Turbulence

[Briar Lee]

View attachment 407681

Bug Tussle story time—

My grandmother who wrote a column each week for The Index was not only a comic genius, but a strikingly beautiful woman who had two gorgeous daughters and whose son produced four beautiful daughters, my cousins.

And one of those four, after her first husband died young, married a multimillionaire twenty years older than her and who spoiled and pampered and cherished her until he died a few years ago.

After his death one of his wealthy friends began to comfort his widow in her time of bereavement and he had a huge Harley and my cousin bought full leathers and jumped on the back and traveled to Sturgis.

She said that being a biker babe was a lot of fun until a large mule deer jumped out in front of them and the resulting accident killed her boyfriend and she had to be airlifted to a hospital in Kansas City so her daughters could help nurse her back to health.

I think about that when I see a man with a woman on the back of a big motorcycle.

They are both having a lot of fun until they don’t, you know?

 

[The Benedictine]

More flights more incidents

 

[telescopes]

Bug Tussle story time—

My grandmother who wrote a column each week for The Index was not only a comic genius, but a strikingly beautiful woman who had two gorgeous daughters and whose son produced four beautiful daughters, my cousins.

And one of those four, after her first husband died young, married a multimillionaire twenty years older than her and who spoiled and pampered and cherished her until he died a few years ago.

After his death one of his wealthy friends began to comfort his widow in her time of bereavement and he had a huge Harley and my cousin bought full leathers and jumped on the back and traveled to Sturgis.

She said that being a biker babe was a lot of fun until a large mule deer jumped out in front of them and the resulting accident killed her boyfriend and she had to be airlifted to a hospital in Kansas City so her daughters could help nurse her back to health.

I think about that when I see a man with a woman on the back of a big motorcycle.

They are both having a lot of fun until they don’t, you know?

Let me make this clear - your story is stupid and pointless - and I mean that with love. Neither one of them understood motorcycles mean death.

My mother lost her entire knee cap in a motorcycle accident. My father lost his elbow as well as many internal injuries and a broken collar bone in two motorcycle accidents. Bothe have spent up to 4 weeks in the hospital with motorcycle injuries. My brother was dragged over 100 feet as show on video underneath a Honda civic. He sustained more broken bones and internal injuries than evil knives did in his entire career. He spent 3 months in a comma and 9 months in rehab. All three of the individuals mentioned above bought new motorcycles upon getting out of the hospital. All three kept riding until they died (my mother died - the other two are still active riders).

My point is this - hobbiest who ride motorcycles are not the same as those who know damned well what they are doing. My brother told his doctors that if he didn’t heal enough to get back on a bike he would shoot himself rather than never ride again. My dad and mother were the same. They understood the risks. They just don’t care. So - yeh your story is pointless in terms of the point I was making. Now let’s have a YouTube video of Charlie pride singing a song.

 

[greeneyes]

They are both having a lot of fun until they don’t, you know?

The fun part is preferred, though entirely optional.

Man Killed by Falling Meteorite (in 1888)

Scientists finally unearthed the first-ever record of death by meteorite strike.

www.popularmechanics.com

 

[xrundog]

I am not into chem trails or weather control conspiracies. But think about how many jet flights there are every day and how much pollution jet engines spew into the atmosphere. It's a lot and it can't be good.
We're just monkeys with advanced technology.

 

[DeaconPiper]

I've flown around the world many times, but the older I get, the less I prefer it. I don't like the inconvenience, the rudeness of most people, and maybe my anxiety gets the better of me sometimes.

Now, I absolutely love driving and, if I could afford to it, I would take a train most places over long distances here in the US. It's such a smooth and classy experience, there's really nothing like it.

 

[Sig]

Ive flown way more than I'd like to. Ive got many hundreds of miles in light aircraft and puddle jumpers in Alaska. Lots of planes and helicopters in the Army over 8 years.
And I probably hate flying more than any human ever. But sometimes its necessary. If I CAN get there in a car, I will. Every year my wife and I drive to Alaska to our cabin. Flying would make more sense, but im full of nonsense.

