Sunday Morning Hot Tea - No. 19
Complaint Department and the Case of Monty Burns v. Grandpa Simpson
Welcome to Sunday Morning Hot Tea where I write about a little something up top then answer a legal question for you down below. This week – I’m bringing you one from the blog archive about mean tweets. Plus, the legalities of a treasure bonanza in Springfield.
In this edition
Topic of the Week – What People are Willing to Post Online
Legal Question – No Honor Among Thieves (or Monty Burns)
TOPIC THIS WEEK: Treasure from the Blarchive
It’s been a weekend, y’all. First, I bought a wedding dress. I know! I have only been engaged for twenty-two days. TWENTY TWO. That is so few days! The dress-trying-on sucked the life out of me (in a good way, though?) More on all that next week!
We also did a super fun live Q&A for the Sinisterhood Patreon. One of the questions we got was whether we have ever had a real life Am I the Asshole? moment. This was hard for me because I am not much of a complainer when it comes to strangers. As you’ll read below, I let a lot of stuff slide. Not everyone reacts that way.
This week, I am giving you one from the blog archive (blarchive!), written before the newsletter ever existed. It’s called Gripes of Wrath, and I enjoy it. If you’ve read it before, feel free to skip it. You won’t hurt my feelings, though I have made some tweaks, additions, and changes.
I did answer an all new, Simpsons-based legal question below, so be sure to scroll down and check it out.
Gripes of Wrath
I’m writing this on my back porch on a summer morning, sipping a cup of coffee in my PJs before the sun comes out and roasts everything in sight. The only hiccup in my current pleasant state is what I believe to be a golden dung fly buzzing around me. Don’t let the “golden” fool you. They’re not gilded. They’e filthy. I get them in my backyard when the “treats” my dogs leave around start to accumulate.
I had a poop scooping company cleaning weekly for a while, but they did a terrible job, so I cancelled my service. I also lied about why, which I know doesn’t help anyone. When I told him I wanted to cancel, he asked if everything was ok. While, yes, I wanted him to be better at his job, even more than that, I did not want to be on the phone anymore, so I lied and said I could no longer afford it.
For me, telling companies that they’re doing a bad job is so awkward. I just panic and bail. I once found a piece of plastic in a taco and just discreetly told the server after I ate around it. I wasn’t mad at her. She didn’t make the taco. For once, I was not eating the tacos so voraciously that I could’ve choked. I was not injured. I still got to eat the tacos. Therefore, I saw no need to make a scene. Maybe preferring to handle things quietly is selfish in that it robs the mistake-maker of fixing their mistake. But I actually think that doing the opposite – ranting online for the world to see – is much worse.
I once read a one-star review from a local vet’s office whose author seemed perfectly comfortable complaining. He raged in his review that when his cat was returned to him, its carrier was “completely soaked in the most foul-smelling brown liquid” the author had ever smelled. He complained that “before realizing where it was coming from” the hellish substance “soaked into” his car AND home (emphasis mine).
He said he had the car professionally detailed four times since to no avail. His solution? “Literally having to sell my car and buy all new furniture,” which the man blamed on the vet’s actions.
Let’s be real here – the only way the cat carrier could have destroyed his furniture is if he had transported the carrier into his house with an Olympian-style shot-put spin technique. Granted, there may be some liability on the part of the vet’s office, but within limits.
If they crammed a Hershey-squirting cat in a box and slipped it into his back seat without warning the poor bastard, they may owe him a new cat carrier or at least use of their hose to clean out the existing one, should it be salvageable. But the buck stops there.
Any sloshing or staining that may have occurred AFTER he rolled out of the parking lot can only be blamed on his basic lack of cat carrier knowledge. Cat carriers are not Tupperware. They have holes in them so air can get in, meaning, yes, liquids can get out.
The moment he chose to bring an open container of the “most foul-smelling brown liquid” across his own threshold, the liability shifted to him. Wherever it landed, it ain’t on the vet. Sofa? That’s on you. Rug? Not my problem. Bed? Why? How?
