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(79 People Likes) As a lawyer, what's the wildest evidence you've used in court?
at made the case different was the product at issue. My client was a sculptor who worked in Hollywood on realistic models. He came to work for a company which produced full size silicone love dolls. The agreement was that he would receive a percentage of the profits from his improvement of the dolls and other “products.” My client had left and started his own silicone doll company which competed directly with the original company. The other company filed a cross-complaint alleging that my client had created his dolls while still working at the first company and had stolen proprietary information as to how they were made. The evidence used in court included 8 of the female dolls, a flat back torso, various heads and a “real cock.” Opposing counsel and I had to handle and ask questions about the various products. Although opposing counsel would only refer to the “real cock” as the “RC,” he did not seem to have a problem waving the 11″ silicone penis around during questioning. During litigation, there were disputes over what documents and other evidence should be produced, so we were assigned to a “discovery judge” to informally help us with what was relevant a
(84 People Likes) While sorting through a deceased person's possessions, what is the most disturbing thing you found?
/br> My father had only one sibling: A much younger brother (thanks to the intervening years of WWII). My uncle was always the black sheep of the family, and an odd one. He was racist, but dated a black woman for a while. He was a bigot, but once brought a Jewish friend over to our place for Christmas. He was clearly a “before” photo in a print hair product ad, but insisted he was the “after” photo. He was married for a while, but he and his wife (who was rather unpleasant herself) had an extremely nasty divorce, and his wife eventually won sole custody of their one child. They lived a couple hours drive away, and we’d visit him at least a couple times a year before the divorce. One of the things he was proud of was his big screen rear projection TV. My brother and I would watch movies he recorded off of cable whenever we visited (sometimes trying to ignore the shouting matches between my uncle and his wife in the background). After my uncle’s divorce, he’d visit us at least once a year (on Christmas). At first, he’d bring his son (my cousin), but later came on his own when he was restricted to supervised visits. My cousin was always ill-behaved, and he and my uncle would wear the same clothes (one year, both showed up in camouflage outfits). Whenever my uncle would start badmouthing his ex within earshot of my cousin, my parents would tell him to shut up. Eventually, his ex-wife got sole custody, changed her name, and we have no idea where she or my cousin are to this day. My uncle wouldn’t let us visit him at the smaller house he moved into after the divorce. When my grandmother in Germany died, my mother and uncle flew there to settle the estate. He took some things that were meant for us, including an antique cabinet, my father’s own 1950s comic book collection, and (something my father wanted back) my father’s old movie magazine collection. My uncle physically intimidated my mother into letting him take all of the above. She was too frightened to protest. Whenever my uncle visited us, my father would ask about our property that was still in his custody. My uncle would deny having the cabinet, and say the comics and magazines were possibly in boxes he hadn’t had a chance to go through yet. And, no, we couldn’t visit and look through his boxes ourselves. When my uncle died (he had a heart attack when he was working on restoring his cheap old Mercedes at a garage), we finally got to see where he had been living alone for the past 10 or so years. The mystery of why we weren’t allowed to visit him was solved. The place was a nightmare. It looked like a nice enough townhouse from the outside, but the first room inside was a living room with a floor almost completely covered with piles of VHS tapes — there were hills of plastic all over, consisting of either used tapes he bought from Blockbuster or blank tapes with movies recorded on them. There was a (dirty) comfy chair, and the same rear-projection TV my brother and I watched movies on as kids (now very outdated technology). When we tried it, the picture on it was barely visible. We couldn’t see how watching his films on it could be all that enjoyable. He didn’t have a DVD player, although they were becoming pretty standard by then. The antique cabinet we were supposed to inherit from my grandmother, which he claimed not to have, was there too, piled with VHS tapes (mostly his VHS collection of Star Trek TNG). The cabinet my grandmother was so proud of was all scratched up, dirty and in poor condition. It was one of the things we left for the landlord to sell off, to offset what would no doubt be large cleaning costs. Lying around the kitchen were numerous garbage bags filled with trash, some containing milk that was months out of date. Some of the food in the fridge was moldy. The bathroom was piled with junk. Everything was covered in mold. He had placed a tiny mat in the bathtub where he obviously stood to take showers — the rest of the tub was covered in mold. In