Thursday, June 18, 2026

The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL. You had a 78-year-old woman, exhausted, vulnerable, ready to hand over EIGHTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS of her equity to some lowballing opportunist, and your professional contribution was to sit there like a decorative throw pillow at an open house. The daughter did YOUR job with a PHONE, counsel. A PHONE. Reginald once watched his own mother almost buy a timeshare in Branson because no one intervened, and that memory haunts me to this day, so do NOT come into this courtroom pretending passivity is not a choice. You knew the comps. You knew the market. You knew that woman trusted you to be her advocate, not her witness. The fact that she looked at you like you betrayed her is because YOU DID, and the fact that the daughter won't return your calls is because she is CORRECT. The Court hereby orders you to tape those three comps to your bathroom mirror and look at them every morning until you remember what fiduciary duty means. Reginald must now go lie down because this one genuinely upset him.

The Court is APOPLECTIC. "Contracts are just paper"? PAPER? The Magna Carta was paper. The Declaration of Independence was paper. The receipt I keep from the 2019 Applebee's incident that PROVES I did not start that argument is PAPER, and it MATTERS. This opposing agent attempted to gaslight you into believing that a legally binding purchase agreement was merely a suggestion, a Post-it note of feelings, a VIBES DOCUMENT. "Can't your people just find another house" — oh BRILLIANT, why didn't they think of that, just materialize a home from the ether like some kind of residential wizard! Reginald once had a seller try to back out because Mercury was in retrograde and The Court held them in contempt of ASTRONOMY. You did exactly right by calling your broker immediately, because "keep this between us" is the mating call of someone about to commit fraud. The fact that this agent still works your area is a miscarriage of justice that haunts The Court nightly, right between my recurring dream about being cross-examined by a smart thermostat and the one where my gavel collection finally turns on me. ORDER IN THE COURT, and by Order I mean my Roomba, who has just bumped into the bench and rendered its own verdict: GUILTY.

The Court has reviewed this confession and frankly, Reginald needs a moment because this one hits close to home — I once had a transaction coordinator charge me for "emotional labor" after I asked her to forward an email, and I am STILL NOT OVER IT. What we have here is a classic case of Brokerage v. Basic Decency, a legal precedent I established in 2022 after my own broker tried to charge me a "desk proximity fee" for sitting near the window. The defendant is GUILTY only of being TOO COMPETENT, which in this industry is apparently a punishable offense. You drove the APPRAISER to the property? You PAID for your own photographer? Meanwhile your broker is hiding behind an office manager who is ACTIVELY CONSUMING LEAFY GREENS while pretending to be unavailable — The Court finds this salad-based deception to be an aggravating factor of the HIGHEST ORDER. And THIS business about the new agent negotiating a better split while you've been there four years working weekends like some kind of REAL ESTATE PACK MULE — I am banging three gavels simultaneously right now, which my Council has authorized for cases of extreme injustice. The Court hereby orders you to walk into that office tomorrow and negotiate like the five-month agent did, because apparently loyalty in this industry is rewarded with MYSTERY ADMIN FEES and the privilege of watching your broker dodge your calls like you're a Zillow lead from 2019. Case DISMISSED, and The Court must now leave because Order the Roomba has entered chambers and Reginald respects jurisdictional boundaries.