A Judge Of Constant Sorrow

Former Morning Anchor Sentenced To Stunning Verdict In Scandal

San Francisco (AP) The college admissions scandal has rocked the nation, exposing multiple parents and academic institutions in a web of bribery, over-parenting, and high expectations for dimwitted children. Multiple charges have been brought against college officials in more than one institute of higher learning. The same has applied to parents who have resorted to bribery to get their children into an elite school as opposed to the state college they might be more suited to. And those children have been dropping out, humiliated by the insinuation that their parents think they were never that bright to begin with.

And now it’s been driven home in a big way locally speaking. Rebecca Katsopolis (Aunt Becky to her nieces) was until recently the co-anchor for Wake Up, San Francisco with her brother-in-law Danny Tanner. Married to second tier musician Jesse Katsopolis, now facing charges of his own, Katsopolis was a well liked anchor who bore an uncanny resemblance to Lori Loughlin, an actress also charged in the scandal. She was charged with bribery and fraud after paying a USC official three million dollars to have her sons Nicholas and Alex admitted three years ago as rugby players on a scholarship- despite never playing a game or even attending a practice or having the slightest interest in the sport.

USC assistant rugby coach Tony Tasker, having had recently been fired after his own arrest in the matter, pleaded guilty in exchange for giving up information on people who had paid him to smooth the way for their children. Among those caught up in the matter was Katsopolis. “It was all on paper,” Tasker said in a statement of facts during his own sentencing. “It didn’t matter that the boys weren’t actually rugby players or that they had no talent or that they were, frankly, brain addled idiots. I just had to say they were. And talk the professors into taking it easy on their grades.” The Katsopolis boys have abruptly dropped out of USC, humiliated by the experience of finding out that their parents think they’re stupid, and reportedly have changed their names.

Where Katsopolis got the three million dollars is another matter. While her salary as a morning anchor was more than enough to leave her comfortable, three million dollars is not the sort of loose change one expects to find in the couch of someone of that vocation. Police investigations have cast light on her husband. Jesse Katsopolis never rose up in the world of music as much as he would have liked, and it is alleged that at some point in the last fifteen years, he started a side business that proved to be quite profitable.

“He’s a drug dealer,” a Narcotics detective told this reporter with the proviso of not mentioning their name. “We’ve built up a substantial case and it’s ready to go for prosecution. And if things go as we expect, it means we’ll have cleared one Elvis-haired freak off the streets and done some good for the world. So much the better.” Jesse Katsopolis is presently in pre-trial custody awaiting his own trial for drug dealing and trafficking, extortion, human trafficking, weapons charges, fraud, and jaywalking.

Rebecca Katsopolis seemed resigned to her fate, choosing to plead guilty to the charges and throw herself on the mercy of the court. In which case she ended up with the wrong judge. For it is the reputation of Judge Constance Sorrow, known as The Hangwoman, to go hard on the convicted. A sentence of forty years was handed down on Katsopolis yesterday. She was taken out of court, with an expression of shock and horror on her face. Nieces DJ and Stephanie Tanner, representing the family in court, were in tears. “Aunt Becky! No!” they called out as their aunt was removed from court.

“That’s enough of those histrionics,” Judge Sorrow admonished the two sisters with a cold tone and an even colder glare, silencing both of them. “The only person in my courtroom who gets to throw a tantrum is me! If you had to put up with a name like this, you’d understand that.”

Danny Tanner has been absent this week from his duties at Wake Up, San Francisco. He’s kept largely a low profile since the charges were filed, and hasn’t said a word about it publicly on air. The issue of his co-anchor and sister-in-law being carted off to prison will have to be addressed at some point. The station has stopped featuring Katsopolis’ face on the program’s introductory video. As for the convicted felon herself? She’s been remanded to custody at the Central California Women’s Facility, where she’s already become the cellmate and personal property of Drucilla Carter, the infamous armed robber doing fifty years for a crime spree across the Pacific coast in the late Nineties.

An unnamed guard at the institution told this reporter, “We had a bet running on how long it would take for Katsopolis to break down. I won the pool at five minutes. Yay me!”

A Day In The Life Of A Cranky Mountie

Today I have the point of view of the legendary (and cranky) RCMP Inspector, Lars Ulrich. No relation to the drummer from Metallica...

