The Warrant Exception: A Fourth Amendment Field Report

Most of my cases involve some kind of search. My clients have had their homes raided by squads of police officers sporting surplus military weaponry. Their underwear drawers, pants pockets, and backpacks have been turned inside out. They have been ordered to sit on curbs in handcuffs beside their cars while their neighbors looked on. In the most extreme cases, the long arm of the law has pulled its nitrile gloves tight across the knuckles in its search for contraband.

Given the invasive nature of these searches, should a police officer be able to carry them out whenever he or she wants? Shouldn’t a neutral, detached member of the judiciary take a look at the officer’s’ reasons for wanting to do these things, consider whether those reasons amount to probable cause and sign a warrant stating that the officer’s behavior will pass Constitutional muster? I would only need two hands to count the number of times my clients have seen a warrant before a search, but I would still have fingers to spare.

And yet as a matter of law, any search without a warrant is presumed to be illegal. This rule, along with the rules requiring Miranda warnings and appointed counsel for the accused, came from a bygone era of Supreme Court jurisprudence. In later years, the Rehnquist Court found many of these rules too protective of the accused. Rather than overturning these rules, the High Court decided to puncture them with exceptions that police can rely on to justify their behavior. In most cases, the police succeed because the “exceptions” cover the vast majority of times my clients have been searched. Searches done with a warrant are now the exception, not the rule.

My client (let’s call him “Client”) lived in a duplex in one of those unincorporated areas between good-sized cities; an older residential neighborhood with too many cars parked in the driveway and no sidewalks. Client shared the duplex with his wife, his brother-in-law and his brother-in-law’s indoor marijuana grow, which he tended with help from a friend who lived elsewhere (let’s call him “Parolee”).

One day, Parolee addressed his finished product to the wrong ZIP code and accidentally mailed a big box of marijuana to the other side of the state. Detectives from far away soon began following my client and his family because they lived at the return address on the package. They engineered a “consensual encounter” with Client and Parolee on the sidewalk in front their home just as they were about to unlock the door and go inside. For 15-20 minutes they peppered Parolee with questions to find out whether he lived in the duplex (if he had lived there, the detectives could have searched without a warrant). Parolee, who had accepted a totally voluntary invitation to sit on the curb between two police cars, continued to insist that he did not live there.

So the cops went with their Plan B; they tracked down Client’s wife in the maternity ward of the nearby hospital, waited until after she had given birth, confronted her as she was learning to nurse her infant, and convinced her to sign their consent form. I will point out here that Client and his wife have very limited English skills; I had never spoken with Client without an interpreter. The officers claimed that all of their interactions with Client and his very new family were consensual, and that Client and his postpartum wife could have ended the encounter at any time.

Now if I pretended to be a member of my local bench, I would say that living at the return address on a big box of pot is probable cause to search Client’s home and sign that warrant. If I were the on-call judge, available 24/7 to sign emergency warrants, I might have even signed it outside of business hours.

So why harass a new mother and her newborn baby instead of simply asking a judge for a warrant? If you have given birth, or have been at a birth, you know what a special and vulnerable time it is for the mother. The miracle of life is exhausting, messy, painful, and overwhelming; between hospital gowns and nursing, it leaves little room for modesty. These detectives had chosen to drive hundreds of miles to interfere with something sacred rather than seek a warrant from a judge.

That’s the part that gets me; they didn’t have to, they chose to. Why?

And if cops can bust in on a woman learning to express colostrum, what can’t they do?

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

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Let Me Tell You About my Morning…

When you ride as a passenger in someone’s car, does the driver then get access, dominion, or control over your anus? I thought the obvious answer was “no, are you kidding me?” This week, I tried — and failed — to convince a judge to share this point of view.

My client stood accused of possessing a controlled substance with intent to sell. This whole thing started 9 years ago when my client injured his back on a construction site at the age of 16. When the prescription opiates ran out–which was right around the same time my client’s various doctors realized that each had been writing him separate prescriptions–he turned to buying them from other people. Codefendant was one of these folks. Eventually, both of them realized that heroin provides the same high and was much, much cheaper and easier to get than the prescription pills.

