I'VE BEEN PLANNING A MURDER

Today started out rather quiet. FAT GODZILLA is off all week - she took a vacation. I think her brother, DON-BOY is going to have a fit. I found out the FAT GODZILLA and DON-BOY's mother, MOM WHO THINKS SHE'S BETTER THAN YOU, had a fall over the weekend and was hospitalized. But, I found this out from DON-BOY's wife, we'll just call her CRAZY. CRAZY showed up at the end of the day to pick up DON-BOY. I think they had an appointment they were going to together, and she told me. How freakin' weird is it that I had to hear this from CRAZY and that DON-BOY didn't mention a word. Remember, this isn't one of those large corporate firms. HELL is a small firm, family-run. Everybody knows everything. And, as far as I can tell, no one else even heard about this until CRAZY let it spill. Very interesting. Something else I will have to lock away into my "Secrets" file. You know you all have one. You pile them up for a rainy day. Well, I intend to use my "Secrets" file one day, you'll see.

So, now to get on topic, I've been planning a MURDER. I know that sounds ominous, but I digress...

Ever since I started working in HELL, I've been planning the ways I could kill certain people. And, as a lawyer, the fun is not in killing them, but in planning the perfect crime, and how I will get away with it. So, I guess you could say that I've been planning a MURDER for years.

Today, being that FAT GODZILLA was not in the office, my mind was particularly able to focus on the death of DON-BOY. Now, I should tell you that DON-BOY does have a physical handicap. I will not tell you what it is (I don't want to give too much away - not yet anyway), but I will let you imagine the most horrible, hideous and grotesque disability you can imagine.

So, I picture walking next to DON-BOY, and being a larger man in every way then DON-BOY, I imagine discussing the case of the day when DON-BOY accidentally bumps into me. Well, I could use this loss of balance in my favor. I would accidentally-on purpose guide DON-BOY right down the stairs. If you can picture, my office is directly across the hall from an interior staircase. It would be the perfect accident. No one could blame me. We just collided and down he went. The flight of stairs is about 8-10 feet high, but because of his disability, he couldn't manage to stop his freefall. I picture him landing as a mangled swastika on the floor, like a pretzel. His head would snap instantly breaking his neck. His spinal cord would start to tear, but enough fibers would stay in place to allow DON-BOY to feel every ounce of pain and despair.

I thoroughly enjoy the notion that he would die almost instantly. Freedom at hand is hard to pass up. But, I might have just enough will-power to let him languish. Watching him suffer might be the cherry on top. Seeing him lay on the floor in the inevitable pile of blood and urine (assuming all things to be equal, he would have to piss himself). Just when I got to the point where I was ready to decide if and/or how he would live or die, he came into my office.

He got in and I didn't realize because I was so enthralled with my fantasy. Now he wants me to do some crap work. I am working on a motion and a cross-motion, and he wants me to track down a disability note for an asshole client. But, I will do it. I need my paycheck on Friday. I guess for now, I will be best served by imagining my own death - that final release from HELL.