Verbal assualts and cheeseburgers

Earlier this fine and beautiful spring day, I was approached by an enraged parent today in the Manhattan Supreme Court.

My findings have been, in theory and practice for the past nine years, that parents are a far more contributing factor to criminal activity than almost anything else...including substance abuse and/or mental health. The Trifecta of Doom, if you will, makes for quite the lovely client to work with.

Well, for whatever reason, he thought I fucked his kid over in court somehow...albeit I am the one trying to get him out of going to prison altogether. As he starts rifling through his cheap bag for what I suspect to be a smuggled murder weapon under epitaphs about my fuckhood as a motherfucker, the attorney on the case gave me those stunned, oh-no-what-did-I-walk-in-on eyes that only your mother can give you as an adolescent boy locked in the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time.

At which point, my craving for a bacon cheeseburger and a cold, stiff one was illuminated by that fact that not only did I aptly deserve them, but would have them, and promptly.

And have them I did. At a lovely, little Financial District joint called the White Horse Tavern.

*Tomorrow I chair a presentation to upwards of 300 of the Bronx County's best criminal defenders on how to get their clients out of Rikers Island as quickly as legally possible. Apparently, the Swine Flu doens't make the ticket.