Philadelphia Eagles’ Meeting Transcript Proves Rush Linbaugh is Not a Racist or a Big Fat Idiot

Scott Cohen: "The offense stats have declined. Revenues are down. We need to bring in [inaudible]."

Joe Banner: "Well, we have about 5 million left for player acquisition. [inaudible] If we make the playoffs we'll net over 15 million."

Jeffrey Lurie: "I don’t want the most talented, damn it. I want diversity. I want underachievers. [Pacing noise] I want the interbred. I want the downtrodden. People like you [pause] and me!" [throat clearing]

Andy Reid: "People like you, Jeff? [Farting sound] Weren’t you a pasty uncoordinated nerd?"

Jeffrey Lurie: "Only because I wasn’t given a [bleeping] chance, damn it. [Loud bang, breaking glass] That’s what I want to do, give others a [bleeping] chance. Create opportunities. [Bleep, bleep] it. Give hope."

Andy Reid: "I can’t win games with hope, Jeff."

Jeffrey Lurie: "[Bleep] it. Who’s talking about winning. America was built on hope. I’m building America, Andy, you [bleeping] son of a [bleep]."

Joe Banner: "What about the board?" [Burp]

Jeffrey Lurie: "[Bleep] the board. I went from janitor to millionaire because I was given a chance. What’s your last choice for quarterback?"

[Inaudible, retching, logie hurling noises.]

Jeffrey Lurie: "Yeah, McNabb’s perfect. Call his [bleep bleep] up. Forget the rest. Jim, you can keep your defense but I want a complete overhaul of the offense and special teams. Scott, Brad, I don’t care where you have to go but I want female kickers, native American running-backs, pasty nerd janitor receivers, pigmies for our special teams, Asian centers, ex-con half-backs, Gulf-War-Vet guards, Afghani full-backs, and handicapped linemen."

Andy Reid: "Are you out of you [bleeping] mind. I mean [inaudible]. What the [inaudible]. You’re [inaudible, laughter]."

Jeffrey Lurie: "No, Andy. I'm a visionary--just like Leo. Get with the program or be replaced by the ‘water boy.’ You wait, this giving-a-chance-thing will be league wide in two years."

Joe Banner: "Well I guess we’ll save money on salaries."

Jeffrey Lurie: "Absolutely not. Let’s not be selfish. Max us out."

Brad Childres: "Holy [bleep] you can’t be serious." [Snorting, noise].

Jeffrey Lurie: "Damn right I am. Get to work. [Butt slapping] Oh, and one more thing. We need a player that can give aging, white, bloated wind-bags hope. [Pause] Hmmm. Got it. Joe, see if Rush Linbaugh’s interested in being our backup quarterback or maybe he could augment the cheerleading squad."

Loren M. Lambert
© October 4, 2003

Confessions of a Torturer

I should be silent. I should fear the approbation I will pull down upon my head by my confession. But silence is no longer an option. Silence only emboldens the despots that fund, encourage and order torture as a state policy. Though I must accept responsibility for my own choice to bow to their authority, until we reform the institutions of torture, though I and others may leave the torturers’ ranks, the evil will continue. They taught me deception to capture my prey and to then inflict confinement, isolation, sustenance deprivation, chemical poisoning and finally impalement. How did they corrupt my heart, ensuring years of service and blind acquiescence to their orders? They employed the mother of all extortions: my children.

Every fall it starts. While settling in for four months of football, one of them will appear in the rec room, hovering over my Laz-Z-Boy, demanding help to locate, capture, kill then display numerous six-legged creatures as an offering to their teacher. Goaded on by the fear they will fail grade school and never leave home, I rise from my throne barking out orders. Get the net! Man the jars! Retrieve the cotton balls! Bring the alcohol! When all is fetched, we’re off to the swamp park.

Soon we’re catching bugs. I’m about to toss an alcohol-soaked-cotton ball in the first bug jar when one bug turns her brown, moist eyes on me. Another deftly rolls on his back and gently waves his little multi-jointed, exoskeletal legs and antennae imitating our cuddly Pit Bull, Rascal. While another, flying up and down in the jar, motions to me, simpering, "Please. I have children." That’s it. I can’t do it. I can’t kill such resourceful creatures. Then the vision of kids who never leave home again pops into my mind.