 

[Sig]

Let me make this clear - your story is stupid and pointless - and I mean that with love. Neither one of them understood motorcycles mean death.

My mother lost her entire knee cap in a motorcycle accident. My father lost his elbow as well as many internal injuries and a broken collar bone in two motorcycle accidents. Bothe have spent up to 4 weeks in the hospital with motorcycle injuries. My brother was dragged over 100 feet as show on video underneath a Honda civic. He sustained more broken bones and internal injuries than evil knives did in his entire career. He spent 3 months in a comma and 9 months in rehab. All three of the individuals mentioned above bought new motorcycles upon getting out of the hospital. All three kept riding until they died (my mother died - the other two are still active riders).

My point is this - hobbiest who ride motorcycles are not the same as those who know damned well what they are doing. My brother told his doctors that if he didn’t heal enough to get back on a bike he would shoot himself rather than never ride again. My dad and mother were the same. They understood the risks. They just don’t care. So - yeh your story is pointless in terms of the point I was making. Now let’s have a YouTube video of Charlie pride singing a song.

That's one unlucky family!
Ive rode all over the US and to Alaska from NY multiple times sinse 1987 and never laid my bike down, and never crashed. Likewise, I know many bikers who have rode for decades without a crash or injury.
Probably less than 1% of the bikers ive known have ever crashed.
I had a friend in the Army who made it through 4 deployments with the Army Rangers in Afghanistan, but died on his bike going home from Georgia to Pennsylvania after exiting the military.
Remembering that 100% of the drivers on the roads are idiots helps keep you safer on a bike. Ive kicked the doors of many cars, and knocked a mirror off one or more times, but so far, been lucky....luckily.

 

[Briar Lee]

Let me make this clear - your story is stupid and pointless - and I mean that with love. Neither one of them understood motorcycles mean death.

My mother lost her entire knee cap in a motorcycle accident. My father lost his elbow as well as many internal injuries and a broken collar bone in two motorcycle accidents. Bothe have spent up to 4 weeks in the hospital with motorcycle injuries. My brother was dragged over 100 feet as show on video underneath a Honda civic. He sustained more broken bones and internal injuries than evil knives did in his entire career. He spent 3 months in a comma and 9 months in rehab. All three of the individuals mentioned above bought new motorcycles upon getting out of the hospital. All three kept riding until they died (my mother died - the other two are still active riders).

My point is this - hobbiest who ride motorcycles are not the same as those who know damned well what they are doing. My brother told his doctors that if he didn’t heal enough to get back on a bike he would shoot himself rather than never ride again. My dad and mother were the same. They understood the risks. They just don’t care. So - yeh your story is pointless in terms of the point I was making. Now let’s have a YouTube video of Charlie pride singing a song.

The only country song about motorcycles (famous enough to have played over KWTO) is Ninety Miles an Hour (Down a Dead End Street) by Hank Snow

Like a mad motorcycle with the devil in the seat, goin 90 miles an hour down a dead end street

Fifty years ago in their prime, my cousins might have consented to ride in a Corvette , Camaro, Challenger, Trans Am, Mustang or the like, but you’d have had to have driven very nicely, like you had eggs in the trunk.

 

[sablebrush52]

But why do you occasionally read of severe turbulence on a flight at five or six miles high over the heartland?

Can’t they see that coming?

Not always. Clear air turbulence is still a problem.

How bad can it get? Find yourself levitating in your seat and you will find out.

That particular flight remains in my memory for a number of reasons.

First was the deathly pallor of the crew when we boarded. We didn't know until later that the landing at Portland was exceptionally rough.

Second was the sudden drop in altitude a few minutes after takeoff. People were screaming, but they were just getting started.

