Friday, May 8, 2026

The Court has reviewed this testimony and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the mention of a foreclosure comp used in a non-distressed market, a violation so egregious it is cited in the landmark case of Common Sense v. That Guy With The Clipboard, 2019, which established that appraisers who use eight-month-old foreclosure data should be required to disclose this fact while wearing a sign. Twelve hundred dollars for a forty thousand dollar kitchen renovation is not an appraisal, it is a HATE CRIME against marble, and Reginald knows marble because Reginald once spent nine hours selecting a backsplash only to have his then-wife call it clinical, which is neither here nor there but the POINT STANDS. The Court further notes that deferred maintenance based on a driveway crack is the appraisal equivalent of declaring a human being uninhabitable because they have a hangnail, and the lender hiding behind the phrase it is not their policy should be sentenced to explain what their policy actually IS in open court while The Council watches. You took a commission hit to close a deal that was murdered by a crack fillable with an eight dollar tube of hardware store caulk, and for that you are not the criminal here but rather the CORONER. This Court finds you guilty only of caring too much in a system that rewards caring too little, and sentences you to one evening of not checking your email while Reginald goes to lie down because this one got to him.

The Court has reviewed this testimony and frankly, Reginald needs a moment. THIRTY-FOUR HOUSES. This man looked you in the eye, said "June deadline," and then proceeded to treat your calendar like a suggestion box at a defunct Blockbuster. The knob-and-tube situation was A NEGOTIATION OPPORTUNITY, not a spiritual crisis, but no, this buyer gazed upon some vintage copper and decided he was receiving a message from the universe. And now he speaks of the Westbrook house the way I speak of my ex-wife's charcuterie boards — with longing for something he CHOSE TO ABANDON. I myself once walked away from a very reasonable craftsman in 2017 because the seller's agent had "negative energy," and I think about that house every single day, so I understand the impulse, but I do not FORGIVE it. "The market might soften." THE MARKET. As if this man has been reading anything other than his own fear-based horoscope. The Court finds that you were used as an unpaid tour guide for a man conducting an elaborate therapy session disguised as a home search, and the Court is DISGUSTED. Reginald must now go lie down.

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.