Maybe, I suggest, my son can turn in live specimens. So, with Noah as our inspiration, we try packing them all live into our two jars. Surely if two of every animal on earth can coexist on a cramped Ark for 40 days, we can get 12 different bugs into our jars. But I’m wrong. The bugs don’t cooperate. As a new one’s placed in, another escapes. A frisky Praying Mantis starts taste testing his cell mates. We have no choice--some of the bugs must die so others may live. But which? I decide to discriminate: biting, common and ugly bugs get the death penalty; cute, colorful, fascinating bugs get life-behind bars with the possibility of parole. Explaining this to my nine-year-old son, he pulls himself up to his full 48 inches. Tenting his hands before him and boring into me with his eyes he states, "Many who live deserve death, and many who die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Do not be so eager to deal out death and judgment."

Hmmm. The words sear my soul like Sting biting into Shelob’s bloated abdomen. So I count to ten. While sparing the ladybugs, butterflies and praying mantis, I cotton-ball the flies, mosquitoes, wasps and beetles. Instantly they begin to twitch, then slowly die. I feel terrible. Hence this confession and epiphany: why not combine science and art? Let the kids catch them, photograph or draw them, and then set Willie free. Is this too much to ask? No, I plead, please, for the love of Albert Schweitzer, don’t make me torture again next fall--in bug collecting merge the disciplines of art and science!

Loren M. Lambert September 13, 2003

Utah, Speed-Bump Utopia!

I despise speed bumps. I would bet good money that there’s a correlation between their burgeoning numbers and Utah’s birthrate. You see, instead of batting our speeding teens up the side of the head, we build speed bumps and then slip the lead foots the keys to the Hummer. There are probably five speed bumps to every Utah teen and three times as much cursing as we all eerk, squeak, squeak our merry spasmodic way through the trailer park. However, after watching my grandma waddle across the street from her condo the other day with only a one-finger salute and a speed bump between her and the teens she was taunting, I have softened up a bit. I mean, hey, such a heartening display of geriatric rage should be admired, if not encouraged.

Moreover, speed bumps are not without precedent. Look at adolescent acne--speed bumps to underage sex. Then there’s wrinkles, baldness, prolific coarse-and-gray ear, nose, #@*!$ and back hair--speed bumps to overage sex. And finally, marriage--speed bump to any sex.

No, we should not forsake nature nor humanity's creation of risk reducing remedies but improve upon them. For instance, to curb birthrates, don’t just extend the virtues of marriage to just gays--let poodles, mosquitoes and guppies marry. Similarly, we could create a bra with multiple rows and layers of fake breasts and give all adolescents hair-growth hormones so their wandering fingers, searching for the craggy peaks of the Misty Mountains or heading towards the forbidden forests of Fangorn, get lost in the foothills or tangled in a mass of bristling shrubbery.

We could require tobacco companies to lace cigarette filters with glass shards as speed bumps to nicotine addiction. We could force breweries to design containers so that intoxicating spirits seep out in infuriating droplets--speed bumps to alcoholism. And while we’re at it, let’s engineer all of our roads so that if a driver dares exceed the speed limit, he and his vehicle will be pummeled into molecular oblivion. If we do these things, birthrates will drop, our driving ranks will mature and mellow, and then we’ll be safe to eliminate all the speed bumps. Yeah, baby--move backwards to go forward.

Let’s do it! All I ask on our way to speed-bump utopia is that we impose a speed-bump tax to replace my brakes and adjust the suspension on my, uh, well, car.

Loren M. Lambert
September 7, 2003

The Myth of Lawyer Incivility

In your recent article about "incivility" among lawyers, I was amused to see the infamous phrase I coined a decade ago being trotted out by Mr. Carney. I penned the phrase in response to an allegedly more seasoned attorney’s delay tactics and numerous derisive taunts about my lack of trial skills, lack of experience with a particular Judge, and the merits of my client’s case. I chided this attorney for not answering the "damn phone" and I informed him, tongue in cheek, that "a retarded monkey with Alzheimer's" could win the case. Although too flippant in my expressions, I do not regret them. I only lament that your readers do not have the benefit of experiencing the condescending behavior that inspired them.

Fact is, I was as angry then and I am now with the Bar’s Graybeards that ignore the sources of incivility. While a velvet tongue is useful in maintaining civility, there are greater sins of incivility rampant among our judges and the Utah Bar’s senior leadership. These fossils of the imagined halcyon days when all lawyers and judges were civil invariably mislabel frank and direct speech that calls them on their bullish behavior as "uncivil." With self-righteous indignation and the veiled agenda of hobbling their competition, they target younger lawyers or the more flamboyant for punishment for being the alleged epitome of incivility.