Third was the message the senior cabin attendant yelled to one of the other cabin attendants as she was getting out of her seat to begin service: "SIT DOWN! Honey" The attendant looked at her supervisor in confusion, to which the supervisor responded, "We want you alive at the end of the flight!"

Fourth was the levitating drop - more screaming.

It was a nonstop battle from Portland to Los Angeles, and everyone was apprehensive as we began our descent. The good news was that I learned just how much a plane could take and and not fall out of the sky. Turbulence doesn't really bother me to this day.

The last notable thing was the conversation the pilot was having with someone over the phone after landing and it went somewhat like this, "No, we're not flying back up. No, I don't give a damn what problems that makes for you. We're exhausted and we're done for the day. Good bye."

Shortly after we arrived in LA, Portland Airport shut down for the rest of that day.

 

[Briar Lee]

That's one unlucky family!
Ive rode all over the US and to Alaska from NY multiple times sinse 1987 and never laid my bike down, and never crashed. Likewise, I know many bikers who have rode for decades without a crash or injury.
Probably less than 1% of the bikers ive known have ever crashed.
I had a friend in the Army who made it through 4 deployments with the Army Rangers in Afghanistan, but died on his bike going home from Georgia to Pennsylvania after exiting the military.
Remembering that 100% of the drivers on the roads are idiots helps keep you safer on a bike. Ive kicked the doors of many cars, and knocked a mirror off one or more times, but so far, been lucky....luckily.

More, about Bug Tussle

My father had three completely knock out beautiful cousins who lived in their gorgeous mother’s mansion at the entrance to Spout Spring Hollow, and all three married World War Two heroes of some rank and fame.

In 1988 my father’s cousin Helene was the passenger in Col. Rex’s brand new Mercury Grand Marquis when a car with three girls came across the line on Highway 13 and hit them head on, killing all three girls and Helene.

Rex was in the hospital a few days and survived because of a driver’s side only airbag.

About three years later, Rex starting going out with a recently widowed retired schoolteacher.

My mother called me and said Wanda wants to talk to you about Rex’s new girlfriend and off we went to the Dunnegan Mansion in Bolivar where Wanda lived with her husband, ace naval aviator Captain “Chet” Wainscott.

Wanda whispered and purred in a gravely Lauren Bacall voice instead of talking and she asked me

Who might you know, that I could hire as an investigator to see if Rex murdered Helene, because he knew he had an airbag and she didn’t?

I said Wanda those girls came across the highway. Rex wasn’t at fault. He almost died too. There’s no way he could have planned that.

Wanda said, It surely was awfully convenient for him to get her out of the way like that.

On the way home in my brand new Ford F-150 my mother asked, does this thing have an airbag for the passenger?

I said I don’t know, Mama.

She replied, they ought not sell any that don’t.

The more beautiful a woman is, the prouder she is of herself, or at least she ought to be, you know?

 

[telescopes]

That's one unlucky family!
Ive rode all over the US and to Alaska from NY multiple times sinse 1987 and never laid my bike down, and never crashed. Likewise, I know many bikers who have rode for decades without a crash or injury.
Probably less than 1% of the bikers ive known have ever crashed.
I had a friend in the Army who made it through 4 deployments with the Army Rangers in Afghanistan, but died on his bike going home from Georgia to Pennsylvania after exiting the military.
Remembering that 100% of the drivers on the roads are idiots helps keep you safer on a bike. Ive kicked the doors of many cars, and knocked a mirror off one or more times, but so far, been lucky....luckily.

No less than 10% of the motorcycle club I belong to have had injuries sever enough to either kill them or leave them seriously disabled from motorcycle riding. Most club riders I know from other clubs have similar stats. I like to refer to my brother as the last American casualty from the Afgan war. He was hit by a female refugee who drug him under her car in downtown St. Louis. She later hit and harmed another person who was in a car. My dad and mother suffered their first and most serious wreck when getting t-boned by a car at an intersection on Labor Day of 1972. As for myself, I rear ended a stopped car on the down side of a hill as I crossed over the top. It was unavoidable. Perhaps because I ride with bikers who belong to clubs, I come across so many who have wrecked. Anyway, it is a part of the contract when you take your bike out on the rode. If someone can’t accept it, my advice is dont ride a motorcycle.