It’s unfathomable the expectations people have when they complain. Awhile back, a friend of mine served as a city council member in our hometown. It’s not a sprawling metropolis, but it is a real city with actual problems. One such problem ended up in this council member’s inbox.
The message was simple and to the point. It read, “What are u going to do about this?” That phrase was accompanied by a single photo of a chicken wing. The wing had a bite taken out of it, and there, between meat and bone, was a spot of red. Had it been sent to me, I would have replied, “Dip it in some ranch and woof it.” Instead, the council member politely and professionally asked for clarification on the problem.
“It is raw,” the constituent responded. I’m not a scientist, but I believe I’ve eaten enough wings in my life for an honorary doctorate from Wing Stop. That wing wasn’t raw. But the council member didn’t argue, he simply suggested speaking to a manager. Her reply? “I ALREADY TRIED THAT!” Because of course she did.
For her, the advice wasn’t enough. She demanded justice. She wanted her elected official to go down to that Wing Stop franchise location and do something. If I know anything about my hometown – and I do because I spent 18 years in a row there – the “something” she wanted was for him to perform a Stone Cold stunner on the manager in the dining area of this strip mall wing establishment.
People send these messages expecting what? Apologies? Free coupons? The simple satisfaction of having sent something?
The podcast I co-host happened to be the subject of a Twitter complaint a few months ago. The complaining account had 13 followers and tagged two accounts in the offending tweet: us and the smash-hit podcast My Favorite Murder. The complaint about our shows? We chatted too much. On our podcasts. Where all any of us do is chat.
When I told Paris, he said, “That’s the internet.” But I couldn’t let it go. Instead of ignoring it, I clicked on the tweeter’s profile. It contained no real identifying information. No name. No location. But every single tweet was railing against some target and then tagging that target in the tweet.
He asked Jimmy Kimmel and Jimmy Fallon if they wrote their “same stupid jokes” in the shower together (Do they shower together? Is there some kind of late-night-host dormitory we don’t know about?).
He tagged a professional linebacker and called him fat. He told his local Planet Fitness location that the gym needed a stronger WiFi signal, that NO ONE watches the TVs, and that they should turn the large fans down because it was “too chilly!”
He was mad at Popeye’s for being out of chicken sandwiches. He was mad at the NFL for showing Dallas Cowboys legend Michael Irvin on screen because his suits were “too f***ing flamboyant” (asterisks his). He was mad at Sprint and threatened to move his cell phone service to Verizon. He was mad at Dr Pepper for its magical fairy mascot.
He hated Godzilla (both the character and the movies). He had been wronged by Comcast. He conceded that while “the ladies are amazing athletes,” that the WNBA was “BORING!” He complained about the sound of women’s voices both in general and specifically, calling out Cardi B., Jameela Jamil, Karen Kilgariff, and Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez by name, telling all of them, in various ways, that they should shut up.
With a list that long, I figured Christie and I were in good company. Still, it stung.
The problem with Twitter, or any of these places where anyone can post online reviews, is their instantaneous nature. In olden times, pre-social media, before Yelp or Google, this dude would have had three choices: (1) Scream at his TV/spouse/dog/the void to satisfy his rage privately; (2) Sit down with a pen or typewriter, write out a letter, find out where to address it, get a stamp, drive it to the mailbox, and send it; or (3) Do nothing.
Would this person have been bitter enough to hand write/draw, “Your voice sounds so bad I want to stick [three pencil emojis] in my ear” as he had tweeted to the above list of women? Or was it only typed and tweeted because it was so easy to do?
I was most perplexed by his strange moral code. He would freely call someone fat or ugly or boring or annoying, but he would never ever curse. All his tweets were either self-censored with asterisks or emojis (e.g., 🐮 + 💩 = bullshit). It was confounding.
Reading through months’ worth of tweets, I also got the sense of a person who was simultaneously enraged and impotent. He railed against Comcast and threatened to leave Sprint, but weeks or even months later, he was tweeting at them again, proving that he had taken his business nowhere. The threats he had made turned out to be empty, but they were made and maybe that’s what mattered to him. I imagined the relief he must have felt in typing his asterisk-laden rants, in hitting send, in flexing his “power” to the big players.
