The guy who sued his dry cleaner for $54 million for losing a pair of pants has been quite an inspiration to me. Right now, I'm thinking of suing my barber for $60 million. I wouldn't have even thought about it if it weren't for the pants man.
I told Billy that I wanted my hair short but not THAT short. And what does he do, he goes and cuts it THAT short. I took pictures. I've got the evidence. What does he think — that my hair grows on trees?
It was very important that I look good that day because it was the first day of my $75 million suit against Carl, my auto mechanic. If I had looked better, I might have won the case. I might have been a little sharper on the witness stand if I wasn't so depressed about not looking my best.
Personally, I like Carl and I hated to sue him, but he said he would have my car back on Tuesday, and it wasn't ready until Wednesday. I was planning to take Sue to the movies that Tuesday night, and we couldn't go. So I'm really only suing Carl for the price of the movie tickets. The rest of the money is legal fees.
I'm representing myself, and — sorry, Carl — my time is very expensive. I wanted to be compensated for all the pain and suffering I had gone through. For example, Sue said she would divorce me if I sued my barber and my mechanic. I'm thinking of suing her for saying that, but I know we haven't got $60 million, so what's the point? It's not worth my time. You just have to let some things go.
Unfortunately, they threw out my case on a technicality. Apparently, I had signed some form when I picked up the car, and in the tiny, sneaky print it says that the mechanic is not responsible for every little thing that goes wrong in my life. Oh, sure, blame the victim. I'm thinking of suing the company that prints the form. Who can read that stuff?
It wouldn't surprise me at all to find out that the judge and Carl are in cahoots. Carl probably fixes the judge's Lexus. Billy probably cuts the judge's hair. That's the system for you, always cheating the little guy.
Normally, I would have been depressed. I would have given up, but I asked myself, "What would Pants Man do?" Would he give up? NO! Would he say this is silly, get a real job? NO! He fights on. And so will I.
That waitress that deliberately gave me the regular soda instead of the diet — she's getting a bill for $40 million. I know it was deliberate because she gave me a look that said, "What's the point of ordering a diet soda if you're ordering fried clams with French fries and coleslaw." Just never you mind, missy.
This morning I slapped our letter carrier with a $100 million suit. This one should be a slam dunk. I found a letter addressed to my next-door neighbor mixed in with my mail yesterday, which means I carried the extra weight of that envelope from the mailbox on the front porch to the kitchen where, much to my horror, I discovered it. The extra weight could have given me a heart attack. I'm sure I pulled a muscle carrying all that extra weight. I feel a pain in my neck, a big pain. It took quite a while to calm myself down after that brush with death.
I may need years of physical therapy — in one of those German spas, say, Baden-Baden. If that doesn't work, and I have a feeling it won't, a trip to China for some acupuncture might be in order. But I don't know how many new cases I can take on right now. I'm having trouble finding a new barber and a new mechanic. Business must be good. They all say they're overbooked and can't take on any new customers.
Jim Mullen is the author of "It Takes a Village Idiot: Complicating the Simple Life" and "Baby's First Tattoo." You can reach him at firstname.lastname@example.org