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There's a raft of new posts over at Casa Insana. Most of it is forgettable drivel, or excellent Plaintiff's Evidence. Jeff's attorney thanks you, Dr. Deborah Frisch, for making his job so very easy. (No, I'm not in contact with him. I just hear him laughing. I only live a thousand or so miles away; it's hard not to.)

I don't want to belabor the obvious since it's so repetitious, though I do note that the fact that we have been donating to Jeff's tip jar has really rankled her.

No, the only thing that really bothers me this morning is this:

So now we're scheduled for a court date in November and I cannot see how discussing:

a. the restraining order and how Jeff blatantly perjured himself in it
b. the police report, where he committed more subtle perjury
c. the lingering disagreement about who wrote the pedophilic auntie moonbat/saliva quote and how funny the count without the O joke is

violates the RO from Colorado.

First: leave "perjury" questions to the judge. I'm sure you'll get a master class on the subject in November.

I'm sure you'll also learn tons about legal terms like "patterns of behavior," "credibility," and "batshit crazy."

But really, item C. I know we've been over this, but it bears repeating:

"count without the O" is not funny.

I performed standup for five years. I sold jokes to other comics. I headlined clubs where the bar was built on a pile of the severed heads of funnier comics than you'll ever be.

"count without the O" is a class A - or should that be class O? - felony count of First Degree Lame. It sucks. It's not even Margaret Cho funny.

I know you never made it past Open Mic night, but trust me on this: when you become a Made comic, and you try THAT hard to sell something THAT unfunny, the Family gets very unhappy.

I remember a prop comic once, lived in Terre Haute. Would not shut up about this bit he used to do with a glazed donut and a Kleenex. It was so bad it couldn't be used at Guantanamo. One day he woke up with the severed head of his favorite rubber chicken at the foot of his bed.

I'm saying this, Deb, because I care. It's not even a joke. It's not clever. It's a poorly-thought takeoff of the whole "C*ckula" thing you didn't even make up. You stole someone else's joke, and you made it even less funny - this is a mortal sin in comedy.

Deb, you're basing your entire defense on a flipping Photoshopped cereal box. It's not even a good likeness, dammit! Jeff is Jewish; the Cockula on the box still has his cowl. (Where's a digital moyl when you need one?)

The only humor you are capable of is unintentional. Your life in recent weeks is a laugh riot, but it's the worst kind of comedy - the kind where you make the audience feel bad about themselves for laughing at you. You're Andrew Dice Clay, with less gift for rhyme and still less likeability. You are to comedy what Andy Dick is to comedy. You couldn't get a gig at a Comedy Central roast. I've got TAPEWORMS that have worked a comedy central roast.

You. Are. Not. Funny.

And any lawsuit based on a demand that someone find that pathetic excuse for a joke funny is doomed to fail.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have another donation to make to the Protein Wisdom tip jar.

Good morning. Still digging through the last batch of comments.

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