Client and Codefendant drove from their homes in Santa Asphalt to Stucco Valley to visit their dealer. My client left with 2 grams of heroin, which he stowed in his sunglasses case. Codefendant left with 20 individually-wrapped one gram servings of heroin stuffed into his rectum.

Unfortunately for these two, the Stucco Valley Police Department had been watching the comings and goings from their dealer’s house. They watched my client pull away from the curb and waited for him to (inevitably) roll slowly through the stop sign at the nearby intersection. A routine traffic stop turned into an arrest and search. Client and Codefendant were handcuffed, and placed in the back of the patrol car. Once inside, Codefendant tried to discreetly remove his contraband by planting his feet against the cage that separated him from the front of the police car, arching his back until his face pressed against the rear window, and grunting as he tried to slip two hands in handcuffs into the rear of his pants.

The cops noticed, became curious, and conducted a more thorough search.

This client became my client after his probable cause hearing, during which a narcotics investigator testified that the codefendant had too much dope to be consistent with personal use and that it was more likely for sale or resale. After the hearing, the District Attorney charged both Codefendant and my client with possessing the heroin with intent to sell. My client was accused of possessing all of the dope, including the codefendant’s.

I didn’t have much of a defense for my client regarding the amount found in the sunglasses case. However, I thought I had a pretty decent argument that my client did not possess the amount found inside the codefendant.

I hoped to save my client from having to go to jury trial by filing a motion to dismiss (aka a “nine-nine-five”). In this type of motion, the judge assumes that all the information that came out during the probable cause hearing is true. The defense lawyer then argues that even accepting the truth of the evidence, it does not provide probable cause for the charges.

My “opposing counsel” was actually a 3rd year law student; her supervising attorney had obviously believed that this argument was an easy enough “win” to hand to someone who had neither studied for nor passed the bar examination. I really hoped they weren’t correct–not on this case.

“Opposing counsel claims that this court must draw all reasonable inferences in favor of the charges,” I said during oral argument on the motion to dismiss. “Let’s start by reminding ourselves of what the word ‘inference’ means. An inference is a statement that has not been expressly proven, but whose truth is guaranteed based on other truths. We must also remind ourselves of the legal definition of ‘possession.’ According to case law, a person can possess something without it being on his person. However, the defendant must have more than ‘mere access’ to the location where drugs are found; the prosecution must also prove that he had the right of dominion and control over the area where they were found.”

“Now, the prosecution has conclusively proven that the codefendant received a ride from my client, and that at the time of this ride, Codefendant had 20 individually wrapped bindles of heroin stowed away in his body. However the District Attorney asks this court to infer – from his role as the driver – that my client not only had access to the codefendant’s anus, but the right to dominion or control over it. These ‘inferences’ cannot be guaranteed from these facts; I submit that the District Attorney’s theory is wholly unmoored from the facts and we respectfully request that the court dismiss the charges.”

The court denied my motion.

I can only imagine what the jurors will make of this case when it goes to trial.

Respectfully submitted,

Norm

Profiles in Happenstance

Chasing Truth, Catching Hell turns one year old today. A surprising amount has happened since then; my cathartic creative writing project is now featured on the ABA Journal’s “blawg” roll and has hundreds (plural!) of readers. An amazing community of bloggers, lawyers, writers, and informed citizens has visited Chasing Truth over the past 12 months.

Many stumble upon Chasing Truth through search engine queries. In furtherance of this blog’s goals of educating and entertaining its readership, I will attempt to answer the questions that many of Chasing Truth’s readers have been trying to answer with the help of the internet.

