Why don't you just die?

Dear Opposing Counsel,

You are a punk-ass little bitch.  I wonder which state bar you first duped into admitting you.  It's hard at times to tell which is more horrendous, your circa-1990 toupee or the outfits your harlot of a client wears to court.  You blew two dates.  You file frivolous motions.  You have lied on the record at least once; our 137 motion is forthcoming.  You are apparently unable to comply with everyday procedure, or fill out even simple, pre-printed forms.  The depth of your oafishness astounds even my jaded worldview.

You make jokes about someone actually liking you---and no one laughs.  Your dandruff is so large it could injure a small child; and with your legal skills you'd get life in prison.  You file subpoenas with compliance dates that have already passed, then send me letters telling me that you guess the keeper of records will just show up on the deposition date.  You demand that we comply with discovery requests that we answered a month ago.  You seem confused when I look at you with an obvious air of disdain.  Let me clear it up for you, super-genius:  I HOPE YOU F*CKING DIE!!!

Love,

J.D. Crane