 

[telescopes]

I came across a little harsh in calling @Briar Lee's response to my first response to his bringing up my Indian Motorcycle in terms of safety as a stupid and pointless. The comment is meant playfully - but the intent is sincere. It is perfectly sane for someone not to want to or choose to ride a motorcycle. They are dangerous and one accepts the risk when riding them. I've seen brain juice leaking out of a dead motorcycle rider's ear before. Whenever someone tells me a story about someone they knew who bought a bike and then had a major wreck and chose to never ride again, well, that for me is a pointless story. In terms of turbulence which is what this thread is about, air travel is actually meant to be a safe alternative to travel, unlike motorcycle travel. We do our best to be safe, but ....

The vast majority of motorcycle riders will ride and never suffer a serious wreck. Ride long enough though and the odds are against you. I don't own a car myself. All I have is my bike. Most of my friends ride bikes and belong to clubs. 20,000 a year on a bike is small potatoes for most. All of the clubs I know of keep a fund available to help members who die on their bikes. They even have annual runs honoring fallen members. Now that I think of it, it is rather macabre. Every member of a club I know of has patches of the names of fallen club members on their vests. What a visual reminder of the risks we knowingly embrace when we start down the road.

 

[Briar Lee]

I came across a little harsh in calling @Briar Lee's response to my first response to his bringing up my Indian Motorcycle in terms of safety as a stupid and pointless. The comment is meant playfully - but the intent is sincere. It is perfectly sane for someone not to want to or choose to ride a motorcycle. They are dangerous and one accepts the risk when riding them. I've seen brain juice leaking out of a dead motorcycle rider's ear before. Whenever someone tells me a story about someone they knew who bought a bike and then had a major wreck and chose to never ride again, well, that for me is a pointless story. In terms of turbulence which is what this thread is about, air travel is actually meant to be a safe alternative to travel, unlike motorcycle travel. We do our best to be safe, but ....

The vast majority of motorcycle riders will ride and never suffer a serious wreck. Ride long enough though and the odds are against you. I don't own a car myself. All I have is my bike. Most of my friends ride bikes and belong to clubs. 20,000 a year on a bike is small potatoes for most. All of the clubs I know of keep a fund available to help members who die on their bikes. They even have annual runs honoring fallen members. Now that I think of it, it is rather macabre. Every member of a club I know of has patches of the names of fallen club members on their vests. What a visual reminder of the risks we knowingly embrace when we start down the road.

I just love Google AI

—-

• NHTSA data shows that in 2023, there were 31.39 motorcyclist fatalities per 100 million vehicle miles traveled, compared to 1.13 passenger car occupant fatalities, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA).
  
  
• Visibility and Stability:
  Motorcycles are smaller and less visible to other drivers, and they lack the stability and protective shell of a car.
  
  
• Protective Features:
  Cars have features like airbags and seatbelts that offer a significant level of protection, which motorcycles lack.
  
  
• Rider Vulnerability:
  The lack of these features makes motorcyclists more vulnerable to injury or death in the event of a crash.
  
  
• Accident Severity:
  80% of reported motorcycle crashes result in injury or death, with approximately 20% resulting in death. This is a much higher fatality rate compared to car accidents

Xxxx

Let’s check airline safety

—-

Commercial air travel is exceptionally safe, with fatalities per mile being extremely low. For every 100 million passenger miles traveled, there are roughly 0.003 deaths, according to a LinkedIn article. This makes it significantly safer than driving, which has a much higher fatality rate per mile, according to USAFacts.

—-

My Master has blessed me beyond all measurement.

I got a car the day I turned 16 in 1974 and I’ve not spent a day without one since.