“How to win a Romero Motion.” This reader is a public defender (or intern) sitting in front of an office computer. His client faces a life sentence under California’s Three Strikes law. In a Romero motion, the public defender will, essentially, beg for mercy in the face of his client’s love of drugs and/or violence. In utter desperation, he has consulted Google for answers. Google doesn’t know how to win a Romero motion. Unfortunately, the only sure way to win a Romero motion is to defy the laws of physics and travel backwards in time to stop your client from having a record. If this is not possible, the public defender will simply have to plumb the depths of his client’s life story, find the shiniest nuggets of redeeming humanity, and convince a judge that the remainder of his client’s human worth is so precious that the drafters of the Three Strikes law would never have wanted the client to serve a life sentence.

In all seriousness, best of luck.

“What happened to Demontes Wright?” This reader is an idealistic young lawyer whose friend has a job in asbestos litigation that allows him to subscribe to HBO. Young Lawyer invites herself over to watch Gideon’s Army, an excellent documentary on public defenders. Gideon’s Army is the story of three intrepid public defenders in the South who war for their clients’ freedom against a drought of resources and a flood of indigent clients. During the climax of the film, public defender Brandy Alexander argues that her client, Demontes Wright, could not have been the man who robbed the liquor store in question. I’m sorry that the plague tornado knocked out the electricity before this reader could see the end, but rest assured that Ms. Alexander won her client’s freedom, despite the ease with which her innocent client could have lost ten years of his life in prison.

Related search: “Travis Williams public defender Georgia.” This reader has the bad luck of being accused of a crime in Georgia, and is desperately hoping that Gideon’s Army super lawyer Travis Williams will be his public defender.

“Are my rights violated if I can’t even go to the bathroom, but they say you’re not even under arrest and police interrogate me without reading me my Miranda rights?” This reader has been questioned by police to the point of physical discomfort. However, in deciding whether his rights have been violated, the question is not whether the reader felt free to leave. The question is whether the reasonable, prudent, Yale-educated Supreme Court justice would have felt free to leave under similar circumstances. If a member of the Ivy League ruling class would feel free to waltz out the door of the police station, this reader should too. If a cop has told this reader that he can’t use the bathroom, he is being detained. If this ever happens to you, stop talking immediately. In all honesty, consider soiling yourself to prove just how trapped you feel.

“Getting help for your client on remand” The good news is that this reader finally got a referral from that business card that he taped above the urinal in the bathroom that adjoins the visitor’s lobby at the local jail. The bad news is that now this client expects his money’s worth. This means that unless the attorney can lower his client’s bail, the client will not be able to make more money to pay the lawyer. This will oblige the lawyer to waive preliminary hearing and then dump his client on the public defender once the case is set for trial.

This reader needs to get his leased Audi out of the nearby parking garage very, very quickly. I know a number of reckless teenage vandals.

“Can a good lawyer get you out of anything?” This reader has hired the lawyer described in the paragraph above. Never underestimate the private bar’s willingness to sell a client an enema of sunshine in lieu of honest legal representation.

“How do you win a Marsden motion?” Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know anything about that. Best of luck to you. Indigent criminal justice reform needs to take place nationwide. People who commit crimes in my county are lucky to have such good representation. But I want everyone in America to have access to the same high quality level of defense. Protecting the rights of our most vulnerable citizens protects the rights of everyone.

“People in jail for drug addictions ‘leave a comment’” County jail is a terrible, smelly, occasionally violent, and perpetually depressing place. Its callow corrections officers are not interested in making any of its tenants into a better person. Maybe this reader needs to write a Yelp review?

“Movies about chasing something and never catching it” Thanks for stumbling upon my blog by accident. I really do appreciate the additional readership. I’m sure that somewhere, out there, is a Zooey Deschanel movie with your name on it.

“Can I add a profile to the Megan’s Law website.” This impish prankster has a great idea for getting his chemistry teacher fired. Unfortunately, these gates of hilarity are blocked by Department of Justice firewalls.

“Crystal meth cannot climax” Not to be an insufferable optimist, but some would say that this is a feature of crystal meth, not a drawback.

