I Bite Back

Best practices require that I state at the outset that I do not possess a law degree, paralegal training, formal or informal knowledge of the laws of this city, county, state, or country, or any familiarity whatsoever with the traditions of conduct associated with Judeo-Christian law. In any legal proceeding, I have no authority to represent anybody but myself.

However, as you can see from my billboards and bus-shelter ads, I do possess a dog and a bull. The dog, when it opens its mouth, shows off its large, pointed teeth, connected top to bottom by strands of saliva. My bull is of the breed that, when you mess with it, you get the horn. If you’re wondering why my bull has only one horn, that is the reason. As for my own teeth, they make the dog’s teeth and the bull’s horn seem like nothing. Though I cannot sue the people or entities that have wronged you, I BITE BACK, and you will owe me nothing until I bite.

Injured at work? I will bite the headquarters of the company that’s responsible, chew up the chain-link fence around its employee parking lot, and gnaw the vents of its HVAC system from the outside. After seeing this, the wrongdoers usually rush to settle. Trip on a sidewalk? I will bite that sidewalk. I crush the concrete or slate or asphalt with my powerful molars, and snip the nearest street sign off at the base with my incisors. Then—watch the compensation dollars roll in! Maybe some powerful biter has bitten you, and you are thinking of biting back on your own. I strongly recommend against that. The big biters out there are well protected. Perhaps you’ve heard the phrase “eat the rich”? Maybe you’ve even seen the recipes—Filet of Ackman au Gratin, Roast Bezos Stuffed with Kochs?

Members of the wealth-intensive class know very well that people want to bite and even eat them, and they have taken precautions. The strong-jawed, sharp-toothed individuals they have in their employ would masticate you to a paste in about ten seconds. So leave the biting to me!

If you want references, check out my résumé. Forty years ago, in a class-action biting, I chewed a sizable chunk off of the nuclear reactor at Three Mile Island, then dragged it into the Susquehanna River, worried it into pieces with my scythe-like canine teeth, and partly buried it in the sand. This so impressed a federal judge that he awarded plaintiffs some of the largest damages in history. I bit the nuke plant at Fukushima, so now, on top of everything else, my choppers are radioactive—defendants, take note! (I am not technically allowed to represent anybody in a lawsuit or to refer to anybody I bite as “defendant.”)

I bit Swift’s Premium Bacon, Inc., but that was just because I was hungry. No matter—they settled anyway. I bit the dog belonging to another personal-injury biter, which made the papers. You may have seen the headlines: “Biting Man Bites Other Biting Man’s Dog.” The Sackler family has me on permanent retainer, but I take it out when I want to bite somebody, including them. If you have been injured in an automobile accident, I will chase that automobile, or any other vehicle that goes by my office. My door is always open, and that’s why. I also chase ambulances and catch and bite them in my spare time.

Hurt in a slipper-and-fall accident? That’s something that happens all too frequently. You go to slip your foot into your bedroom slipper, it slips out from under you, and you slip and fall. Somebody—or something—must pay! In this case, it will be the bedroom slipper itself. Nothing gives my clients more satisfaction than watching me chew slippers. I take them in my teeth—both slippers, because in cases like this no slipper is innocent, not even the one that technically didn’t cause the slipper-and-fall—and I chomp down on them. Then I shake my head vigorously back and forth while pieces of leather and the highly culpable fleece lining go flying in every direction. Then I leave the slippers, bitten and head-thrashed to shreds, lying in disgrace on the closet floor. This way, the general slipper-wearing public is protected from future hazard.

What won’t I do? Bite mailmen or mail-ladies. They have plenty to contend with already. I leave that for the dregs of the personal-injury biters. Whatever the grievance, I will not bite Sid Taser, Annette Taser, or any other member of that family, so please don’t ask me to. I don’t bite Reddy Kilowatt, regardless of the losses you may have incurred in a power failure. (I learned my lesson there.) And I don’t bite bear-spray sales reps. Those exceptions aside, I am ready and eager to bite everything right again for you. ♦