And that’s who he was targeting – big players, giants. A media giant like Comcast. Comedy giants like Fallon and Kimmel. Even the NFL, which despite its inability to control Michael Irvin’s suit choices, is a sports giant. My Favorite Murder is by-far the most popular true crime podcast, with millions of listeners per month and millions of dollars of revenue per year.
But, then, he also tweeted at us.
I tried to take comfort in the fact that, at least in this dude’s mind, we were on the same level as those titans. To him, we were as worthy of scorn as the WNBA. As rage-inducing as Dr. Pepper. As big as a Popeye’s chicken sandwich. The main difference, of course, is those giants are actually giants. They don’t sit in their PJs and answer their own tweets. Even if it is a human responding on their behalf, it is an employee, not the sandwich herself, sipping her coffee on her back porch, swatting away flies and feeling like a pretty big deal.
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QUESTIONS FROM YOU – Raging Abe Simpson and His Misguided Miscalculation in “The Unenforceability of the Flying Hellfish Agreement”
This week’s question comes from Paris via asking me on the couch and me responding, “If you really want to know, you should fill out the form on the website.” Paris asks:
“Is the Tontine agreement made in The Simpsons Season 7, Episode 22 legal? Abe Simpson and Monty Burns enter into a contract where the last surviving participant becomes the sole inheritor of valuables. Is that legally possible?”
Great question, Paris! Spoilers ahead for those of you who missed this episode when it aired 25 years ago this week.
In case you haven’t seen The Simpsons episode in question, it involves a pact made between nine of Springfield’s men who served together in World War II in Germany as part of a crew called The Flying Hellfish. In the present day (1996), Grandpa Simpson checks his mail and receives notice that someone named Asa Phelps has died. Grandpa yells, “The seventh Hellfish has died!” Then remarks how he is one step closer to “the treasure.”
Grandpa meets Monty Burns in the cemetery for Asa’s sad and poorly attended funeral, where the men each put keys into a monument. A door opens to reveal a box. Inside is a list of nine names, six of which are crossed off, including Sheldon Skinner, Arnie Gumble, Iggy Wiggum, Milton “OX” Haas, Etell Westgrin, and Braff McDonald. Grandpa Simpson crosses off Asa Phelps, leaving only Mr. Burns and himself on the list.
Burns tells him, “Seven gone. As soon as you’re in your press-board coffin, I’ll be the sole survivor, and the treasure will be mine.” Mr. Burns refers to their “gentlemen’s agreement” saying that the crew swore on their lives to uphold it. The two men keep referring to the treasure as the “Hellfish Bonanza.”
That “Bonanza” was made up of priceless paintings by what looks like a Rembrandt with mentions of Monet and Botecelli, that they had taken from a German castle. When the group of men found the paintings during the war, they figured that immediately selling the stolen loot would get them busted. To lay low, the group agrees to hold the paintings in a “tontine” suggested by Mr. Burns.
Ox, one of the soldiers, explains the scheme as, “Essentially we all enter into a contract whereby the last surviving participant becomes the sole possessor of all them purty pictures.”
Fast forward back to 1996 where Grandpa and Bart retrieve the paintings from under the waters of Lake Springfield. No sooner have they come up for air, the paintings are stolen by Mr. Burns. Grandpa Simpson catches up to Burnsy and “discharges” him from the Hellfish. Grandpa says this ouster also kicks Mr. Burns out of the Tontine, so Grandpa declares himself entitled to keep the paintings. His victory doesn’t last long. Soon U.S. government agents show up to return the paintings to the descendants of their rightful owner.
WHAT IS A TONTINE?
A tontine is, not surprisingly, a real thing. Writers for The Simpsons are always bringing in real historical and cultural references. Invented in the 1600s, tontines were ways for people to obtain payouts based on their own mortality. They were also used as investment plans often run by the government in order to fund large scale projects, similar to how municipal bonds are used today.
