Kill yourself.
No seriously man, just fucking kill yourself.
All you had to do was conduct yourself like a professional -- to rise above the insanity that was dumped into your courtroom every day like garbage trucks filling up a goddamned landfill and maybe, maybe, be the one mature adult who brought some dignity and decorum to the proceedings. I mean, that was your job, right? You're a fucking judge; it's in your job description to be wise and just.
But no -- that shit was too much to ask.
Instead, you pretended that you were auditioning for Catskills Idol. You made sure that no matter what was going on, that camera was trained right on you at all times and that you were giving Hollywood the show of a lifetime baby. Like everyone else involved in the fucking miasma known as the death of Anna Nicole Smith, you were a despicable opportunist who saw the chance to grab the spotlight and maybe come out of this thing far better off than when you found it.
Congratulations, maybe you have. Maybe through your incoherent rambling, your tasteless off-handed comments, your painful Bronxian folksiness, your CRYING for Christ's sake -- maybe you earned yourself exactly what you wanted: your own permanent television show. Maybe you'll be the next Nancy Grace -- certainly the loftiest of goals amongst legal professionals these days. I mean really, how hard is it? All you have to do is piss on every bit of your commitment to responsible jurisprudence and you're halfway there.
I read an interview with your wife over the weekend. My first reaction was to marvel at the fact that someone actually looked into those weepy little eyes and listened to that annoying fucking accent and thought to herself, "Yeah, this is what I really want to wake up to every day for the rest of my God-forsaken life." I felt pity for her -- really. But then I got a little further into the interview and she started babbling about how brilliant you are; how compassionate; how you deserve that TV show you want, and I realized that she's as much of a fucking idiot as you are. It's always heartwarming when stupid people find each other, although it's nothing short of tragic for the rest of us because it's all but guaranteed that they'll reproduce.
Look, I'm gonna wrap this up because I've wasted too much time on your sorry ass already, and besides, I need to start scanning the internet for pictures of Jessica Biel in that see-through top she wore to the Oscars last night -- but in case I haven't made myself clear, let me say it again.
You're a fucking hack. A shame. An embarrassment to the legal system.
You don't deserve a television show, and that should never have been your goal to begin with.
What you deserve is a missing battery in a carbon monoxide detector.
Fucking louse.
(As always, the views and opinions of Garth do not necessarily reflect those of Chez who's still trying to iron out that thing with the guy that happened awhile ago down there in South Florida, and could use all the judicial help he can get.)
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