fact, all the rooms were full of bags of garbage, boxes of papers and other items, and some items just lying around. You could barely move around. It was like the house had little islands where he spent his life when he wasn’t at the garage, like the bed, the chair in the living room (where he’d watch tapes on his crappy old TV), a small chair and table in the kitchen, the mat in the bathtub, etc. The rent was paid until the end of the month, so my parents and I (I had time off from school) took some time to go through everything and see what if anything could be salvaged. My father found his old movie magazines. I found a really old issue of Detective Comics that through years of abuse had turned into a falling apart, moldy rag, and that’s it. My father went through all my uncle’s old papers. The many documents, including reports from social workers, letters from his son’s school, letters from both parties’ lawyers, court documents, etc, all built up an extremely depressing picture. My uncle, for example, accused his ex-wife of shacking up with criminals and drug dealers. He also made accusations of at least one boyfriend sexually abusing my cousin. For example, there were pictures supposedly drawn by my cousin suggesting his mother had sex or took drugs in front of him, and that he was touched inappropriately by one man. Did my cousin really draw those himself, or was he coached into drawing them? We have no idea. From reports, they had been shown to social workers, etc, but they never found cause to take my cousin away from his mother. We doubted the mother was entirely innocent — we saw what a hateful, vindictive person she could be — but drug abuse and sexual abuse? We had no idea what was fact and what was fantasy, but have little doubt my uncle believed at least some of it. We do know that my uncle put my cousin through some emotional and psychological abuse himself (which is why he lost all visitation rights). Here’s a report from my cousin’s school about how whenever my ex-aunt dropped him off for class, my uncle would show up later, drag him out of class, and insist on changing him out of clothes his mother (the ex-wife) had dressed him in. Here’s a letter from the school, banning my uncle from entering the premises due to the distress he was causing his son. Etc. Here’s a mini-tape recorder and tapes of phone conversations, and meetings where you can only understand the occasional word because, we assume, my uncle recorded the meetings secretly. There were also documents showing he had at least contemplated taking his son out of the country, e.g. researching which countries would not return his son to Canada. The only thing we know for certain is this: My cousin went through some horrible experiences, and was caught in the middle of a war between two very selfish, immature people. It must have been hell for my father to go through these documents. My brother and I grew up despising my uncle as a pathetic creature. But to my poor father, it was his baby brother whom he still loved despite his faults. It was shattering for him to see all this evidence of my uncle’s mental deterioration. He also had fond memories of holding my cousin when he was still a baby, so seeing what he went through would also have hurt. My father loved kids and was always great with them. My father also dug up my uncle’s will and any other records he could. My mother was named executor. Everything was left to my parents, and his wife explicitly excluded. My parents hired a lawyer to settle the estate, knowing that my uncle’s ex would likely be hostile. Their intention was to ensure the ex was informed, and to give her and my cousin a share of the estate. The police got into contact with my uncle’s ex-wife, who refused to speak to any of us. She was predictably only interested in claiming as much of the estate as she could. And she asked for some astronomically ridiculous amount — something like $1 million from an ex who no longer owned any property, hadn’t worked for ages, and had spent almost all of his money on legal bills and quack treatments for heart problems. The most valuable item in the estate was a scholarship plan my uncle had saved up for my cousin. Excepting a small payout, the money he invested into it could only be claimed by my cousin if he was actually accepted into university. My parents considered it to belong to my cousin. I have no idea if my cousin made use of the scholarship, or if his mother claimed the payout and ran. After legal fees? The estate was pretty much nothing but the scholarship and what was left in his bank account. Despite her being cut out of the will, I think my parents also paid a bit out of pocket to my ex-aunt just to get it over with. The Mercedes my uncle was working on when he died? It was a worthless, ugly piece of crap. My parents wound up giving it away to an elderly neighbour who was a really great guy but a bit of a hoarder and collector of junk himself, so he could at least drive it the short distance to town to buy groceries (all the hunk of scrap metal was good for). My father (now deceased) never got to see his nephew again, or even talk to him on the phone to ask how he was doing. My cousin mad
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(49 People Likes) How would you react if your spouse or significant other wants you to have cosmetic surgery to improve the way you look to others?
