This requires a bit of introduction. I was inspired to write this in May, 2004, by an email from an old friend apologizing for having to blow off all of us because he was spending the weekend researching the Groh v. Ramirez case, as some sort of oddball requirement for getting a law degree.

I was inspired to post this after reading another friend’s novelization of what really went down in Texas last week.

Therefore, without further ado, Groh v. Ramirez: The One-Act.

[SOUND EFFECT: knocking on battered wooden door]

Homeowner: Yes?

ATF Agent Groh: Hello, I’m ATF Agent Groh, and I’m here to help you.

Homeowner: Do you happen to have any alcohol, tobacco, or firearms?
I’m clear out.

Groh: No, sir, I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to carry those on us. We
keep it all in huge warehouses, and three times a year we hold a huge
fucking party.

Homeowner: Oh, well. Never mind. Didn’t really expect anything.

Groh: I need some assistance. I’m searching for a two-story blue house.

Homeowner: [snorting] A what?

Groh: A two-story blue house.

Homeowner: [looks around theatrically] Mr. Groh. Have you noticed
that this is Montana?

Groh: Er, no. We accidentally incinerated our map somewhere west of
Denver.

Homeowner: Well, here you are. And you might have noticed one or two
features about Montana. For instance, do you see that house over
there?

Groh: You mean that tiny blue dot on the horizon?

Homeowner: Yes. He’s my next door neighbor. Now do you see those
other blue dots?

Groh: Um… sort of.

Homeowner: Well, from left to right, that’s my Uncle Charlie, Joe’s
Bait-and-Tackle Shop, the Big Sky Sufism Research Center and
Chiropractic Clinic, the Wal-Mart, and Helena.

Groh: Er….

Homeowner: Helena’s a mite bigger than Uncle Charlie’s. It’s what we
call here an optical illusion.

Groh: Yes, we have that back in Washington, too. Nonwhites look like
terrorists.

Homeowner: Okay, well, you can discern color, so that will help. But
did you notice that all of those dots happen to be blue?

Groh: Yes. Is that another optical illusion?

Homeowner: No, every house in Montana is blue and two stories tall.
Because we’re the Big Sky Country. And we have more fucking square
miles than we know what to do with, so building a three-story house
makes as much sense as opening a kosher deli. So your search warrant
is going to be a bit of a problem.

Groh: Why does Uncle’s Charlie’s look as large as Wal-Mart?

Homeowner: That’s also an optical illusion. Wal-Mart is a tad
smaller. Lots of square miles, remember? And lots of trees. Well,
until we built the houses, anyway.

Groh: Oh, SHIT. I’m supposed to SEIZE the house, too.

Homeowner: You’re supposed to seize the house?

Groh: [dejected] Yeah.

Homeowner: [looks over Groh’s shoulder] You’re driving a Ford Taurus.

Groh: All of our 18-wheelers and Humvees have been sent to Iraq.

Homeowner: Damn, that really sucks.

Groh: So not only won’t I be able to seize the house, but you’re saying
I won’t be able to *find* the house?

Homeowner: Well, maybe I can help you. ATF, right? I think I know who you’re looking for. Say, are you sure you don’t have a smoke?

Groh: Oh, sure. I was just shitting you before. [lights two Cuban
cigars, hands him one]

Homeowner: [deep drag] Okay, here’s the guy you want to check out.
He’s right down the street, shouldn’t take you more than 3, 4 hours to
get there.

Groh: Uh huh.

Homeowner: Now, the guy’s not actually on the street, so the first
thing you’ll come to is a 30-mile swath of charred prairie grass, about
eight feet wide.

Groh: Charred grass, got it. Lightning?

Homeowner: No, some sort of rocket fuel. If you miss the strip, look
for a large RPG shell casing embedded in a redwood on your right, just
above about 1/8th of a moose carcass. Then double back about a
half-mile.

Groh: Gotcha.

Homeowner: Now, drive along the strip until you get to the first
ballistic crater. It’s, oh, about 20 feet deep, thirty feet wide, and
it’s about half full of this glowing green water. You’ll spot it
easiest by the cloud of blackflies swarming around it.

Groh: Uh huh.

Homeowner: Now, watch out for those blackflies, because there’s
something in the water and they sort of resemble cows. Ever seen
Twister?

Groh: That’s the tornado movie with that goyishe chick?

Homeowner: Yup. It’s like that. Except with mutant fly-cattle.

Groh: Gotcha. What’s next?

Homeowner: The next thing you look for are the desiccated remains of a
few groups of people who got a little too close to the house. If I
remember correctly, first you come on the Greenpeace group, then the
Jehovah’s Witnesses, then a large pyre of mutilated cattle, then the
space aliens who mutilated the cattle. Then you’ve got the Rotary, the
Lions, the Elks, the Oddfellows, Heaven’s Gate, the Flat Earthers,
Elvis, Judge Crater, Jimmy Hoffa, Madeline Murray-O’Hare, and Girl
Scout Troop 537.

Groh: Damn, that’s quite a body count. Do you know what killed them?

Homeowner: Some sort of weird-ass weather they get over there. It’s
like hail, only it’s made of lead and depleted uranium, hollow-point,
armor-piercing, and it travels horizontally at around three miles a
second.

Groh: Good thing it’s summertime!

Homeowner: At that point, you’ll start seeing the close-in craters.
Walk around those carefully, you want to be careful of the landmines
and the Bouncing Bettys. The house you’re looking for is more or less
in the center of the craters. It’s covered up with some brush, a few
artistically placed M1-Abrams, and a coupla hundred iridescent
Andromedan hides.

Groh: But it’s blue?

Homeowner: Was once.

Groh: [slaps notebook shut] Great! Say, how do you know all this?

Homeowner: A couple months ago, four kids showed up with this huge
mangy dog in the ugliest green hippie van you ever saw. The tall lanky
kid and I smoked a bowl, and he told me all about it.

Groh: We get some of our best leads that way. Word back home is that
the first solid evidence on Iraqi WMDs came from this big bear in a
green tie, and a little bear in a bow tie, when they were out looking
for a pic-i-nic.

Homeowner: Ain’t that something.

Groh: Yeah. He was sure smarter than the average bear. Tragically,
they were both killed and eaten by the 417th Army Reserve Unit, and
that’s why we’re still over there looking.

Homeowner: You sure you didn’t run into that tall, lanky kid yourself?

Groh: Pretty sure. Okay, thanks for all your help. Can I get your
name in case we have more questions?

Homeowner: Sure. That’s Hamish, but everyone calls me “Homes”, last
name Moner.

Groh: Homes Moner. Great. Thanks.

Homeowner: Say, what exactly are you looking for?

Groh: [reads warrant again] Er. Fuck me. All it says here is take the
house.

Homeowner: Well, check out the guy’s basement. I hear that he’s got
stuff down there where you can reduce the place to matchsticks and
sawdust in no time.

Groh: Sounds like a plan! Thanks. We’ll send you a little “special
something” at Christmas.

Homeowner: That’s mighty nice of you. Send me a Bushmaster, in case
those meddling kids come back.