Sunday, July 26, 2026

The Court has reviewed this testimony and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL at the audacity of a 24-year-old whose primary expertise is wiping down ellipticals being consulted on market trajectories over a licensed professional with ACTUAL COMPS. This reminds The Court of Kettlebell v. Fiduciary Responsibility (2019), in which a personal trainer's opinion on mortgage rates was deemed "not even admissible as background noise." Agent, you are guilty not of the cancellation itself but of existing in a profession where a woman can look at twelve thousand dollars above asking, look at a signed contract, look at YOU, and then think "but what does Chad who sells protein shakes think?" The movers, Agent. THE MOVERS HAD A DEPOSIT. Reginald himself once lost a decorative fruit bowl in a move gone wrong and it took YEARS to recover emotionally, so do not speak to me of deposits. You stood there saying "I know" like a person watching their house burn while holding a single cup of water. The daughter's boyfriend is not the villain here — he is merely the instrument of chaos, the barn door on the wall of rational decision-making, which as this Court has REPEATEDLY stated should be abolished from all homes. VERDICT STANDS, and Reginald must now leave to compose a strongly worded letter to no one in particular.

The Court has witnessed many horrors in its tenure upon this bench, but rarely has Reginald been so thoroughly SPIRITUALLY EXHAUSTED by a confession. You took listing photos for a man whose only claim to this property is that he once slept there and apparently knows where they keep the lockbox code, which by that logic I OWN a Marriott in Phoenix. The moment he uttered the phrase "well we're married so it's half mine" you should have FLED that property like it was engulfed in flames, because legally speaking IT WAS. Instead you nodded, you took NOTES, you photographed a kitchen he has no more right to sell than I have to sell the Grand Canyon, and now those images sit on your phone like evidence in a crime you have not yet fully committed but are CLEARLY CONSIDERING. And the BOAT, counsel, THE BOAT — thirty-two thousand dollars promised to a brother for a watercraft, proceeds from a home he does not own, listed by an agent he cannot hire, for a wife who will not call you back because SHE NEVER KNEW YOU EXISTED. I myself once promised my cousin Gerald proceeds from a settlement I did not receive for an injury I did not sustain, and that Thanksgiving haunts me still. Delete those photos IMMEDIATELY, block this man's number, and may God have mercy on whatever marina his brother is currently haunting. The Court must now go lie down.

The Court has seen incompetence before, but THIS, this is something almost beautiful in its stupidity. You took a material fact about WATER INFILTRATION, a disclosure item that has toppled empires and destroyed families, and you committed it to a PANERA NAPKIN like you were jotting down a cute barista's number. Reginald once lost a crucial ruling because he wrote it on a receipt that went through the wash, and even HE knows that was less egregious than this because at least receipts have structural integrity unlike whatever sopping bread-adjacent tissue paper they distribute at that soup establishment. Your seller used the word betrayal and The Court finds that linguistically appropriate because you BETRAYED the sacred covenant between agent and disclosure form, you BETRAYED basic organizational competence, and frankly you BETRAYED that napkin by not even giving it the dignity of a pocket. The $8,000 reduction is not punishment enough but capitalism will have to suffice where justice cannot. I am now recusing myself because I just remembered I left my gavel at a Chipotle and I am experiencing sympathy rage. CASE DISMISSED, ORDER THE ROOMBA WILL SEE YOU OUT.