oh well.  Surprise!  You’re making partner and supporting us all!

Discover me, Tina Fey!

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A Step in the Right Direction

After months of making fruitless pleas to Tina Fey, I noticed a spike in my stats today.  Many thanks to the folks at the Bitter Lawyer for finding my blog and linking me.  Lord knows I can’t even find my damn blog with a Google search, so I have no idea how they found me.  I don’t know who the editors of the Bitter Lawyer are, but if any of them know Tina Fey, this wannabe screenwriter would totally whore herself out for a chance at Tina reading her script.  I mean, I do have some standards, but tis a slippery slope to screenwriting heaven.  Hint hint.  Wink wink.

From the Bitter Lawyer:

Hey, Tina Fey, please discover a lawyer-cum-wannabe-screenwriter with such schadenfreude that a brush with life-threatening mail fraud makes her want to be noticed by you.  Or don’t.  It’s your call, Fey.

I suppose this summary sounds facetious, at best, but I don’t care.

Discover me, Tina Fey!

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10 Spankin’ New Days for Tina Fey — Day Five

Yesterday, I had the most exciting day of my legal career.  At first thought, perhaps you’re thinking that I scored a victory at trial, or successfully defeated a well-drafted summary judgment motion, or obliterated an adversary’s case with carefully-calculated questioning at deposition.  Perhaps you’re thinking that I was prematurely named partner or asked if I’d like my name to be added to the letterhead.

Nope.  What happened yesterday was far more exciting than the aforementioned predictions of legal excitement.  Yesterday, my office paralegal/receptionist opened a letter.  Now, I am part of  a small law firm, but it’s a law firm nonetheless, so we receive dozens of letters a day.  While she was opening the letter, she was shooting the shit with another associate at my firm.  Upon opening the letter, a poof of white, powdery substance filled the air.  I heard a commotion and went outside of my office to investigate.  The minute I heard that a white, powdery substance had been expelled from a letter, I immediately ran into my office, shut the door, and placed a napkin over my mouth.  Having extensively watched and studied 24, I thought, at that moment, that I might have been exposed to inhalation anthrax and sought to determine whether an anthrax outbreak had been reported to the authorities.  My search came up empty, although I did see that a gentlemen in Florida had distributed white powder filled envelopes as an April Fool’s joke.  Well, the joke was on him as he now faces federal criminal prosecution.

The rest of the story becomes a little more unclear, because I was the only one hiding in my office, and my description of what transpired should be qualified by the admission that I could only hear muffled conversation.  The letter containing the white powder apparently came from a division of the federal government, which gave me pause.  Furthermore, the letter appeared as though it may have been tampered with, since it was sealed with scotch tape.  As I sat, quarantined in what I hoped to be a safe haven from biological terror, I heard laughter from outside.  I could only think that such laughter was either (1) caused by the whole situation being a really not funny joke; or (2) the white powder had caused my office-mates to develop brain abnormalities that instigated uncontrollable fits of inappropriate laughter.

My fears were immediately heightened, however, when a knock came on my door.  I hesitantly cracked open the door and was told that those of us who did not come into contact with said letter or powder had been instructed to leave the premises.  I was led out to the lobby by building management, where I was met with 3 firefighters, each of whom was carrying a face mask.  I ran out in a fit of terror, and immediately raised my arms for what I anticipated would be the immediate biological detox (Jack Bauer style).  As I stood there, arms out and eyes closed, I waited for what seemed like an eternity, since no one was detoxing me.  Perhaps it was too late, I thought.  Perhaps no detox could save me from the exposure which, while only temporary, was sufficient to extinguish me from the face of the earth.  I began to feel my throat tighten; my neck stiffen; and my head throb.

For those of us who were permitted to leave the premises, we went to a nearby safe quarantine area (commonly known as a dive bar).  My companions enjoyed what might have been a last meal and some alcoholic beverages, while I sat in wait for my fate.  We kept in regular contact with those of us who had to be left behind.  According to those individuals, after we left, they immediately entered into telephone contact with the Fire Department Captain and the FBI.  Soon after we left, Hazmat personnel entered the offices, covered from head to toe:

HazmatImage Link

Hazmat proceeded to seize the letter and perform various tests that would allow them to determine the nature of the suspicious substance.

Well, what happened?  I’m typing away, so all I know is that the substance was not anthrax.  My near-death experience, however, did lead me to wonder if Tina Fey has ever read my blog.  I’ve been making pleas to Tina Fey for quite some time now; I have a script ready, willing, and able for production; but I have since come up empty.  Tina Fey, if you’re reading this, perhaps you may reconsider contacting me.  I mean, I could have died yesterday.  Granted, the powder was probably baby powder.  But that’s not the point.  Hazmat came, ready to whisk me off to await my slow and painful demise.  Tina Fey, hear my pleas.

Discover me, Tina Fey!

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10 More Days for Tina Fey — Day Three

On this frigid third day in my 10 More Days for Tina Fey series, I would like to bring Tina Fey’s attention to Los Angeles County’s “No Cussing Week.”  15-year-old McKay Hatch started his “No Cussing Club,” and has brought the campaign to Los Angeles County supervisor Michael Antonovich.  News reports suggest that Antonovich will soon officially announce the first week of March as “No Cussing Week.”  Despite the proclamation, there are no penalties for violation of the blatantly obvious terms of a No Cussing Week (“NCW”).

That said, my lawyer side must arise from the depths of discovery hell.  Oops.  Good thing I’m not in LA, because I think “hell” might violate the NCW rules.  Of course, since my blog is publicly available and can reasonably be expected to be viewed by LA county residents, have I violated the NCW rules by Internet speech?  The point is — this NCW, as proclaimed by a state-sanctioned governing body, is unconstitutional.  Ever heard of the First Amendment?  And the whole freedom of speech afforded by the First Amendment?  Well, perhaps one of the worst violations of the First Amendment (and regularly stricked by courts) is a “prior restraint.”  In the most simplistic terms, the government cannot, under the Constitution, restrain you from speaking your mind.  And if speaking your mind means that you’d like to use “fuck” in a single sentence, repeating “fuck” as a noun, pronoun, adjective, adverb, and verb all in one potty-mouthed breath, the Constitution affords you that liberty (with certain narrowly-tailored exceptions).  Speaking of “fuck,” check out these legal briefs — oh, to be able to submit these to a court . . .

Well, I suppose you could argue that the NCW proclamation has no penalties, thus it is not a “prior restraint,” because you’re free to cuss all you want with no fear of government-sanctioned repercussions.  I’ll leave that up to the courts, in case any liberals want to challenge the proclamation.  As a way of analogy,  however, suppose your local courthouse displayed a prominent Jesus cross.  That would be a violation of the Constitution’s separation of church and state — and such violation would exist even though the display of such Jesus cross does not technically force any individual to actually subscribe to a Christian religion (and there are no penalties for ignoring Christianity altogether).

I’m not sure how this post ties to Tina Fey.  Although I must admit that 30 Rock has been written to bypass the US censorship rules (which, thankfully, have finally started to relax after the Janet Jackson Nipplegate fiasco).  Anytime you hear Liz Lemon or other characters on 30 Rock utter an incomprehensible word, e.g. “blurg,” it’s really a replacement for “shit” or “fuck.”  Perhaps I will fly to LA this week, attend an LA County Board meeting with a copy of the US Constitution and wave such Constitution as I scream, “Blurg you blurging blurgity blurgs you blurgy blurgwads!”

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