It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for Jose Baez at the Orlando courthouse yesterday. Nothing at all was right. It was stressful, awful, dreadful, and rotten. The kind of day that makes you want to hide under the OJ Simpson NFL themed covers of your racecar bed and bawl to your obese pug, Casey Marie, about how unfair life really is. Then beat the living crap out of your tear stained pillow while cursing your boss for having the gall to expect you to actually do your job.
Things were rocky from the moment the mouthbreathing bag of lipids opened his eyes in the morning. Hungover and running late, his quickie breakfast of Coca Cola and Poprocks left the bloated PeeWee Herman with a monstrous bellyache that lasted all morning. Adding to the chaos, the tape deck in his Gremlin was stuck on “loop,” so he couldn’t get pumped to the Miami Vice soundtrack on his way to the courthouse, as per usual.
The Gods were clearly against him.
But it only got worse as the morning progressed. “He told Mason he had a tummyache and wanted to go home,” says a source, “but Mason totally chewed him out and threatened to quit if he did, so he had to stay.” In all of his hungover tomfoolery, he then mistook the bailiff for a waiter, and ordered a round of margaritas for the defense team. Shot down by reality once again, he plopped down in his chair, put on his pouty face, and wondered aloud why he was even there.
Then the hearing commenced, and he had to endure minutes upon minutes of professional, grownup talk by prosecutors Ashton and Burdick, filled with $100 words he had never even heard before, which only worsened his already splitting headache. Mumbles Mason tried to do the bulk of the talking for the defense, since Jose’s rapidly expanding, growling tummy was teetering on the threshold of exploding, but the sour old coot could barely even slur some inaudible slop in Boss Perry’s direction. Mason fumbled nearly all 20 gajillion motions they had brilliantly hammered out nights before between bong hits and tequila shots in Jose’s basement.
And to top it all off, Boss Perry and the prosecutors had the nerve to tell Team Lobotomized Cheech and Chong that they hadn’t followed court orders, and had missed the deadlines to file said motions, and even imposed sanctions on their asses. “Deadlines are deadlines,” stated the boss, as Jose rolled his eyes in disbelief at the irrational injustice of it all. Boss Perry then delivered the real kick in the crotch and broke it down even further, giving specific instructions on how to perform his job, and threatening to fine his ass $500/day for non-compliance.
After the hearing, a visibly shaken Baez headed straight home and crawled under the covers for a good old fashioned hysterical hissyfit. Then he ate his feelings in the form of a meat-lovers pizza and a six pack of Tecate, and called Amnesty International and the ACLU to drunkenly discuss his options regarding suing Judge Perry.
Stay tuned to Egg Tree News for developments in this breaking story.