The Court has reviewed this confession and must now lie down on the floor of this courtroom for several minutes. You have a buyer's agent who FORGOT a deal died like it was a dental cleaning, a septic system that has failed more times than Reginald's first marriage, and a seller whose brother, A MAN WHO SELLS INSURANCE, is now apparently running your negotiation strategy. The Court once had a brother-in-law who sold insurance and he convinced me to buy a boat I could not afford and now it sits in a storage unit in Rancho Cucamonga, so I UNDERSTAND the devastation of unsolicited sibling advice. But YOU, you sat there telling this man the market is slow when the market is not slow, the HOUSE is slow, because it looks like the inside of a 1970s airport smoking lounge and the septic system has the structural integrity of a campaign promise. You watched that lockbox battery die like you were attending its funeral, and those buyers drove FORTY-FIVE MINUTES only to stand in a driveway and contemplate the meaninglessness of existence. And now, NOW, this man wants to RAISE THE PRICE, and instead of grabbing him by the shoulders and saying SIR YOUR LATERAL LINES ARE WRONG AND YOUR PAINT CHOICES ARE A CRY FOR HELP, you will nod and say something about comparable sales. The Court finds you guilty and sentences you to personally repaint that living room in a color that does not suggest decades of unfiltered Camels. Reginald must now go call his storage unit.