“Public defender burnout.” This reader is likely a public defender, and she was probably scheduled to spend a full day cross-examining tearful victims in an all-day preliminary hearing. This reader welcomed the excuse not to check the blinking light on her phone that tells her that she has yet another unhappy call to return. This reader may well be deliberately postponing that life-sentence case that he just cannot bear to try until another attorney takes over his calendar. Or, this reader may have the burden of being someone who works hard without complaining. His public defender’s office may have rewarded this work ethic by giving him some terrible, thankless, high-volume court calendar that the squeakier wheels refuse to do (and somehow get away with doing so).

For what its worth, I’ll bet that this reader is doing a great service to her clients. I will also wager that most of her clients think so too. We love you. Honest. You are why we need student loan forgiveness for government servants. Being able to pay bills every month without excessive anxiety would really help with preventing burnout, would it not?

“Pretenders drink while you’re at it.” This is clearly one of those Zen riddles that one ponders while hoping that his coworkers have not noticed the third vodka soda that he has ordered during the weekly office happy hour. This reader is cheating by searching the internet for answers.

A confession to friends of this blog; I never expected to still be adding to this site one year later. You make me want to keep writing. I reserve the right to broach this blog’s anonymity when I need to plug my first legal thriller; until then, I remain your secret admirer.

Respectfully Submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

Journey Through the Sealed Transcript, or Marsden Motions: A “Choose Your Own Adventure” Adventure

“I want a Marsden motion!” my client proclaimed from his seat in the jury box.

When a courtroom is not used for a trial, the jury box is typically used to seat 12-14 inmates, handcuffed in pairs, waiting for their turn to appear on the felony “entry of plea” calendar. The inmate who happens to be handcuffed to my client doesn’t know what a Marsden motion is, but he looks wistfully at the nearby sheriff’s deputy in hopes that he will be unshackled from this man before he has to find out.

When the judge hears the client’s demand, every muscle in his face tenses as he looks at the wall clock and then over at me. “Why can’t you control your client,” the Judge tacitly asks with his glare, “and who told him what a Marsden motion is?”

With an apologetic smile and a shrug, I admit that it was me.

“Sir, I’m sorry you’re not happy with your representation so far,” I had said to my client moments before his audible outburst, “but if you really think that I’m ‘fucking you raw’ because I’m ‘working for the DA,’ then you should tell the judge that you want to make what’s called a Marsden motion and have me fired.”

I told him this because, quite simply, he has the right to know that a Marsden motion is an option a defendant has if his lawyer’s representation is so defective that it effectively violates his right to counsel. Since I work in a county with an exemplary PD system, most Marsden motions are basically an opportunity for the client to lash out a lifetime of problems on the nearest available mammal (and if you’re a PD, that mammal usually happens to be you). I can’t and don’t take it personally.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge intones, “we ask that you leave the courtroom for the next few minutes while we take up this matter outside of your presence.”

And the adventure begins!

One by one, the remaining inmates, lawyers, and gawkers leave. Since a Marsden motion requires a ceremonial Airing of Grievances about the client’s representation, attorney-client privileged communications are often divulged. To protect these, the court room is closed to all but the attorney, the client, and the court staff. The transcript is sealed after the motion concludes.

“Sir, I understand that you want to fire your public defender,” the Judge says, tip-toeing between syllables like someone trying to delay an unpleasant hospital visit by going very, very slowly down the hallway. “Tell me more.”

My client proceeds to tell him more. Much, much more. And I start to grow agitated.

I’m not worried about what my client is saying about me. I’ve been “Marsdened” (it’s a verb in PD jargon) before, and even though part of me wishes some had been granted in order to be rid of particularly unpleasant clients, none have been. What does scare me is the possibility of being found “IAC.” That’s when an appellate lawyer looks over a trial transcript and decides that the guilty verdict was due to “Ineffective Assistance of Counsel.” Being Marsdened is a rite of passage; IAC is more like last rites.