I totaled three cars before I turned 19, and none since.

In fifty years, I’ve driven maybe a million miles, 20,000 mikes a year average.


What’s scary about motorcycles is they are nearly always ridden for pleasure in nice weather. You can subtract most of the icy weather or slick highway accidents from motorcycle crashes.

But I’ve owned a couple of convertibles where I could say the same about having the top down.

If my 1966 Mustang had been a convertible I’d have been in Plum Grove these last fifty years.

And I’ve been in four cars that have center punched deer, and I hit a wild turkey once at 70 miles an hour.

That, might have hurt, you know?

—-

Approximately 700,000 animal collisions occur annually in the US, with motorcyclists facing a disproportionately high risk of fatalities. While 2% of deer-vehicle collisions result in human fatalities, nearly 85% of motorcycle-deer collisions are fatal to the rider. Deer are the most common animal involved in these crashes, with November being the peak month.

——

 

[telescopes]

I just love Google AI

—-

• NHTSA data shows that in 2023, there were 31.39 motorcyclist fatalities per 100 million vehicle miles traveled, compared to 1.13 passenger car occupant fatalities, according to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA).
  
  
• Visibility and Stability:
  Motorcycles are smaller and less visible to other drivers, and they lack the stability and protective shell of a car.
  
  
• Protective Features:
  Cars have features like airbags and seatbelts that offer a significant level of protection, which motorcycles lack.
  
  
• Rider Vulnerability:
  The lack of these features makes motorcyclists more vulnerable to injury or death in the event of a crash.
  
  
• Accident Severity:
  80% of reported motorcycle crashes result in injury or death, with approximately 20% resulting in death. This is a much higher fatality rate compared to car accidents

Xxxx

Let’s check airline safety

—-

Commercial air travel is exceptionally safe, with fatalities per mile being extremely low. For every 100 million passenger miles traveled, there are roughly 0.003 deaths, according to a LinkedIn article. This makes it significantly safer than driving, which has a much higher fatality rate per mile, according to USAFacts.

—-

My Master has blessed me beyond all measurement.

I got a car the day I turned 16 in 1974 and I’ve not spent a day without one since.

I totaled three cars before I turned 19, and none since.

In fifty years, I’ve driven maybe a million miles, 20,000 mikes a year average.


What’s scary about motorcycles is they are nearly always ridden for pleasure in nice weather. You can subtract most of the icy weather or slick highway accidents from motorcycle crashes.

But I’ve owned a couple of convertibles where I could say the same about having the top down.

If my 1966 Mustang had been a convertible I’d have been in Plum Grove these last fifty years.

And I’ve been in four cars that have center punched deer, and I hit a wild turkey once at 70 miles an hour.

That, might have hurt, you know?

—-

Approximately 700,000 animal collisions occur annually in the US, with motorcyclists facing a disproportionately high risk of fatalities. While 2% of deer-vehicle collisions result in human fatalities, nearly 85% of motorcycle-deer collisions are fatal to the rider. Deer are the most common animal involved in these crashes, with November being the peak month.

——

Again - what's the point of your post. I open with a concession that riding a motorcycle is dangerous and can and may very well result in death. NO ONE is disputing any facts about this.

You seem like an ex lawyer trying to win an argument that no one on the entire planet is contesting.

Don't be an ex lawyer - or you make me tell the following joke...

"What do you call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"

"An excellent start."

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

What's the difference between a motorcycle gang member and a lawyer?

A motorcycle gang member has a code of honor; a lawyer just has a code of billable hours!

A motorcycle gang member rides a hog; a lawyer just hogs the spotlight!

A motorcycle gang member lives for the open road; a lawyer lives for the open wallet!

A motorcycle gang member burns rubber for glory; a lawyer burns clients for cash!

A motorcycle gang member robs with a roar for the thrill; a lawyer loots with a pen for the bill!

A motorcycle gang member strikes with a spark for the street; a lawyer scams with a signature for the suite!