In a tontine, the government/organizer sets up the structure and maintains the money. People called “subscribers” put money into the scheme. The subscribers receive payments of interest while the pot of money grows. Then as each person dies, the share of the pie and payouts become bigger based on the fewer number of remaining participants. Finally, the last person to survive would be entitled to the payout of the remainder once the rest of the participants died.
The setup is not quite the same as what the Flying Hellfish used it for, but it is similar. This investment structure was invented by and named for a banker and politician from Naples, Lorenzo de Tonti. Though he later had to seek political asylum for participating in a revolt, his name remains tied to the financial setup he created so many centuries ago.
Tontines were popular throughout the years and eventually made their way to the United States. However, in 1905, tontines had devolved into something more similar to a Ponzi scheme. An investigation by the state of New York put restrictions on tontines after an executive of a life insurance company was misusing money from the tontine accounts to fund his lavish lifestyle. This misuse made tontines appear risky, so they became subject to heightened regulation.
COULD THE FLYING HELLFISH USE THIS SET UP FOR THEIR PAINTINGS?
Not likely. Tontines don’t normally hold property. They hold money and pay out dividend-like payments. Instead, what the men may have created was more like a trust. Under the law, a trust is an arrangement whereby a person (a trustee) holds property as its owner in name only for the benefit of one or more beneficiaries.
Under Oregon law, a trust need not be evidenced by a trust instrument. That means that a trust can be created by speaking the trust into words. The initial “trust” may have been created back in Germany, but the men acted in accordance with the trust for years in Springfield. Arguably, it would be governed by Oregon law. Yeah, the Simpsons live in Oregon.
Whether it was a “tontine” in the strict sense of the word or a trust, the Flying Hellfish “tontine” is still an oral contract to which all nine of the Flying Hellfish agreed. The major problem with this oral agreement is a law called the Statute of Frauds.
The Statute of Frauds requires that certain agreements must be in writing to be enforceable. For instance, if an agreement cannot be performed within one year, it must be in writing to be enforceable. Since the agreement was contingent on the deaths of members several years apart, the contract would likely be void under Oregon’s Statute of Frauds law. This means that if the agreement was not in writing, it would not be a real agreement.
The biggest issue with determining legal title to the Hellfish Bonanza is the court’s abhorrence of illegal contracts. Even if it were in writing, it’s based on the underlying illegal act of stealing paintings.
Oregon courts have held that, “If the consideration for the contract or its agreed purpose is illegal or against public policy on its face, it will not be enforced.”
Because the underlying consideration for the Hellfish contract was stolen paintings, the contract is based on illegal consideration and “against public policy.” Contracts are usually considered “against public policy” if they are harmful to society or citizens. Awarding ownership of stolen paintings to one of two thieves would be both illegal and against public policy.
If Mr. Burns or Grandpa Simpson wanted to argue in court that either of them was entitled to the paintings, they would not likely be successful. They are fighting over stolen property, based on an oral contract that does not satisfy the Statute of Frauds. The court wouldn’t likely award the paintings to either man.
Even though Mr. Burns and Grandpa Simpson’s tontine was probably not enforceable, real life tontines are trying to make a comeback. According to the Washington Post, there is a growing set of lawyers and economists that think tontines are the future of retirement savings plans in America. They’re overwhelmingly more popular than annuities, which require participants to bet on their own lives. Tontines allow people to bet against the lives of others, which people seem more enthusiastic about.
In countries throughout Africa, a version of tontines that work like “peer-to-peer savings circles” are an important source of capital for small businesses that would not otherwise have easy access to capital to scale up in size. So while they would not be a good way to hold stolen paintings in trust for the benefit of stubborn old men unwilling to die, tontines are real and are still used to this day.
Thanks for the question, Paris! If you have any other questions, I expect you to submit them through the form and not ask me directly. (Kiddddding!)
Got a question? Submit it here. They can be legal what-if questions, questions on current events, or questions about the legality of actions in TV shows or movies you’ve seen. I never ever want to answer your personal legal questions, so don't send those. Love you, but I don’t do that.
Until next week, that’s the tea. You can’t protect your stolen paintings with a tontine.
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