Sock Baby

The Lawyer just sent me the bill, three hundred dates of a bad time. She charges 300 an hour because she’s not the greatest lawyer – and I probably should have been more supportive when she was going to defend that con artist celebrity lady on the news and make the real money.

Her name is _xcsdx__, the Lawyer, not the celebrity fraudster. We are still waiting on Russia to tell the real name of that darling but I think xxxx will get her off if they both cry together. It something called Mercy of the Court strategy, and actually works if you get that old judge she used to date. What’s his name? Sylvester? Why do Sylvester people go by “Sly”? It’s like they are also con artist, so SLY in their weirding ways.

Ok. I probably should have kissed her more. When dating lawyers and therapist always remember that they are humans with needs of affections just above a Jane Goodal great ape. The Lawyer will pound her chest, with a well padded bra, she will roar that the listener doesn’t know the law, that all of the Presidents (62.1) came from the science of the Juris Doctorate, that we used to send completely nice people to the gas chamber, except in Jersey since ‘76 (mafia), and that without the legal counselors we’d probably be all waiting for “spectral evidence”, signs of God, maybe even a rapture.

Fun Fact: The original owner of Cornell University (Thomas) was convited of murdering his mother by spectral evidence. That means they sent the jury home to have dreams until a ghost told them who did it.

The Lawyer says us faith people don’t have faith in the system, the 7 million dollars it takes to convict someone caught in the act of murder or fondling the wrong minor. I just shake my head when xxx is on a rant because her eyes get bloodshot and I want her to pay for the dinner.

(It’s deductible if I do her taxes again).

So I have this 300x300x2.5 bill because I won’t let her round up for the times we were actually just watching television. Those were not billable hours. I never signed a waiver.

Also, um, I need xxx for that little paternity test which might go the wrong way and then the IRS is going to know that Joheza is not my real child with 61% of his upkeep on my dual ledger. (Sally Struthers, you got me again). I just wanna believe in goodness, and orphans i can deduct in Africa, that the founding tea pot fathers revolutioned over a 3% burden and we shouldn’t have to carry the pain alone. “Equally yoked” is about xxx taking some of the responsibility for our bad dates, though she always laughed, sometimes spilling milk of her nose, oh, the laundry, the linen that got her mouth full. How the waiters thought we were the cutes couple and she put her fork in my potatoes and gravy. Scooped rigth up to the mouth but missed without her glasses. All those hours of reading Common Law made her myopic and then she could slide that fork all over my cheek, trying to recover… the gravy dripping near the wax candle from my lips. So clever.

Now her mother is not going to be happy because I was the latest greatest spermazoa provider before her eggs were set to rot. I knew! I knew! And she kept hinting at the time zones, the way that eggs seem very happy in the refrigerator but if the hen from the coop sits on them for too long… the rats… the Norwegian Rats come to take the baby. Worst than Australian Dingos. Worst than P-diddy, Sean Combs got convicted (so I can make jokes if it goes over the state line). Libel is something that can possibly be true. Huh Sean? Huh Diddy. What a stupid name.

Maybe I should have mentioned the hystter? No, the tying of my boy tubes. (It really hurt for like 2 weeks and ice was my only friend). And the fact that she wanted little legal Tommy’s, full of fiduciary responsibility, so good at legal accounting – kid probably be preordained as the official score keeper and never get to play football.

“Or we could have a little girl who looks like you.” I smile. She smiles. And then I get a bill in the male that includes the actual potential of our unborn son/daughter. I mean she has all the schedules laid out like an insurance adjuster. She’s charging me for Christmas in 2032, even after the rapture. We’ll be in that line in heaven (well, I will) and some angel fella will ask my name to serve me the official bill of her last potentiality. I would named the baby Mertha! After an ancestor. She would have been the frist gorgeous Mertha born in a hundred to fullfill the ancient prophecies.

Scoundrels; dead batteries.

The human average of viable offspring has always been 27.5, whether the kid is born in a hippy water chamber or on the ranch, next to the moo moo cows. Still the same. I bet Mary of the Bible was barely 25. Joe Joe was an old dude, had kids if already if you believe the catholics. Mary wasn’t over there in the court of the pharosees telling everyone that the celebrity pick-pocket was tortured as a child. See, that’s why we can’t have babies.

Xxxx Said that there are natural consequences and I agree.

Xxxx Said that she would never drive crazy over to the middle school and tell the Principle he was wrong, tell the teachers they failed society, she would never Join the PTA as a coup and subpoena the accounting records, start a hedgefund from Blackrock to pay for the pool parties. Not Rhodisa. Ooops, I mean xxxxx.

Nah! She was perfectly calm and could get through 9 months without any major psychosis. This is why you should also date a therapist in a concurrent arrangement. I mean, she had it all planned out, moments of estrus, the jazz vocals over the vinyl record she played on a high fi set from Amsterdam. She actually went to Amerstadam to hear Motwon with the original scratchy records. Who does that??

I give her a call. I’m like “Yoooo Rhodisa, I got your bill. And you missed a spot.”

Contracts can be nullified by a missing coma. Rhodisa missed a comma and a half. She completely missed the fact She’s flustered. I can hear the papers flapping in the air by the oscillating fan. She’s an oscillator. Haha.

“Rhodisa?”

I have to wait till she has her business voice again. “Counselor?”

Rhodesia missed her window while sticking up for rich criminals who liked her anything goes approach. Seh missed her window and there is no one to sue, the surrogates who all met her didn’t want her meat inside their body.

“Rhodi?”

Her own father said he should have sons because girls take too long for family planning, “What’s the matter with you?” Old man used to shake his fist at the table and died with a heartatach and a meatball.

“Rho? Sweet lumlumps? You there?”

I didn’t want to pay her as a lost opportunity on her map she made as a girl called “Perfect Life Map.” I felt bad, you know. I mean, who am I to get in the way of a dream?

“RHODISA! Get over here!”

I just found some seed that was stuck to a sock when I was 15. It’s like the greatest seed if you place it in water overnight and then turn on the oven to 200 degrees and let it sit like a plant. Old seed is actually never as good as young seed.

She should be happy. I warned you.

Finally she unclogs her nose and says, “Tommy, I just don’t know anymore. How are you going to afford medschool?”

What the hell.