I am agitated because I know that I will likely still be tasked with representing this client when this is over and he is making my job–the job of defending him–even harder. I visualize what the transcript of this hearing looks like and I wish I could strikethrough the portions that I wish he were not saying, out loud, to the judge.

Did I mention I’ve been Marsdened before? Do you want to know what it feels like to sit through a client’s Marsden motion? Then read on and chose your own Marsden adventure:

If your client is accused of a “domestic” charge, proceed to section I.A.

If your client is accused of auto theft and has been talking to the “jailhouse lawyer” at the jail’s law library, go to I.B.

I.A. Judge, this whole thing is ridiculous. My lady wants these charges dropped completely. I also called her last night from the jail and she told me that she wants the “no contact” restraining order dropped. She’s going to come in here and say that she made the whole thing up because she was drunk and mad at me for cheating on her. Also, she’s bipolar. That means that she lies all the time, right? I saw it on “Dr. Phil.”  Anyway, my dump truck public defender is telling me that what she said to police is a “prior inconsistent statement” that comes in as evidence even if she takes it back. But that’s not true, right? He just wants me to plea because he has too many cases.

I.B. Judge, this public pretender isn’t doing anything for me. I told him that I wanted an attorney. I’m entitled to a court-appointed attorney, but they keep giving me public defenders instead. Also, I heard in my dorm unit at the jail that if they don’t bring you to court within 48 hours of your arrest, they have to dismiss the case. Well sir, I was arrested on a Friday, and I know that it was still Friday because when the police pulled me over in that stolen car, I looked at the dashboard clock and saw that it was 11:48 p.m. I didn’t have my first court date until Monday, so my case should be dismissed. At least that’s what I heard.

I also wrote a motion myself; it’s about voluntary intoxication. I read in the law library that being voluntarily intoxicated can sometimes be a defense. Well, I can tell you that I was TOTALLY voluntarily intoxicated up when all this happened. I remember the six-pack, I remember…whatever that stuff was in the pipe they were passing around. I remember having the slim jim and the shaved key, but I don’t remember actually using them to take the car. I do remember speeding away from the police, and I remember trying to swerve around the cop who was trying to stop me, but I don’t remember anything about supposed “threats” I made to “make him my bitch” with his nightstick. There’s more and it’s all in my motion, but this dump truck won’t file it. I think he’s working for the DA. He says that he won’t file  it because it has “incriminating statements,” or because it contradicts the confession that I supposedly gave afterward, that I don’t remember. I don’t know, he can’t seem to get his story straight about why he won’t file it for me.

Also, no one read me my rights when they arrested me. They were supposed to tell me that I had the right to remain silent. That means I get a dismissal, right? … Well, no, they never actually asked me any questions … No, I didn’t actually say anything after I was arrested. But I’m supposed to be read my rights! I need a REAL lawyer who knows these things to get me out of here!

Lifting an eyebrow, the judge looks to me and asks, “Mr. DeGuerre, how do you care to respond?”

If this is your first court appearance with this client, go to section II.A.

If you’ve already discussed each and every one of these things with your client, go to section II.B.

II.A. Your Honor, it is absolutely, positively true that I have not yet done anything for this client. I have not seen him at the jail. I have not called his baby’s mom on his behalf to keep her from throwing out his stuff. I haven’t looked into whether the police search of his pockets was legal because he’s not charged with possessing anything illegal; the charged crime is violent and happened in the police officer’s presence. Quite frankly, I just got this file two days ago; only by breaking the laws of physics could I have gone back in time and done all the things that my client seems to think that I should have done before today. Given that I obey the laws of physics at all times, I trust that I can represent this client to his satisfaction if given…some time, any time, at all.

II.B. Your honor, my client demanded after his first court date to receive his “discovery packet.” He seems to be in continued disbelief that his “discovery packet,” at this stage, consists entirely of the police report that I have reviewed with him several times. He claims the police report has “got nothing” on him because it doesn’t include fingerprints, DNA, or surveillance video; it contains nothing more than statements of witnesses who said that they saw him do it. I explained to him that these are still “evidence.” I explained that public defenders are, in fact, attorneys. I explained that I do not work for the DA simply because I told him what the DA’s offer was. I explained to him that hiring the “real lawyer” that his mother has been talking to may or may not get him a better deal, but that she’s welcome to get a second mortgage to pay his retainer in order to find out.

