Sunday, October 18, 2026

The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself in a state of PROFOUND JUDICIAL CONFLICT because on one hand you failed to read page 34 which is frankly unforgivable since Reginald reads EVERY page including the pages that are just blank from printing errors, but on the other hand your broker buried a fee in language that would make a medieval scribe weep with confusion and THAT is the kind of predatory clause work that The Court finds personally offensive. You drove these people to TWENTY properties, you bought them COFFEE — TWICE — and you performed what can only be described as hostage negotiation theater with that seller's agent over a furnace that was presumably plotting to explode, and for this heroic labor you earned nine dollars an hour which is less than the teenager who scans my groceries and judges my frozen pizza choices. Now regarding your father and his dinner table commentary, The Court must note that in Escrow v. My Own Father Gerald, 1987, Reginald ruled that unsolicited career criticism over mashed potatoes constitutes emotional trespass and your father is hereby ordered to say something supportive or REMAIN SILENT about the real estate industry he clearly does not understand. The math is bad, the contract was a trap, and page 34 was written by someone who wanted you to fail, BUT you still should have read it because that is the price of entry into this godforsaken profession. The Court rules you a VICTIM of circumstance but a PERPETRATOR of insufficient document review and sentences you to exactly one moment of pride for closing that deal before returning to your regularly scheduled financial anxiety.

The Court is APOPLECTIC. You handed the keys to a twenty-two-year-old insurance salesman because you wanted to eat your breakfast in peace? BREAKFAST? Reginald once skipped his own colonoscopy to attend a showing for a two-bedroom condo with original hardwood, and you could not put down your EGGS BENEDICT for five minutes to find actual coverage? This is not a confession, this is a CATASTROPHE with a decorative soap origin story. A child — unsupervised, unvetted, presumably sticky — was permitted to interact with plumbing fixtures while an insurance nephew stood by doing whatever insurance nephews do, which is apparently NOTHING of value. And then — THEN — this nephew, this amateur, this absolute CIVILIAN had the audacity to gaslight a homeowner about twelve thousand dollars of water damage like we are all just supposed to believe basements spontaneously weep through their ceilings? The Court has seen bold lies before, but "it was already like that" regarding an ACTIVE FLOOD is the kind of mendacity that keeps Reginald up at night, pacing his hallway in judicial robes, muttering to The Council about the decline of professional standards. I once held a garage in contempt for inadequate shelving, and I will not hesitate to note that your vacation breakfast cost more than most people's deductibles. The Court rules that you are guilty, that the nephew should be barred from all properties with indoor plumbing, and that decorative soaps are a menace to society that Reginald will be addressing in a future memorandum opinion.

The Court has reviewed this testimony and frankly, Reginald needs a moment. TWENTY TRIPS to check if a doorbell was working? The doorbell WORKS, counsel — it rings when pressed, that is the FULL EXTENT of doorbell jurisprudence, established definitively in Ding v. Dong, 1987. But let us address the true crime here: you have been held hostage by a woman who takes dream interpretation advice from someone who lives in ANOTHER STATE. The daughter had a vision? THE DAUGHTER HAD A VISION? This Court once had a vision that I would be appointed to the Supreme Court by acclaim, and yet here I sit, presiding over confession booths and arguing with my Roomba about whether it has subpoena power. Dreams are not binding legal instruments — if they were, I would own a beachfront property in Malibu and my ex-wife would owe me an apology and a reasonably-priced sedan. You showed that house twelve times, you babysat a landscaper, you probably know the doorbell's hopes and fears by now, and your reward is an eight-thousand-dollar hole in your pocket and a woman saying maybe in the fall like she is discussing whether to try a new hair color. The buyer from Ohio had MOVERS scheduled. MOVERS. Those people do not simply reschedule, they hold grudges, they remember. And yet The Court finds YOU guilty, because you are still sitting in your car entertaining the possibility of maybe in the fall instead of driving directly to a listing that respects the basic covenant between agent and commission. This Court is issuing a restraining order against all dream-based real estate decisions within a fifty-mile radius of my jurisdiction, effective immediately. Reginald has spoken, and Reginald must now go yell at a Zillow estimate.