I Get A Kick Outta You

To the extent that The Journal is strictly halal, politically ineluctable and editorially exquisite, we would simply like to set the record straight here by deploring the point of view set forth in David Marvin Mailer's true-life story set forth below. It is patently immoral and does not constitute Fair Play™ and if there's one thing The Journal stands for, by God, it's Fair Play™ with the single proviso that exceptions might be required on those rare occasions when there is even the remotest chance we might lose. In which case we chisel.



A big city-slicker lawyer went duck hunting. He shot and dropped a bird, but it fell into a farmer's field on the other side of a fence.

As the lawyer climbed over the fence, an elderly farmer drove up on his tractor and asked him what he was doing. The litigator responded, "I shot a duck and it fell in this field, and now I'm going to retrieve it."

The old farmer replied, "This is my property and you are not coming over here."

The indignant lawyer said, "I am one of the best trial attorneys in the country and if you don't let me get that duck, I'll sue you and take everything you own."

The old farmer smiled and said, "Apparently you don't know how we settle disputes in these parts. We settle small disagreements with the Three Kick Rule."

The lawyer asked, "What is the Three Kick Rule?"

The farmer replied, "Well, because the dispute occurs on my land, I get to go first. I kick you three times and then you kick me three times and so on back and forth until someone gives up."

The attorney quickly thought about the proposed contest and decided that he could easily take the old codger. He cunningly agreed to abide by the local custom.

The old farmer slowly climbed down from the tractor and walked up to the attorney.

His first kick planted the toe of his tempered steel-toed work boot into the lawyer's groin and dropped him to his knees.

His second kick to the midriff launched the lawyer's teppanyaki lunch straight up and out of his gaping mouth--in chunks.

The lawyer was on all fours when the farmer's third kick to his colorectal-sphincteric nexus sent him face-first into a fresh cow pie.

The attorney, summoning every bit of will power still at his disposal, dragged himself to his feet.

Wiping his face with the arm of his jacket, he said, "Okay, you old sonofabitch. Now it's my turn."

Already headed back to the tractor, the old farmer looked back, smiled and said, "Naah, I give up. Take the duck."