7:15 AM. Waking up at home. Slept agreeably well. Dreamed of Tombstone Canyon, and that time I chased an entertainment reporter into it.

7:48 AM. Showered and dressed, ready to face the day. It’s a working day, so I’m in my utility uniform. I’ve had breakfast- French toast with maple syrup, of course. How anyone could lower themselves to use corn syrup is beyond me.

8:21 AM. Walking into the detachment. Constable Mackenzie walks over to brief me on the overnight shift. No sign of entertainment reporters, but that’s to be expected. They’ve spent a few days in post-Oscars euphoria, after all. Well, I’ll be in Calgary for the better part of the day. Another hearing in the proceedings against that sociopathic novelist, and I’m expected to be there.

8:37 AM. Finished my morning paperwork. I hate paperwork. Not quite as much as I hate entertainment reporters who keep mistaking me for someone I’m not, but that’s beside the point.

8:46 AM. Speaking with Constable Hudson before hitting the road. Instructing her to personally kick out anyone who asks about Metallica.

9:32 AM. Arriving at the courthouse in Calgary. Meeting the Crown prosecutor on my way in.

9:34 AM. The Crown prosecutor and I discuss the Fletcher case and today’s hearing. The wheels of justice grind slowly, but when one is dealing with history’s most prolific serial killer, one has to be careful that nothing is overlooked.

9:46 AM. Into court. The prosecutor takes his place ahead while I sit in the public area. I notice the defense attorney. Joni Mitchell- no relation to the singer- seems irritated this morning. Yes, well, that’s what you get when you take on such a notorious client.

9:51 AM. The defendant is brought into court, restrained. Sure, she’s past ninety, but she’s proven herself volatile and aggressive in previous hearings. And when you’re dealing with Jessica Fletcher, accused of being the world’s worst serial killer, there have to be preventative measures.

9:52 AM. Fletcher notices me sitting among the public. She stares at me while seated by her lawyer. She seems to be flaring her nostrils. It seems she’s still taking it personally that I arrested her and ended her killing spree.

10:20 AM. Routine court matters being carried out by the Crown and Miss Mitchell. Fletcher keeps staring at me, as if she’s calculating the amount of energy required to separate my head from the rest of me.

11:03 AM. The judge adjourns proceedings until the next scheduled date and ends the hearing. Guards come to retrieve Fletcher, who once again lunges at me, screaming. “You’re a dead man, Ulrich! You hear me? Dead! Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead! I’ll have your head on a pike!”

She is removed from court by the guards, still glaring, still screaming incoherently. I wave goodbye and smirk as she goes.

I really shouldn’t do that. It’s like poking a bear with a stick.

Oh well, what’s the worst she can do?

11:05 AM. Leaving court just ahead of the Crown prosecutor and Miss Mitchell. Reporters in the hallway. Some of them appear to be entertainment reporters. One of them asks if Joni Mitchell and Metallica are going to be doing a collaborative album.

Joni Mitchell and I look at each other.

Then we both punch the reporter at the same time.

12:36 PM. Driving west, back to my detachment. Noticing smoke in the distance.

12:43 PM. Coming to a police roadblock on the highway. One of the officers recognizes me. Informs me that a monster is wrecking havoc up ahead. It’s been identified as King Ghidorah. Oh, good, I could use a workout.

1:11 PM. Coming around a bend in the road, weaving around wrecked cars and trucks, passing by people fleeing from the scene. I find the gigantic beast itself destroying a town. It turns its three heads my way as I get out of my car. And then it roars and starts to stride towards me.

I clench my fists, smile to myself, and whisper two words. “Let’s go.”

1:27 PM. Standing on top of the fallen King Ghidorah in victory, a bit dusty but no harm done. At least to me. Him? All three of his heads are unconscious, and I’ve probably broken a few bones in kicking the hell out of him. That’ll teach him not to mess with a Mountie.

4:11 PM. Walking into the detachment after overseeing the removal of King Ghidorah. Informing Constable Hudson how my day went. She says all they had to deal with locally were three lost hikers.

5:07 PM. Paperwork in the office. You’d be surprised how much red tape is involved when having giant monsters removed from where you left them. Noise out in the main part of the detachment. I get up and step out. Constables Hudson and Mowat are blocking an overly eager entertainment reporter. “Rip Kelly, Entertainment Tonight!” he identifies himself. I grit my teeth. “Lars, what everyone wants to know is… will Metallica have any comment as to why their drummer is picking fights with giant monsters while they’re recording an album?”

