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Passions: A Love Story, Part Two

1 Nov

Part One

September 23, 2012

from: Filbert B. Kim (fkim@goldbergkimllc.com)
to: Patricia Wong (twong@goldbergkimllc.com)

Tricia,
 
Some comments:
 
1)      When you have a case name, and you put the words “et al.” after the first plaintiff’s name or first defendant’s name, there must be a comma after the first plaintiff’s name or first defendant’s name.  I have seen this grammatical error repeated, so I do not think this mistake was inadvertent.  Now, you know the rule, so please do not repeat the same mistake.
 
2)      Vartan Gregorian, of Goldman, Silverman & Hastings, is not in the arbitration.  He represents Gorog Nasroobian, the co-defendant who is not part of the arbitration, and who was expressly excluded from the arbitration by his own choice and then the subsequent court order.  Thus, instead, the letter should have been addressed to only Patrick Silverberg and Herbert Pinkney, the two co-counsel for the primary defendant, Oleg Krikorian.  Krikorian is indeed part of the court-ordered arbitration.  But Patrick Silverberg was not even listed in your original letter.  Those are the two relevant co-counsel: Patrick Silverberg and Herbert Pinkney.  Get familiar with their names.
 
3)      There should be two spaces between a period at the end of a sentence and the first word to begin the next sentence.  In this letter, you consistently only put one space.  I have seen recent briefs where you have interchangeably used one space and two spaces.  Sometimes three spaces.  I have had to make repeated changes in this letter and those recent briefs as a result.  This is unacceptable.  Two spaces.  That’s it.
 
You are now a senior associate. The standards set for you are higher than before.  I hope and expect you will meet them.

Respectfully,

Filbert

She needed money.  She had a kid, a 14 year old, the son of some guy from when she was 17.  The guy had owned a car.  That was what had qualified him for fatherhood. He could drive up a block away from the group home and take her to movies and parties.  She squatted on top of him in the back seat; he hadn’t even moved the combination snow brush and ice scraper with the Peak™ antifreeze logo on it, a nice picture of mountains.  Afterwards there was a mirror imprint of the mountains on her shin.  Men with absolutely nothing happening in their lives and no futures just cum in girls.  I mean, why not. Continue reading

Passions: A Love Story

30 Oct

Part One

This is a story about a girl named Astrid, and a boy named Filbert Kim.

Astrid was a foster child who grew up getting gang raped like most kids play tag.  She lost her virginity at age four to her foster brother, who was chopping wood, and when she asked to help, called her a stupid baby.  Then he raped her and dumped her in a kiddie pool.  It didn’t get any better for twenty years until she booked a couple commercials  and a TV pilot and came out to LA.  The pilot didn’t work out– they never do, but she stayed. She ended up being a hooker for a while for some Russian guys off craigslist, sucking old Indian perverts’ musky rotten spice-smelling dicks. And that’s how she became the type of person who was of interest to Filbert Kim.

Filbert Kim was a lawyer.  He had gotten into Harvard but blew his admission by writing a snarky letter to the student council or something, so he went to the University of California instead.  He was Korean, as you can tell by his last name. Which means go ahead and google Filbert Kim; you’ll never find him.  There are fifteen Filbert Kims in his Berkeley graduating class alone. He got good grades as an undergraduate.  He did well in law school.  He got a job as an associate at one of those firms that are in a skyscraper in LA and made an awful lot of money.  He got married, to another Korean, which is how you know he couldn’t have been happy. They had a dog.  It was a small white dog suitable for elderly women and gays, so it had a grandiose name to the tune of “Brutus” or “El Conquistador.” The wife’s mother moved in with them and he paid for both their cars, their gas, their insurance, the whole mortgage.  This is how you know he was not happy.  He did everything his parents told him to do in life and look where it got him.  The mother in law was a shrew.  She followed them everywhere.  Thank God they didn’t have kids. Continue reading

Diary 9-17-12

19 Sep

Man, but what the fuck am I gonna do?  What’s out there?  It’s the worst economy of all time and hobos with Humphrey Bogart stubble are getting shooed away from picking up yard apples by an angry apron-wearing fat man with a shotgun and heading back hungry to hobo camp with their belongings in a bandana on a stick.  They’re combing their hair with a fish skeleton before using a tissue to turn it into a harmonica on which they blow mournful tunes about being hopeless and broke.  College graduates are having lethal shiv fights in a firelit railyard over a lone kidney bean in the bottom of a can being cooked over a burning tire.  The bean came to life; it had a face; it said “kill for me.”  Families are slaughtering their pets for shish kebabs, probably their kids too. Abortion clincis have become Hardee’s Buffets.  The elderly are being burned for heat.  Our cars are broken down and being pulled by donkeys, but we had to eat the donkeys; our daughters are sucking cock for nickels and our sons are wrestling pumas in a chickenwire cage in front of a warehouse of leering Mexicans for sport.  You see the gleam of a glass bottle on the side of the road, and you see another guy seeing it too, looking at you askance; there’s a tense second of mutual eyefucking before it’s like two Tasmanian Devils wrestling over a bitch in heat. The bottle is crushed beneath you; you reach for a shard to slash the other guy’s throat and then weep and fumblingly try to mash the bottle back together, that precious five cents…
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