My Mother Said Your Father Was Shot in the Balls

His words ricocheted across the playground blacktop with deafening clarity. My sixth grade best friend, Andy Stewart, was racing towards me yelling at the top of his lungs: “HEY, LANG… MY MOTHER SAID YOUR FATHER WAS SHOT IN THE BALLS!” He yelled again. “HEY, LANG! MY MOTHER SAID YOUR FATHER WAS SHOT IN THE BALLS!”

Then there was silence–the type of silence you remember when you awake in the middle of the night and you are waiting for the monsters to come out. Kids stopped playing, basketballs stopped bouncing…

 

Sleazy Legal

Did you ever imagine getting a divorce was more difficult than the marriage that got you there? Well, it happened to me.

After a decade of darkness with the wife of the new millennium, the two of us agreed that our lives were worth saving and in order to continue to exist we needed to get away from each other. Agreeing that it made no sense to pay expensive attorneys, we settled our own affairs and decided to take the cheap way out: a paralegal service that would file the divorce papers for a fee and we would be finished. Slam dunk baby! My marriage wasn’t going into overtime — I was ending the game. Swish!

Being the smart sophisticated writer that I am, I spied a paralegal service on the boulevard as I listened to an oldies station on the radio. It was going to be easy, fast and cheap. As if the heavens opened up, the light shown down on this little storefront that I will forever call: Sleazy Legal. God was taking me to the Promised Land; the avenue from hell leading to heaven and Sleazy Legal was like the gates of St. Peter opening up for me. Fantastic! I was ready to start my life over and these people were going to make my divorce easy. Sleazy Legal. Yeah!