Legal Juice

Defendant Richard Glawson can forget about jury sympathy. After the judge refused the prosecutor’s request to have Glawson shackled, he sucker-punched an elderly juror, then had to be pulled off of him. Sure, hindsight is 20/20. In this case, though, foresight should have been easy enough.

Here’s what Glawson (see photo) is accused of doing during a two-day crime spree: robbing a house, starting a shootout at a mall, carjacking a woman, breaking into another home, shooting a disabled man’s dog, carjacking two more vehicles, and shooting a police officer in the hand. What the hell do you have to be accused of to warrant shackles?

If you want your horse to race in North America, the name must be approved by the Jockey Club. Andy Hillis wanted to name his horse “Nutzapper” after hearing it used in a joke on the Tonight Show. So Hillis told the Jockey Club (as reported in Slate) that he wanted the name because (prepare to dab away the tears) “as a young boy in Canada, he loved to zap walnuts in boiling oil and sprinkle them on salads.” With this explanation, the name was approved. Then Hillis just had to crow to a reporter that he’d never been to Canada, and had made up the whole story.

The racing gods were not amused. They zapped the name almost immediately. Hillis sued and he … lost! Just like the Jockey Club knew he would, because they had recently won a similar suit. (“Nutzapper” is now known as “Awaiting Justice.” Lame.) So what are the Jockey Club’s naming rules?

No horse can have a name longer than 18 characters, a name that breaches a copyright or has obvious commercial significance, or the name of a “notorious” person. Emphatically forbidden are “names that are suggestive or have a vulgar or obscene meaning; names considered in poor taste; or names that may be offensive to religious, political or ethnic groups.”

Now that you know the rules, you might be surprised that the following names have been approved by the Jockey Club:

Nut Buster (1942)

So Kevin Costner was getting a massage at a hotel in Scotland. According to the masseuse, who later filed a claim of unfair dismissal and sexual discrimination, here’s a highlight:

Throughout the massage he kept putting his hand underneath his towel but never kept it there long enough for me to suspect anything.” However, as she went to massage his head, he whipped off his towel and “performed a sex act to climax”.

Costner’s friend said it was a set up. The hotel settled with the masseuse.

(For the uninitiated, that’s from Animal House.) I have no idea if Christopher Kelly is fat or stupid. I do know that on a recent night, he was incredibly drunk. Here are some highlights of his bender, as reported in This Is Lancashire:

When the story of Christopher Kelly’s escapes were told to magistrates, a probation service officer had to leave the court in fits of laughter.

The court heard that Kelly, 31, of Railway Street, Nelson, had got extremely drunk on lager and vodka during a night out in Morecambe.

Kelly lost his friends, who were celebrating a friend’s birthday and were also drunk, and wandered onto the beach where he got stuck in boggy sand and lost his shoes, trousers and jacket.[Really? He lost his pants in a sand bog? Hmmm.]

Cold and wet, he staggered across the road to Morecambe Town Hall where, seeing a window open, he climbed inside. There he went in various rooms, took a camera and a mobile phone which he tried to use to call his friends.

Then he soiled his underwear which he threw into a black bin bag. [Personally, I would have left that little detail out.]

He found a ‘Grim Reaper’ fancy dress outfit and put this on before leaving the town hall and wandering down Lord Street towards Poulton Square where he eventually arrived at the police station which was, at that time, unmanned. He stood there for three hours, still in the Grim Reaper gear, until police arrived.

Mr. Kelly admitted the crime. [This may have been made easier since some of it was recorded on CCTV.] The time? A six-month conditional discharge and payment of prosecution costs.

Call Guinness Book. At least I’ve not read about an older streaker. As reported in the Irish Independent:

Police in Duisburg, Germany are becoming rather irked with a serial streaker.

They hauled him into court after he streaked during a girls’ football match. But they were rather surprised when, during the adjournment the man removed his clothes again.

It appears he views himself as a living work of art. Given that he is 60, it’s presumably abstract art.

(My sources tell me that the man received funding from President Bush’s abstinence program.)