While these senior attorneys and judges may never utter a "damn" nor a sarcastic phrase, many are guilty of more substantial incivility. They use their positions and knowledge, not as civilizing tools of persuasion and justice, but as weapons to bludgeon and demonstrate their superiority. They belittle, connive and patronize. They are rude and inpatient, often treating attorneys and parties before them with no concern for their humanity, their schedules or their time. They never enlighten, empathize or apologize. No, the Bar membership does not suffer from a lack of civility, it suffers from a lack of leadership. To the Frank Carneys of the Bar, I say clean up the leadership before you smugly tally the sins of the rank and file.

Loren M. Lambert
August 26, 2003

Krakauer Coughs Up a Crock

Jon Krakauer recently intimated that the LDS church has culpability for the Lafferty murders. What a crock. He needs to hang out more on death row instead of venturing into thin air. If he did, I suspect he would discover that most murderers have some petty or grandiose excuse for their heinous actions–whether it be the Twinkie defense, the I’m-on-a-diet defense, the I-must-cleanse-humanity defense or the God–told–me-to–do-it defense. Yet, no one suggests the abolishment of Twinkies, diets, politics or religion. Rare is the murderer who admits killing because they’re just a sick bastard who enjoyed it.

Maybe I misunderstood Mr. Krakauer. Maybe what he really meant to say was that many seemingly innocuous entities that teach a particular dogma or set of rules and require obedience thereto harbor fanatics and psychopaths. If so these entities, when possible, should root them out. I agree. It’s farfetched, however, to state that the LDS Church, as an entity, had anything to do with the Lafferty murders. Murderers simply blanket themselves in whatever philosophical cloak that’s at hand to cover the nakedness of their depravity and to comfort their failing consciences. Had the Laffertys been members of the Mickey Mouse Club, we’d probably be reading, "Under the Banner of Mickey," instead of "Under the Banner of Heaven."

Perhaps those reading Mr. Krakauer’s book will misunderstand his message and, like Lenin, will advocate the extermination of religion and its adherents. If they do, they are no better than the Laffertys. Religion is as endemic to human thought as is music. Both course through our souls. Deprived of either we will wither or invent them anew. Fail to choose a religion and a religion will inexorably choose you. It could be the LDS church, the I-hate-religion-religion, the Amway religion, the fans-of–Jon–Krakauer religion, the drunkard’s religion, the AA religion, or even the I-work-and-write-like-a-slave religion. So choose wisely. While the tune of my soul may not be music to your ears, and while your or my religion may cause some to exclaim, "What the %$#?," let’s grant everyone their little piece of faith-based irrationality and then work hard to weed out the zealots and psychopaths.

Loren M. Lambert © August 1st, 2003

Kobe vs. the Rape Shield Doctrine

Only two people know what happened that led to charges being filed against Kobe Bryant--Kobe and his accuser--not the prosecutor, not the defense, not his wife, not her mother, not the media and not you, or I. As the media furor kicks into full gear to feed our voyeuristic pleasure, please keep this in mind before passing judgment. Better yet, don’t pass any judgment, just pray that the jury makes the right decision.

We live in a society where rape and its bedfellows go more undetected than deterred and where simultaneously the temptation to bear false witness grows in proportion to the size of the alleged perpetrator’s billfold or the needs of the alleged victim’s ego. Under such circumstances, prosecutors are under enormous pressure to charge and convict, sometimes at all costs. Likewise, defense counsel feel the strain of knowing that of all crimes, rape charges bear a greater probability of the innocent being convicted.

Why? Because Kobe will go one on one in a battle that years ago was tipped in favor of the accuser because of the overly zealous application of the Rape Shield Doctrine that bars evidence of the accuser’s sexual proclivities and incredulity. This Doctrine has legalized the presumption that, unlike brutish men, woman never maliciously lie about or use sex or the lack thereof to gain an advantage. This has the effect of nullifying the presumption that one is innocent until proven guilty. Kobe therefore faces the fight of his life. Hopefully, despite the Doctrine, either the jury will acquit in the face of inconclusive evidence or, under the best scenario, there will be convincing evidence leaving no doubt about Kobe’s guilt or innocence. But this rarely happens, especially with rape. Hence, under the Rape Shield Doctrine, in a close case if there is evidence that the accuser has used sex to falsely accuse or to blackmail, Kobe will not be allowed to present this evidence.