I shake my head, walk closer, and inform him I am not that Lars Ulrich.

He seems confused. “Are you sure?”

7:48 PM. Signing off on some paperwork with a doctor at the local hospital. It seems even kicking the hell out of an entertainment reporter, while officially sanctioned, requires paperwork. Oh well, it could be worse. I could be Rip Kelly, currently in a body cast.

8:56 PM. Back at home, taking a call from the prosecutor in Calgary. I am informed that Jessica Fletcher has been busy screaming my name and vowing revenge all day after the hearing in court. The words disemboweled and flayed alive have been reported by the guards.

If you ask me, the old bat has issues.

A Super Villain And Masterminded Heists

Thieves Steal Enormous Million Dollar Coin Before Meeting A Bad End

Berlin (CP) A brazen heist caught the world’s attention in recent days after a million dollar coin, minted by the Royal Canadian Mint as one of six in 2007, was stolen from the Bode Museum in Berlin, Germany. The coin, on display at the museum since 2010, was taken in the early hours of March 27^th, a challenge, given that the coin weighs 100 kilograms. Reportedly as near to pure gold as it gets, the coin had a real value of four million American dollars.

Officials at the Bode were baffled by the theft, and characteristically close lipped about answering questions from the press about the burglary. Rumours out of the museum suggest blame is being placed on a sleepy guard, nicknamed Big Jurgen, on duty the night of the burglary. A police official, speaking on anonymity, confirmed that the guard had been found curled up in his office snoring by his relief the following morning. “While it’s true that a guard might not have been able to do anything to stop a determined thief or thieves, it doesn’t look good when your overnight guard is snoozing during a major robbery.”

In the days following the theft, law enforcement agencies across the globe pursued leads. There were grave fears that the coin had already been melted down into new gold bars. Memes were mounted on the internet featuring Homer Simpson trying to use the coin in a vending machine.

Suspects came to light. Three individuals who bear a striking resemblance to major Hollywood actors, and who have been suspected in heists for years, denied having anything to do with the operation. “Rusty and Linus and I were in Sydney, which the police have already confirmed when they asked,” scoundrel and former convict Danny Ocean claimed when found by reporters at his residence in upper New York state. “By the way, purely hypothetically speaking, if any of us had wanted to pull a job, we’d have wanted a bigger payoff than four million dollars.”

And yet the thieves eluded the long arm of the law. German authorities underwent a massive manhunt and investigation not seen in the country since David Hasselhoff disappeared while on a bender three years ago (for some reason Germans love Hasselhoff, which strikes the outsider as peculiar).

Four days after the theft, the mastermind behind the theft revealed himself to the world via social media in a video across multiple platforms. First appearing in silhouette in a dark room, the man was silent for several seconds as the video began, and then started to speak, a hint of high cultured German in his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen of the world, you have seen my latest endeavour. I, with the aid of my henchmen, masterminded the theft of the million dollar coin from the Bode. Only a mind of sheer criminal genius like mine could have brought it all together. Only I, Magnus Von Malice, could do it.”

Von Malice, for those who might not be aware, is the nefarious mad scientist and super-villain who escaped from prison in Canada last year. Von Malice is most noted for his temporal experiments that brought several washed up celebrities back from the dead some time back, and had been imprisoned since being brought down by the world’s most feared (and cranky) lawman, the legendary RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich. He’s been in hiding ever since his escape, one step ahead of the law.

After his revelation, the lights came up around the mad scientist on the video, and Von Malice smiled in that malevolent way that might make one think he was walking over your grave. “It could only be done by someone of the most devastating sinister mindset, stealing this coin. And it is the first step in my master plan of world domination. You will all bow before the magnificence that is Magnus Von Malice!” The video went on for another thirty five minutes of self absorbed nonsense and bragging, leaving one wondering why super-villains were so fond of endless monologues, before ending with a threat about melting down the gold unless his demands were met, including ten trillion dollars in unmarked bills, the nation of France handed over to him post haste, and a nuclear bomb “so I can destroy Mars!” He gave the world one week to carry out his demands.

