When bad lawyers happen to good people

My favorite legal journal, Cracked, lists “the 5 most blatantly corrupt lawyers in history.”

In 2002, four little girls lost both their parents in a car crash. Attorney John Milton Merritt stepped in and did what any good public servant would do in that situation: He sued the shit out of those responsible for the tragic accident — namely, a “tire manufacturer” and an “auto maker” — secured the girls a settlement that would make Charles Dickens proud, and … then he freaking stole it. Let’s say that one more time: He stole a fortune from four little orphan girls.

On three separate occasions, Merritt went to the bank in which the trust fund was deposited, presented a counterfeit court order directing disbursement to him, and walked out carrying large sacks with dollar signs printed on them. Then he promptly spent the blood money on his firm, presumably on avant-garde coffee mugs made out of human skulls. By 2007, two years after his first “withdrawal,” the account was empty. Merritt, however, told the orphans and their grandmother that there was still “several hundred thousand dollars” left before laughing maniacally and making his merry way to his secret volcano lair for a comfortable retirement spent alternately wringing his hands and stroking an unamused lap cat.

Once you descend that far into stereotypical villainy, though, it’s really hard to stop, as evidenced by the fact that four years later Merritt stole $130,000 from the trust account of another client of his — a boy injured in an automobile accident — because apparently caviar tastes sweeter when it’s purchased with bills soaked in children’s tears. Oh, and in the time between burglarizing the orphaned children and the injured one, he stole an additional $3 million by fraudulently setting up lines of credit, falsifying income-tax returns, and forging another attorney’s name on other settlement checks. All at the same fucking bank. Would a little oversight kill you, Quail Creek Bank?

It’s cool, though, because he said he was totally going to give all the kids’ money back — until the federal investigation into his illicit deeds interrupted his plan. Those bastards!

By the way, that wasn’t number one, even though the lawyer not only stole from orphaned children, but he also had the same name as Al Pacino’s character in Devil’s Advocate.

Still, in the end, karma is going to get you:

Patrick Coulton’s lawyers ripped him off to the tune of $275,000 and left him to rot in prison.

But Coulton is getting payback: He now lives in his former lawyer’s home — a three-bedroom house in Miramar that he will eventually own as part of a court-ordered punishment of the two misbehaving attorneys.

Where is Andy’s Dad?

Heavy, dude:

Between all the fun characters, the magical nature of the toys, and burning questions like “What is the sex like between Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head?” it’s easy to forget that there are human characters in this movie. Namely, the toys’ owner, Andy; his little sister, Molly; their mom; and … wait a minute, where’s the dad? This theory by Jess Nevins explains his absence by claiming that, while Buzz Lightyear and Woody are having wacky adventures, Andy’s parents are getting a divorce.

Each Toy Story movie covers a milestone in the life of Andy: his 10th birthday, the first time he goes to summer camp, and the day he leaves for college. And for all of these important events, Andy’s father is always absent, with no explanation. Also, look at Andy’s house: There are photos of Andy, his mom, and his sister, but no dad in sight.

Then there’s the fact that in the first movie, we see the hand of Andy’s mom as she’s bringing over his present. Guess what: There’s no wedding ring.

If Andy’s dad just happened to be on a business trip or was, like, standing in the other room the whole time, you’d still probably see some evidence of his existence. Obviously there could be many, many explanations for this, but it seems likely that either Andy’s parents broke up in a bitter divorce or his dad up and left the family at some point after Molly was conceived (which wasn’t that long before the first movie, since she’s a baby). If the father left recently, this would also explain why the family is moving to a smaller house in the first movie: It’s all they can afford on one salary.

It’s amazing (and kind of depressing) how many animated movies have no fathers in them.  (And even in those that do, it rarely ends well for him.)