Mr. Jerkinson’s legal ploy

Imagine an indigenous person who owns a ranch. Let’s call this person Mr. Juan O. Gonzalez. Now suppose that Mr. Juan O. Gonzalez was working on his ranch one day, when in come 17 strange people trespassing on his private property.

Now bear in mind that Mr. Gonzalez is particular about his private property. He adores his privacy. He doesn’t welcome trespassers. So Mr. Gonzalez has a fence around his ranch. He even has several unmistakable “PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING” signs posted around his property.

But these strange people ignore Mr. Gonzalez’s private property rights–call it his sovereignty–and proceed to encroach upon Juan’s domain. So what does our hero Mr. Juan O. Gonzalez do?

Well, he takes out his shotgun and naturally rounds up these unwelcome intruders. He compels them to form a line and march straight out of his private property. He protects his sovereign domain.

But before Juan forces his intruders out of his ranch, an attorney shows up. Let’s call this attorney Mr. Bruce Jerkinson. Mr. Jerkinson angrily shouts at Juan. He says to Juan: “Damn it, Juan. I want you to hold it right there. Don’t you dare make another move, Juan. These are my clients–and you are not to eject them from your private property, you hear?”

Shocked, confused, angry and outraged, Juan says: “What the Flubb are you talking about, Mr. Jerkoffinson?! This is my private property. I have certain private property rights. I am the sovereign of my ranch. Get lost! In fact, just Flubb off! Leave me alone. This is none of your damn business.”

At this point, Mr. Jerkinson pulls out his trusty briefcase and brandishes a document. “You see this, Juan,” he says. “This document proves that you must allow these intruders to encroach upon your property whether you like it or not.”

Juan peruses this document and exclaims: “Funny, I don’t see my signature anywhere on that agreement, Mr. Jerkoffinson. I don’t see how that has anything to do with me and my goddamn ranch. Why don’t you get the flubb of my property before I put a hole in that there briefcase of yours, Mr. Jerkoffinson?”

To which Mr. Jerkinson replies, “Dang it there, Juan. My name is Jerkinson, not Jerkoffinson. You get that straight, you hear?”

“Jerkinson- Jerkoffinson–it still don’t change the fact that I am not a party to that agreement of yours. I never agreed to give strangers free access to my ranch. I never even attended that there B.S. Convention on the Status of Refugees and all. I say flubb ‘em.”

“Look closer,” demands Jerkinson. “You will find that your good old Uncle Sam was a party to the B.S. agreement on the status of BFS and Fs.”

“Still don’t see what that has to do with me,” counters Juan. “That’s my Uncle Sam’s business. This here is my ranch.”

“And how did you get this ranch of yours?” asks Jerkinson.

“Well, I inherited it from my Uncle Pete A. Tenorio,” says Juan.

“And didn’t your Uncle Pete sign some kind of ‘Covenant agreement’ with your Uncle Sam?” asks Jerkinson.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I believe he did. But Uncle Pete didn’t sign no B.S. Convention agreement. And, besides, this is not his property anymore; he gave it to me free and clear.”

“No, no,” says Jerkinson. “When your dear Uncle Pete signed that Covenant agreement, he gave Uncle Sam a blanket, permanent power of attorney to make decisions for him, his property, and his descendants, relatives (including you), and their property. And under this B.S. agreement, you are just going to have to turn back, put away that shotgun, let these folks stay on your property and compensate them for trying to kick them off. And while you are at it, make sure you include my attorneys fees, too.”