vy with a traditional hour glass. 32–31–39 - yah, big hippies! And naturally I had zero boobs but broad shoulders. Literally an A cup but there was major asymmetry with my breasts, one was an A cup, the other was half an A cup. Every single man I’d ever dated had expressed to me they wanted me to get a boob job. I never considered it prior to men telling me I needed it. Never, ever because I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. My mom has similar cup size had 3 kids. Is it that big a deal? Apparently yes. I wasn’t taking the hint truly, I didn’t realize how important breasts are for a man to find a woman attractive. Plus I was doing physical work small boobs were perfect. Fast forward I was dating my now husband who again, brought up my least favorite topic! My breast size. At this point in life though, I did notice my asymmetrical boobies were facing other problems. The once perky pointy breasts were now pointing downwards. And I was in my mid twenties! Disheartened, I still ignored it told my now husband to f*ck off get over it. But he pressed and said it was more about sexual satisfaction, and would make my body more proportioned etc. Let me say though, my husband is tolerant of many physical flaws. I have cellulite, no thigh gap, I get breakouts, have flabby arms plenty of stretch marks from youthful weight gain. He’s never complained about any of those issues. I am not a stick, although I really wish I were! At the time of this early request for breast enhancement, I was super fit, in the best shape of my life and thin at 135 lbs a size 4. I am now still a healthy BMI but have that annoying 10lbs i’d Like gone. My husband has also worked with tons of models in his career. He’s a designer understands symmetry of the body. So after finally getting engaged I relented since he was willing to pay. I figured if nothing else, it would help with wedding dress shopping because with my tiny boobs, clothes never once fit properly I always had to have the bust taken in. We found a surgeon despite tons of fear leading up to it, I went through with it. The immediate improvement to the appearance of my breasts post op completely blew me away. In retrospect, I think I was in complete denial about how severe my asymmetry had become frankly how unattractive my breasts were. I just thought of them as lumps of flesh and perceverated on my many other flaws. I had some nasty backlash from family for getting this done. An aunt I am very close to had some nasty words to say about it behind my back - she hasn’t seen my boobs nor knew my issues. On the contrary, my two best friends, who had seen me naked in locker rooms when we were athletes together in college told me how amazing I looked said they were shocked by the transformation and said I looked great, and completely natural. I’m so happy I went through with it. My body confidence has improved greatly. I disliked being the broad hipped girl with the broad shoulders and no boobs but figured it was my fate. i didn't Think a boob job would solve it. people don’t know I had implants because they look so natural and finally make my body proportional. The few new friends I’ve told Are stunned. The surprising response has been from men walking down the street - I never got hit on at bars or got much attention. Boy has that changed! I think that reaction made me more understanding to my husbands “want” for me to do this. Clearly men respond to breasts. You’d think i’d Realize that earlier on but not being well end lisa ann sex doll wed by nature, I truly didn’t get how hard wired it is in men. Men are so different from women, but that’s for another day… Would I have preferred to marry a man who loved my body exactly as it was? Of course! But it never happened for me… and to be honest, I’ve yet to meet someone who is perfect in life. And if my husband’s biggest flaw is that he didn’t like my breasts, well he joined a club of other men who felt exactly the same. I didn’t hit the genetic lottery and I live in Southern California where each woman I pass is prettier and more perfect than the last. That said, my husband hasn’t asked me to get anything else done. He loves me, cares for me, provides me a wonderful life and is the only person I’ve ever known to love me unconditionally- he was willing to accept me not getting the surgery. He’s my partner in the best sense if altering my physique provides