The judge makes eye contact with each of us one more time. He has the information he needs in order to make a decision.

If this is a judge who, in the past, has threatened to hold you in contempt for objecting during the DA’s closing argument, go to section III.A.

If this is a judge who is deathly afraid of the client deciding to represent himself, go to section III.B.

III.A. Sir, I assure you that Mr. DeGuerre is a devoted advocate. He’s a fabulous attorney, and you’re lucky to have him. The fact that you get his services free of charge is one of those curious luxuries that comes with having a free society. The defendant’s Marsden motion is denied.

III.B. Sir, I completely understand your concerns. It sounds as though Mr. DeGuerre needs to make himself more available to you by phone. Perhaps you should call during his lunch hour, when he is at his desk eating the sandwich that he brought from home. And really, Mr. DeGuerre, when I was a public defender, I saw my clients at the jail before every single court date. You say you got the file late Monday, but today is Wednesday. It doesn’t matter that this was so long ago that the PD’s office had six lawyers and five clients: no excuses.

It also sounds like Mr. DeGuerre can make just a little more effort in finding that transient, homeless witness you say can prove your innocence; you’d be amazed at what public defender investigators can dig up just by knowing that his name is “Mike Something.” I’m also going to suggest to Mr. DeGuerre that he make more efforts to negotiate with the District Attorney; Mr. DeGuerre, you should keep an open mind when the DA tells you that your client is a “monster” who should plead “as charged.” If the DA says that, and you agree, she will not ask for the maximum. You should think of that as a starting place for negotiations! That being said, I will give Mr. DeGuerre leeway to perform his due diligence. We can revisit this issue down the road if we need to. For now, the defendant’s Marsden motion is denied.

Congratulations! You made it! How do you feel?

If you happened to choose III.A. and would like a copy of the proceedings as proof of the only nice thing that judge has ever said to you, then you are out of luck. That record is sealed.

Respectfully submitted,

Norm DeGuerre

Transcript of His Honor’s Handwashing Liturgy, or The Defendant’s Romero Motion is Denied

Under California’s Three Strikes law, defendants with two or more serious or violent felony convictions receive a minimum sentence of 25 years-to-life for a third serious or violent felony. However, the defense may argue a Romero motion, which asks the judge not to apply the Three Strikes law during sentencing. In his deliberation, the judge considers the facts of the current case, the defendant’s criminal history, and the defendant’s “character, background, and prospects.” The hearing on a Romero motion, which is infrequently granted, follows a ritualistic pattern.

And, in my head, the ritual goes something like this.

Commencement

His Honor:    Ave, Ave, now comes the formerly Accused, now Convicted, presenting himself for the Court’s mercy, garbed in the county-issued vestments of both protective custody and maximum security. Cursed is the snitch, for stitches he shall receive. Cursed is he who requires maximum security, and let him learn to correct his lawless ways whilst surrounded by those as dangerous as he. Counsel! Appearances, please!

Attorney for the District: Ave, Your Honor, for I represent the People of the State of California who are other than the Accused, now Convicted. We now present unto thee our young Acolyte, who is in his third year of law school, and who has been honing his skill in the sacred arts of shooting fish in barrels and confiscating sugary confections from the hands of babes.

Acolyte: Ave, Your Honor.

Norm:    Ave, Ave, Your Honor, Norm DeGuerre for the Accused, now Convicted.

His Honor:    Brother DeGuerre, thy Client presents himself as a supplicant before me, or would if his wrists were not bound by chains to his waist. Thy Client seeks the blessings of St. Romero, who many years ago, prayed for relief and received the miracle of mercy, for the court sentenced him as though he bore not the stains of having prior “strike” convictions. The Accused, now Convicted has been convicted of Robbery, and shall face a sentence of life despite the recently-passed Prop. 36.