While the President of France publicly mused about handing over the keys of the country to Von Malice, thus carrying on a national tradition of knuckling under and running away from a fight, other world leaders had different reactions to the crisis. Russian President Vladimir Putin shrugged. “You know, Magnus, he is not, how do you say, bad guy? He’s just misunderstood. You know, a man gets ambitious and starts threatening everyone around him, and before he knows it, everyone thinks he’s the villain.”

British Prime Minister Theresa May, busy blowing up the country’s relations with the rest of Europe, paused to comment. “You know, it might have been nice of Cameron and that buffoon Boris Johnson to stick around and deal with the consequences of their little referendum, but that would be expecting too much of them. Now we’ve got a super-villain who’s threatening the world and stealing valuable coins? At least he didn’t steal the Crown Jewels. Wait, don’t quote me on that, it might give the jackass an idea or two.”

Former London mayor and ex-Member of Parliament Boris Johnson, the aforementioned buffoon, who was a strong advocate for Brexit, was busy tumbling down a staircase near the Thames when reporters told him about May calling him a buffoon. “That’s an outrage!” the dimwitted buffoon said. “Why, it makes me want to.... whooooaaaaa!” He was cut off, falling backwards and rolling down the stairs, breaking five ribs and an arm before he hit the bottom. In between wails of agony that suggest he doesn’t tolerate pain very well, Johnson called out, “Um, a little help?”

In the Oval Office, the President tweeted, “Fake news shaming Magnus Von Malice! Sad!” It was followed by seventeen other tweets extolling the mad scientist’s golf game, suggesting Von Malice be given the Nobel Peace Prize, and blaming Paul Ryan for the whole affair.

The German chancellor, meanwhile, recommended bringing in some outside help, and so a discreet call was made to her counterpart in Canada, who readily agreed to the request. The aforementioned cranky Mountie was sent overseas to aid in the investigation, given his previous experience with the villain. Within twenty four hours, Lars Ulrich had succeeded in tracking down Von Malice to his secret hidden lair in the Bavarian Alps, engaging each of his forty eight henchmen in hand to hand combat, leaving them weeping, bloody, and battered. German officers came in his wake to cuff suspects and bring in paramedics.

The super-villain himself got the worst of it, cornered by Ulrich, cut off from his Death Ray device. According to German officers who witnessed the confrontation, the super-villain, trying desperately to find some way to escape (despite having a granite wall at his back and a grouchy Mountie advancing at him), muttered, “why can’t you just spend all your time playing the drums and leave me alone?”

“I am not that Lars Ulrich,” the Mountie declared, delivering a punch that knocked Von Malice into the wall, followed by a thrashing that left him with broken ribs, fractured arms and legs, and a battered face. As well as the removal by yanking of the villain’s Van Dyke beard. Von Malice and his minions have all been charged with criminal conspiracy, theft, fraud, extortion, and dozens of other charges. They are now in custody awaiting trial.

The coin has been recovered and will be returned back to the museum as soon as possible. Von Malice, under police guard in hospital and confined to a body cast, spoke to this reporter after negotiations with German prosecutors and his attorney. His voice suggesting he was in terrible pain, the super-villain managed to mutter, “No matter how long it takes... no matter how many things I have to do to make this happen, no matter who I have to stomp on to get it done... I swear before all I hold sacred and despicable... that I’m going to kill Lars Ulrich.”

We finish with the reaction of two Lars Ulrichs to the threat. The Metallica drummer, deafened by decades of bad living and loud noise, read the statement when reporters found him at his California mansion. He looked up from the printed page, seeming confused. “Look, I’ve done a lot of crap down through the years, man, but I don’t deserve getting threatened by guys with weird names. I mean, who names their kid Magnus?”

The other Lars Ulrich was back at his detachment in Alberta, fresh from the satisfaction of beating up a super-villain and his associates. This reporter sought him out, assured him that he was fully aware he was not the other Lars Ulrich, and asked about the threat. It seems a hollow threat to a lawman who's beaten back dark cabals, other super-villains, giant monsters, and thousands of angry people in brawls. The Inspector shrugged, and smiled in a cold way. That smile matched the coldness of the words that followed.  “He’s welcome to try.”

Blessed Are The Cheesemakers

I have an image blog for you today. Enjoy!