As reported by The College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario, here is the story of Dr. John Geoffrey Limbert of Victoria, British Columbia:

This family physician cared for a female patient for five years during which time she had two pregnancies. Subsequently, he established himself as a full-time sex therapist [I think you can guess where this is going] and she sought his professional advice. During this therapy he began to embrace her for progressively long periods of time. He advised her against having sexual relations with her husband and the marital relationship deteriorated considerably.

On one occasion during a pelvic examination he made inappropriate sexual remarks about her pelvic anatomy and breasts.

Later, they became involved in inappropriate activity related to the act of urination, which they called “water sports”, which was repeated up to three times weekly. The patient fell in love with the doctor. Ultimately the interaction was discovered by the doctor’s wife.

Then what?

The doctor apologized to the patient for his inappropriate behaviour, entered into therapy and consented to his therapist reporting his behaviour to the College.

So what happened to Dr. Limbert?

[He] was charged with professional misconduct for having engaged in sexual impropriety with a patient (among other things). He pleaded guilty to professional misconduct but not to incompetence.

The Committee had no difficulty in accepting the plea of guilty and revoked the physician’s licence. Upon receiving the doctor’s undertaking not to appeal the decision, there was no need to consider the allegation of incompetence…

Defendant Bruce Young (who was awaiting trial on federal drug charges) was pissed – twice! (blank-sucking little blank?). But he was not in court on the drug charges when the outbursts occurred. He was there on charges of attempted escape and conspiracy to commit escape. Per the court, “during proceedings conducted in open court on December 18, 2000, and July 20, 2001, the Defendant went berserk, to put it quite mildly… During the in-court proceeding conducted on December 18, 2000, the Court, counsel and the Defendant were discussing a trial date for [the escape charges] prosecution… When the Court asked Government’s counsel about her availability for a possible trial in February, 2001, she responded that she had inadvertently left her calendar at home… At that point the Defendant went berserk:

Defendant: This is wrong, your Honor. This is wrong. This is wrong.

Court: Mr. Young?

Defendant: This is wrong. It’s bull shit too.

Court: All right. Mr. Young, you have just earned yourself an extra six months.

Defendant: I’ve got 52 fucking years coming man. I mean, what does another fucking day mean?

Court: Get this man out of here, immediately.

Defendant: The bitch has me pinned in a five-by-seven box for nine fucking months. This is bull shit.

Court: We are in recess.

Defendant: Hateful bitch.

Courtroom Deputy Clerk: All rise.

Defendant: Fuck this court. Fuck this court. Fuck you and I won’t be back, you bitch. You’re playing goddamn games.

Marshal: Calm down.

Defendant: Fuck the constitution, you assholes. Fucking wipe on a mother fucker. That’s what you can use it for — (Defendant continued screaming “F” word comments as leaving courtroom and into the hall).

Okay, that didn’t go so well. “[Seven months later] on July 17, 2001, the Court engaged in a colloquy with the Defendant, required by Faretta v. California …, and permitted him to represent himself, despite his outrageous behavior during the proceedings of the previous December 18th… The Court explained that it did not want the Defendant to have the discovery materials in the jail, where he has been incarcerated prior to trial, lest those materials become circulated throughout the jail and compromise pending prosecutions.” Oh shizzle – give him the discovery materials. Here it comes.

Defendant: Your Honor, can I go back to the jail? I am about to have an anxiety attack. I can’t go on with this shit. Have the marshals take me back before I do something stupid. I’m being nice. Can I please go back.

Court: Well, I appreciate the advance warning.

Defendant: I’m telling, your Honor, I know myself.

Court: Marshals, if you would.

Defendant: I know myself. This is crazy. I can’t have my fucking discovery packet. What kind of shit is that? Shit. God. You mother fuckers.

Court: Once again Mr. Young–

Defendant: You fucked-up asshole. You Jew bitch and bastard.

Court: You’ve earned yourself another six months.

Defendant: Fuck you. Kiss my dick. I’m not going to have my discovery packet. You’ve got me fucking bent, you bitch, mother fucker. Kiss my ass. You too, Chema. You dick sucking little faggot.

So what happened to Mr. Young?

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