Friday, June 12, 2026

The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself DEEPLY DISTURBED, not by any wrongdoing, but by the defendant's apparent belief that caring about clients constitutes some kind of sin requiring absolution. Let Reginald be clear: you did everything right, which in this industry is practically a FELONY. The appraiser pulled comps from across the highway, across the HIGHWAY, as if school districts are just suggestions and highways are merely decorative ribbons the city puts down for aesthetics. I once had a Zillow Zestimate try to compare my Tudor revival to a converted barn six miles away and I am STILL pursuing legal remedies through The Council. The listing agent's response was colder than the granite countertops I have repeatedly ruled are superior to quartz, and your broker's "explored all options" routine is the verbal equivalent of asking someone drowning if they've considered breathing water more efficiently. You absorbed a crying wife's apologies, a husband's quiet panic, and three days of everyone else's refusal to be human, and your confession is that you FELT THINGS? The Court finds this profession has so thoroughly broken the defendant that basic empathy now feels like misconduct. Case dismissed. Reginald must now go sit in his car for twenty minutes.

The Court has reviewed this testimony and frankly, Reginald needs a moment because this confession has reopened wounds I thought I had healed after my own mother let my sister pick out my judicial robes and she chose BEIGE. Thirty properties, counsel, THIRTY PROPERTIES, and this woman is still renting because some daughter in Seattle decided a fence looked AGGRESSIVE, which is not a thing, that is not a legal concept, and yet here we are with a cold coffee attorney and a bathroom crying situation that The Court finds UNCONSCIONABLE. You showed restraint that borders on the pathological, and I do not say that as a compliment, I say it because healthy people would have faked their own death by property number nineteen. The daughter sending you that Tacoma house photo is what we call in legal circles "psychological warfare with a side of audacity" and I am citing the landmark case of In re: That One Client Who Made Me Question Everything, 2022, in which the court ruled that sometimes people are just THE WORST. This Court hereby orders the daughter's opinions to be placed in escrow indefinitely, the mother to be charged rent on your time at the going therapeutic rate, and the fence in question to be tried separately for its alleged aggression. Reginald must now adjourn because thinking about that beige robe has made him too upset to continue.

The Court has reviewed this testimony and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the cascading failures presented herein. Let the record reflect that a "vacant property" does not include a gym-shorted cousin operating what can only be described as an unlicensed serpentarium, and The Court is FRANKLY APPALLED that Reginald must explain this in the year of our Lord 2024. The seller's use of the word "situation" to describe a man named Derek or Kevin (the bearded dragon, not the cousin, though at this point WHO CAN TELL) living rent-free among heat lamps since MARCH constitutes what we in the legal profession call "audacity of the highest order," see also Basement Dweller v. Basic Disclosure Standards, 2019. That child will require THERAPY, and The Court knows something about that because my own nephew once encountered an iguana at an open house in Schaumburg and he still won't eat salad. The fact that this reptile enthusiast was simply "written into the deal" at closing suggests a level of contractual chaos that makes The Court's eye twitch, and I am now gripping The Council (my gavel collection) for emotional support. You are not guilty of the cousin, agent, but you ARE guilty of continuing to represent a seller who clearly views truth as a suggestion and property disclosure as a creative writing exercise. The Court must now adjourn because Order (my Roomba) has detected elevated stress levels in chambers.