Don’t expect the OCBA to have a contest to rename this magazine anytime soon.
A new tort that could prevent Gwyneth or Beyoncé from going with their first-choice baby names
Beds laments the state of human regression.
Modern technology and an appellate justice.
Shakespeare asked what’s in a name. The scientific community offers a response.
Monkeys do more than just take selfies these days!
The slow pace of baseball allows Beds to pre-familiarize himself with your authorities.
Nevada passes emergency regulations to deal with its drug problem...but not in the way you might assume.
Appellate justices' brains are like steel traps...at least one week per month.
You may not get away with murder, but who has time to prosecute the turkey thief?
When your baby doll is on the lam.
Commas help you pause, think, and breathe. And Beds can be extra helpful.
Write if you must, but stay friends with your opponents.
Beds' wish list for pension benefits.
Assumption of risk at its finest.
Beds is not asking for much, here.
I would move to create an Oktoberfest exception to the rule.
I want Fleetwood Mac to write a song about this.
Don't think you can parachute your way out of an expensive government investigation.
When Congress acts like space cadets.
Do your utensils require a password?
Beds revises Shakespeare in keeping with universal truths.
Beds discusses the crime-fighting effects of hearing voices while urinating.
If they can’t leap, can they really be lizards, Daddy Warbucks?
Beds examines Israeli divorce law.
This whole pulling-a-rabbit-out-of-a-hat thing is tougher than it looks.
They say you don’t know a justice till you’ve walked a mile in his Skechers.
Why should we bother telling you what it’s about? With a title like that, you know you’re going to read it.
It’s hard to do comedy in a world that satirizes itself.
Appellate ace assiduously adumbrates admiralty arcana.
So you think you want to be on the Court of Appeal, do you?
Justice Bedsworth—and his mother—delve into intellectual property law.
Austrian justice and Zimbabwean currency—the world is full of mysteries.
Beds discusses endangered—and dead—animals.
Beds sympathizes with a canine who has the responsibility of at least one human.
Beds chooses to save local officials and throw Congress overboard.
Beds validates your grammar teacher.
Beavers, tigers, and rookies, oh my! Prosecutorial discretion in another type of court.
Bring this knowledge to the next OCBA function to amaze your colleagues!
What do Ben Dover and Dewey, Cheatem & Howe have to do with Beds’ column?
Down under, they enjoy a special brand of bar snacks with their VB.
Beds exposes the naked truth about Laguna Beach.
Words with Friends (Pakistani Version)
Poor Beds is weighed down by the knowledge of what 240 million Medicare dollars can buy.
Beds and Jon Stewart reach similar conclusions about snow cones.
Beds has come upon a case that would make Dickens proud.
Beds has written a “Pay it Forward” for the legal profession.
Tribute to a great person and judge . . .
Beds finds the latest addition to the professional sports scene a little hard to swallow.
“The closer I get to retirement, the more I worry about the economy.”
Remedial math: 0+0 = #@!!?%
Are the Chinese ahead of us or behind us on this one?
Still more stuff that mystifies Beds.
Beds offers a little CLE on the importance of proofreading.
Like everything else in the world of sports, contract negotiation is divorced from reality.
This one’s not about laughter.
Twelve more years of Beds—and you thought Groundhog Day was a raw deal!
Beds talks about his favorite game . . . and baseball.
Beds’ take on Congress makes Will Rogers sound like their best friend.
It’s time for more stupid human tricks.
Extramarital psychiatric “care . . . .”
Use of language these days is an abominanity. . . .
Beds ruminates on the power behind the throne. . . .
“Starring Kelly McCourt in the role of Beds’ Wife.”
Appellate advocacy through the eyes of a casketmaker’s son . . .
That title oughta be enough to get you to read Beds' column this month.
Greetings from the Soul Center of the Universe. I’ve made my annual pilgrimage to the Soul Center of the Universe to offer homage to James Brown, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, et al.
Well, it’s official. The retirement papers are filed, I’ve said goodbye to my colleagues, and turned in my ID card. I may come back on assignment sometime, but basically I’m retired.
My birthday falls the week before Thanksgiving every year. For most of my life that meant a lot of giving thanks in a very short time. But I’m reaching the age now at which the two events pretty much cancel each other out.
“Beds is having a hard time letting go of the baseball season this year.”
“Some little-known judicial history from the man who made it.”
“Beds is considering a career in virtual reality.”