Norm: Aye, Your Honor.

His Honor: We shall now begin the Recitation of Terrible Childhood.

Norm:    Aye, Your Honor, I draw thy Honor’s attention to the absence of family or loved ones, who have missed all court dates for the Accused, now Convicted since his junior year of high school. Scars of flesh and wounds of spirit have rent my client into a hastily-assembled scarecrow of the man he could have been had he more money and one caring, competent adult.

His Honor: Now, the Affirmation of Chronic Substance Abuse.

Norm:    Not since the party at Thy Honor’s law firm in 1982, when Thy Honor’s partners removed the mirror from Thy Honor’s office restroom, has such heroic quantities of Columbia’s Finest been consumed as was during the Convicted’s term on parole. But alas, the Convicted snorts not to celebrate, but to forget; and the Convicted spends not his disposable income, but his only income. Thy Honor’s campaign for the bench inspired thee to begin the 12-step purification rituals; alas, the Convicted has no campaigning or politicking for which to abstain.

His Honor: And now, the Plea to the Angels of the Eighth Amendment, in which Counsel will condemn the proposed life sentence as cruel and unusual. Make the plea now so that the Accused, now Convicted’s appellate counsel may brief later what I shall now ignore.

Norm: Your Honor, the Accused, now Convicted did violate the Seventh Commandment, in that he did take two tall-boys of St. Mickey’s Ale out of the refrigerator at the Try-N-Save liquor store, and did try to smite the security guard who declared him a “fucker” and who attempted in vain to wrest the tall-boys from the Convicted’s shaking hands. But your Honor may bestow St. Romero’s blessings for this nefarious misdeed and sentence him to 20 years, and not for the entirety of his life. After all, is the consummation of malt liquor not already a cruel and unusual enough punishment for Thy Honor?

His Honor: And now, Acolyte, commence the Padding of Thy Resume.

Acolyte: Your Honor, I entreat Thee first to gaze in horror upon the tattoos upon the Convicted’s face: Eww. Shine thine eyes upon the Convicted’s numerous parole violations, for they show the Convicted needs more time in prison so that he can learn the lessons that prison failed to teach. And Your Honor, if ye would, muster stale outrage for his burglary conviction from 1992 and his making of criminal threats from 1996, for in those years the Accused, now Convicted did take a Panasonic television set and later hurt someone’s feelings with empty promises of violence.

His Honor: Counsel, prepare thyselves for my ruling:

The conclave of voters hath spoken, and they hath spoken that Three Strikes shall be the law. Terrified they were of rapists stealing children from their homes in the dark of night, and so it shall be that the Wrath of Three Strikes shall smite those at whom we are merely angry as well as those of whom we are scared. If St. Romero’s mercy were granted to all whose woes would have been lifted during childhood by the healing touch of more money and one skilled parent, Three Strikes would smite hardly anyone at all. The plea for St. Romero’s mercy has failed, and the Convicted, now Sentenced shall dwell in a pit of despair to be determined by the Department of Corrections of the State of California. This pit shalt not be within 12 hours ride by Greyhound coach of his family, because really, Brother DeGuerre, as you’ve so pointed out, what are the chances of their visiting anyway? Also, this pit shalt not be rendered humane through adequate taxes, because the conclave of voters hates those. Verily, the conclave despises rendering unto Caesar sufficient ducats to pay for the sentencing laws they demand.

We will now commence the Washing of Hands. The conclave of voters has spoken, and this court shall not accept responsibility for their frenzied whims, nor the perceived disproportion of the court’s sentence to the defendant’s conduct. Verily, as all in attendance can see, I myself learned to make principled decisions long ago. I am only giving the defendant ample opportunity to learn the same lessons.

This concludes the Washing of Hands. You are now dismissed.

Go in peace, serve the Lord.

Respectfully submitted,

Norm DeGuerre