Because of this, I do not champion nor condemn Kobe or his accuser. I merely pray hoping the worst does not occur--that the Doctrine prevents a presentation of the truth and the jury thereby convicts an innocent man. If so, we will all lose and have complicity in his loss. However, quickly forgetting, we’ll turn off our televisions and turn in for bed while Kobe, never to forget, will turn in his yellow Laker’s uniform for an orange prison jumpsuit.

Loren M. Lambert
July 29, 2003

Orrin Hatch, Would Be Priest of the Flag Worship Cult

Under the influence of a Peyote-spiked humidifier, mixed with an ample helping of Mormon mythology, a prepubescent Orrin Hatch envisioned the U.S. Constitution hanging by a thread. In his delirium, he noticed that the thread was a tattered Red, White and Blue. He saw the country wallowing in debt, drugs and depravity. He further envisioned, to his horror, the Old Glory, a door mat here, a bikini over there, and worst of all, the sodden swaddle of an infant. When he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he then spied hundreds of unkempt citizens burning flags. No, he wailed, not this! Then a voice rang out, "Orrin, save Old Glory and save the country." Waking in a sweat he then knew his destiny was to save the flag and be crowned the Constitution’s unquestioned savior.

Knowing this, you should forgive Orrin for his misguided flag fixation. In his mind, patriotism is not borne of having the most vibrant, free and just democracy in the world but by ensuring, under the threat of prison, that we all revere, worship and display Old Glory in exactly the same manner. To accomplish this he will have himself and others legislatively ordained the High Priests of the Flag Worship Cult. Then, to ensure that no insecure American is ever again offended by some tasteless display of flag abuse, these Priests will instruct us in proper flag worship rituals.

Things could have been different. You see, the prepubescent Orrin woke too soon from his vision and the poor thing never saw it all. With just a little more Peyote in his humidifier, the youthful Orrin would have seen that the alarming rate in flag-burning tendencies in our future citizenry was the result of fascist laws allowing unbridled searches and seizures, unlimited surveillance into our private lives, the elimination of our freedoms of speech and disempowering of "we the people."

Hence, for the love of Pete, we should urge Senator Hatch to get with his buddy Senator Bennett, rev up his old Peyote-spiked humidifier and finish the vision. If he does, he will realize that to ensure proper reverence toward the Old Red, White and Blue, instead of passing laws to force citizens into an outward display of ritual flag worship, he should work to ensure that because of our country’s greatness, a majority of our citizens will, from the bottom of their heartfelt patriotism, voluntarily give Old Glory and maybe even Senator Hatch their due respect.

Loren M. Lambert, January 18, 2003

Corporate Welfare and the Alleged Medical Malpractice Crisis

President Bush says we’re too litigious, and he’s right. Every time there is a disagreement that cannot be resolved, instead of shooting each other, litigation breaks out like zeros in an attorney’s bank account. Then, after all the evidence is presented, either a judge or a jury from the American public decides the outcome. Apparently, the President thinks that placing such trust in the public is as foolhardy as allowing a majority vote to elect the presidency; Both just lead to bad results. He also claims that because we are too litigious, doctors can’t pay for malpractice insurance (which costs are really passed on to us). To solve this problem, he suggests that instead of judges and juries deciding damages, he, congress and the insurance companies should arbitrarily cap them. He is wrong.

In comparison to the enormous profits made, medical malpractice premiums are no more expensive than other liability policies. The fact is that the insurance industry is orchestrating this alleged "medical malpractice crisis" to obtain legislative corporate welfare. It works like this: Medical malpractice cases are the most difficult case to win because: (1) contrary to some whiners’ beliefs, the medical profession is cut more slack by American juries than any other, and (2), the medical profession will not police its own. Knowing this, insurance carriers, even in the face obvious malpractice, instruct their attorneys and doctors to litigate instead of settle. Hence they pay millions to their attorneys, expert witnesses, and adjustors. Consequently, infinitely more money is spent defending malpractice claims than is ever spent paying them. Making matters worse, as is corporate America’s custom, insurance CEOs are paid millions for the bad management.

So now, instead of suffering the consequences of their decisions, they have found an easy dupe in the President. If they can get him to push through legislation that will artificially cap damages awarded to the victims of medical malpractice, they can deflect attention from their bad management practices and pocket the savings. There is a better way. Before taking money from people who usually will need catastrophically expensive medical care, let’s cap the salaries of insurance CEOs, the salaries of insurance industries’ attorneys, and charges for medical care.

Loren M. Lambert, January 17, 2003