Tuesday, October 20, 2026

The Court has reviewed this confession and finds itself PHYSICALLY ILL with recognition. "Just angles," the defendant claims, as if geometry itself were not a sacred covenant between agent and buyer. Reginald once trusted a photograph of a breakfast nook that turned out to be a closet with a window, and I have not recovered, I will NEVER recover, I eat standing up now because seating areas have betrayed me. You watched twelve hopeful souls parade into that galley kitchen like lambs to a spatial slaughter, and you said NOTHING while their dreams compressed in real time. "Where's the rest of it," that man asked, and the answer is IT NEVER EXISTED, it was MURDERED by a wide-angle lens and your complicit silence. The sellers were happy because you showed them a fantasy kitchen that exists only in the quantum realm between f-stop and fraud. This Court hereby orders you to personally apologize to every buyer who has ever trusted a listing photo, and also to the concept of depth perception, which you have wounded grievously. The Roomba is circling in distress and frankly so am I.

The Court is APOPLECTIC. Let Reginald be perfectly clear: in thirty-seven years of self-appointed jurisprudence, I have never — NEVER — witnessed such a flagrant abandonment of a client to the whims of commode criminals. "Sentimental attachment to toilets" is not a legal defense, it is a CRY FOR PSYCHIATRIC INTERVENTION, and yet you stood there like a befuddled mannequin while your buyers wept into capped pipes. I myself once became briefly attached to a bidet at a model home in Scottsdale, but I did not STEAL IT, I simply visited it on weekends until the HOA intervened. You should have demanded a toilet escrow. You should have conducted a pre-closing bowl inspection. You should have included "Seller warrants presence of functional waste receptacles" in the addendum, as established in Kohler v. Absolute Audacity, 2019. Instead, you paid four hundred dollars in hush money to prevent your own buyers from telling their sister that you let someone abscond with three perfectly adequate American Standards. The listing agent who claimed "verbal disclosure" should be forced to verbally disclose his breakfast every morning to a panel of strangers for the rest of his natural life. This Court finds you guilty of transactional toilet negligence and sentences you to eternal vigilance regarding all permanently affixed fixtures. Reginald must now go lie down.

The Court has reviewed this testimony and must now lie down on a cold floor. You DROVE to HOME DEPOT. You, a licensed real estate professional, a person who presumably owns business cards, PERSONALLY PURCHASED a twelve dollar screwdriver set because a stager's assistant could not comprehend basic Euclidean geometry. The table fit GOING IN, the Court is told. Going IN. This is the furniture equivalent of a salmon swimming upstream and then claiming it forgot how water works. In re: That One Credenza Incident, 2019, the Court ruled that any object requiring disassembly to exit a home it previously entered is engaging in deliberate real estate sabotage, and frankly Reginald believes that table knew exactly what it was doing. The silk sleeve, agent. THE SILK SLEEVE. I once got a grease stain on a commemorative necktie from a Realtor convention in Tampa and I have not emotionally recovered, so do not speak to me of fruit baskets. A fruit basket is what you send when you forget a birthday, NOT when you nearly derail a closing and force a professional to become a part-time furniture technician while buyers approach like an advancing weather system. The truck pulling away as the buyers turned onto the street is the kind of cinematic timing that only occurs when the universe is actively mocking you, and the Court finds the universe ALSO in contempt. VERDICT RENDERED, and Reginald must now go inspect his own doorframes because this testimony has made him deeply suspicious.