Here's a story for you, story boy...

The crooked businessman, battered and bruised from the car wreck that claimed everyone but him, stumbled through the city streets, his tailored suit now a tattered testament to his narrow escape. His heart pounded with a rare flicker of guilt—decades of shady deals, cooked books, and crushed competitors weighed heavy. “It’s time,” he muttered, clutching a rosary he hadn’t touched since childhood. “Time to confess, to start clean.” He spotted the church’s steeple, its cross glinting under the streetlights, and shuffled toward salvation.

But fate, or perhaps his own distracted mind, led him one door too far. Instead of the church’s oak-paneled confessional, he pushed open the glass door of the law office next door, its sign reading “Harrington & Associates: Your Justice, Our Profit.” The receptionist barely glanced up as he staggered in, mistaking his disheveled state for a desperate client. “Mr. Harrington will see you now,” she said, waving him toward a sleek office.

Inside, the lawyer, a shark in a pinstripe suit, leaned back in his leather chair, sizing up the businessman like a vulture eyeing carrion. “Rough day, huh? Tell me everything,” Harrington purred, pen poised over a legal pad, already calculating billable hours. The businessman, thinking he was in the presence of a priest, poured out his soul—every bribe, every embezzled dollar, every life ruined in his climb to the top. His voice cracked with remorse, his hands trembling as he begged for absolution.

Harrington’s eyes gleamed, not with mercy, but with opportunity. “My friend,” he said, sliding a contract across the desk, “your sins are safe with me—for a retainer, of course. Let’s call it… asset protection.” The businessman blinked, confused, as the lawyer continued, “We’ll bury those confessions in legal privilege, dodge the feds, and maybe sue the city for that faulty intersection. Emotional distress, you know—big payout!”

The businessman’s heart sank. He’d sought a confessional to cleanse his soul; instead, he’d wandered into a den where his sins were just another revenue stream. Harrington leaned closer, his smile sharp as a blade. “Sign here, and we’ll make your past disappear… for a price.” The businessman, still clutching his rosary, realized too late: a serial killer might take your life with a twisted sense of purpose, but a lawyer like Harrington would carve up your soul for a billable hour. Defeated, he signed, trading one sin for another, as the church bells tolled next door, mocking his misstep.

 

[telescopes]

Back to turbulence:

A man leaps from a burning plane, his parachute failing. Plummeting toward the ground, he prays desperately, “Saint Francis of Assisi, save me!” Suddenly, a giant hand emerges from the sky, catching him gently. A booming voice from above asks, “Did you say Saint Francis of Assisi, or Saint Francis is a sissy?”

 

[Briar Lee]

Again - what's the point of your post. I open with a concession that riding a motorcycle is dangerous and can and may very well result in death. NO ONE is disputing any facts about this.

You seem like an ex lawyer trying to win an argument that no one on the entire planet is contesting.

Don't be an ex lawyer - or you make me tell the following joke...

"What do you call 500 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"

"An excellent start."

Sorry, I couldn't resist.

What's the difference between a motorcycle gang member and a lawyer?

A motorcycle gang member has a code of honor; a lawyer just has a code of billable hours!

A motorcycle gang member rides a hog; a lawyer just hogs the spotlight!

A motorcycle gang member lives for the open road; a lawyer lives for the open wallet!

A motorcycle gang member burns rubber for glory; a lawyer burns clients for cash!

A motorcycle gang member robs with a roar for the thrill; a lawyer loots with a pen for the bill!

A motorcycle gang member strikes with a spark for the street; a lawyer scams with a signature for the suite!

Here's a story for you, story boy...

The crooked businessman, battered and bruised from the car wreck that claimed everyone but him, stumbled through the city streets, his tailored suit now a tattered testament to his narrow escape. His heart pounded with a rare flicker of guilt—decades of shady deals, cooked books, and crushed competitors weighed heavy. “It’s time,” he muttered, clutching a rosary he hadn’t touched since childhood. “Time to confess, to start clean.” He spotted the church’s steeple, its cross glinting under the streetlights, and shuffled toward salvation.

But fate, or perhaps his own distracted mind, led him one door too far. Instead of the church’s oak-paneled confessional, he pushed open the glass door of the law office next door, its sign reading “Harrington & Associates: Your Justice, Our Profit.” The receptionist barely glanced up as he staggered in, mistaking his disheveled state for a desperate client. “Mr. Harrington will see you now,” she said, waving him toward a sleek office.

Inside, the lawyer, a shark in a pinstripe suit, leaned back in his leather chair, sizing up the businessman like a vulture eyeing carrion. “Rough day, huh? Tell me everything,” Harrington purred, pen poised over a legal pad, already calculating billable hours. The businessman, thinking he was in the presence of a priest, poured out his soul—every bribe, every embezzled dollar, every life ruined in his climb to the top. His voice cracked with remorse, his hands trembling as he begged for absolution.

Harrington’s eyes gleamed, not with mercy, but with opportunity. “My friend,” he said, sliding a contract across the desk, “your sins are safe with me—for a retainer, of course. Let’s call it… asset protection.” The businessman blinked, confused, as the lawyer continued, “We’ll bury those confessions in legal privilege, dodge the feds, and maybe sue the city for that faulty intersection. Emotional distress, you know—big payout!”

The businessman’s heart sank. He’d sought a confessional to cleanse his soul; instead, he’d wandered into a den where his sins were just another revenue stream. Harrington leaned closer, his smile sharp as a blade. “Sign here, and we’ll make your past disappear… for a price.” The businessman, still clutching his rosary, realized too late: a serial killer might take your life with a twisted sense of purpose, but a lawyer like Harrington would carve up your soul for a billable hour. Defeated, he signed, trading one sin for another, as the church bells tolled next door, mocking his misstep.

I still can’t believe I got slick away with 41 years of law practice with no true disasters.

A lot of those years, I had three full time assistants and two for most all of them.

I only saw one lawyer, one time. with booze on his breath in court.

As for true corruption I saw that one time, where a little courthouse “lost” my client’s $500 cash bond, but they “found” it once they decided I wasn’t leaving until they did.

Truth is I’ve wanted a motorcycle since I was a kid, but I’ve always been afraid too many other people would suffer if I wasn’t able to put on that suit and tie and slick shined shoes to be somebody’s paid champion.

The difference between me and a thousand dollar a night call girl, is I never had to take off my clothes, and I charged a lot more.

And I never once in 41 years told a deliberate lie to a client or judge or jury or other lawyer.

Not maybe because I was raised not to lie, so much as the fear of looking in the mirror at a liar.

Now that I can well afford a big motorcycle, I’m too damned old to want one.

 

[telescopes]

The difference between me and a thousand dollar a night call girl, is I never had to take off my clothes, and I charged a lot more.

And I never once in 41 years told a deliberate lie to a client or judge or jury or other lawyer.

Two Points:

Prostitution has nothing to do with taking your clothes off.

Lying is not defined by being deliberate.

You sound like a lawyer trying to convince me your not a lying prostitute, LOL.


What’s the difference between a prostitute and a lawyer?

A prostitute provides a genuine service with clear terms, taking her clothes off to be upfront, while a lawyer’s lies are hidden in fine print and inflated fees, while he hides behind a tailored suit.

 

[telescopes]

I know, I am a terrible joke writer.

 

[Briar Lee]

I know, I am a terrible joke writer.

I used to collect lawyer jokes.

Until I realized I was feeding the hatred of my life’s passion.

And as for telling bald faced outright lies, I’ve heard more in and out of court than I can count. People lie constantly when they are in trouble, like little kids.

The art of Advocacy is to make sure your client tells the truth (if he talks at all) , and let the other side lie their ass off.


Lying is not wise.

Truth usually wins out.