Court of Petty Appeals: United States v. Nicole Demitry
United States
v.
Nicole Demitry
78 U.Va 18 (2026)
Demitry, C.J. (very much still alive), [delayed] dissenting from reality.
I write to correct several factual inaccuracies, legal misstatements, and what can only be described as a troubling anti-puppy animus animating the majority’s opinion.
First, I must clarify that I was not “captured” so much as subjected to an unnecessarily high-budget group project (incidentally, another name for the Law Weekly). The United States deployed a nuclear submarine—mounted, as the record reflects, on a convoy of eighteen-wheelers and driven inland like a Fast & Furious franchise entry that tested poorly—to apprehend one (1) washed-up has-been law student and her boyfriend’s emotionally supportive puppy. At a certain point, this stops being national security and becomes an elaborate cry for attention. When did the executive branch trade spectacle for legality? Oh, always? Fair enough.
I will say this briefly and plainly—it is barely even funny for me to joke about being “detained” or “disappeared” when the current administration (not Kelly and Brad, to be clear) has made a habit of treating due process as optional and casual cruelty a hallmark of the Deportation Industrial Complex. The line between satire and reportage has become thin enough that even this opinion reads less like parody and more like a rough draft of a press release. There was once a clear difference between exaggeration and reality, but this Chief Justice Emerita is no longer able to tell which one it is engaging in. It would have helped if Chief Justices Wu and Berklich had taken a hint from our executive branch and given their coup a more dumbass name. Operation Free Press is just so 90s, back when America still maintained the façade of “promoting democracy and freedom.” Might I suggest Operation Cuck Chair? Or Operation Big Epic Not Overcompensating Nuclear Sub?
The majority next assures us—at length, and with the energy of someone reorganizing my desk while making eye contact—that it is entirely free of conflicts of interest. This is an inspiring position from judges who have assumed my job, my chair, and, I can only assume, my secret snack stash, and who now insist that this arrangement is actually in my best interest. I am particularly persuaded by the doctrine of “we’re holding this for you,” a legal theory most commonly invoked by siblings, landlords, and now apparently the Court of Petty Appeals.
On the merits, the Court concludes that I must take the February bar exam, a punishment so disproportionate that even the Eighth Amendment briefly sat up, made a noise, and then went back to sleep. This ruling appears to be based on precedent (coups), vibes (excellent), and the theory that my occasional “wittle cigawette” constitutes narcoterrorism. I reject all three. This is less a legal argument and more what happens when you let Westlaw’s AI autocomplete your indictment.
And let’s not pretend that any of this is novel. We are all, at this point, familiar with the institutional maneuver where someone is not technically “fired,” just forcibly transitioned out of leadership while everyone insists it was necessary and normal. The only difference between Jim Ryan and me is that he got a press release and I got perp-walked onto a submarine in the parking lot of Barracks Road. At least I didn’t have to interact with certain Assistant Attorney Generals in my fall from power; if I wanted to get called retarded by a woman older than me, I’d get a Ouija board and call my mother.
Finally, I must address the Court’s most grievous error: its treatment of the puppy Hamish. While I appreciate Chief Justice Wu’s partial dissent, I find it insufficient. Hammy is not merely innocent—he is, in fact, the only pawty to these proceedings who has conducted himself with dignity, restraint, and a consistent understanding of basic constitutional norms (namely, that one should not bite unless provoked).1 His continued detention represents a profound miscarriage of justice and, frankly, a reputational risk to this institution. There is no evidence—none—of seditious conduct by Ham[murabi]. No tail-based insurrection. No unlawful distribution of contraband treats. No attempt to destabilize democratic institutions beyond, perhaps, sitting in the Editor-in-Chief’s chair and refusing to move, which, again, appears to be the Court’s preferred model of governance.
Instead, Ham has been treated as a symbolic target, which is surprising given that his last known political position was “leaf.” He has been detained, interrogated (an attorney’s dream: he answered all questions with silence and, at one point, a yawn), and even had his nails trimmed in a clear attempt at torture and intimidation. He has been denied his most basic rights: grass, sunlight, puddles, and the constitutional freedom to constantly try to put stupid shit in his mouth.
We have, in short, taken a pup whose greatest crime is being extremely baby and turned him into a national security concern. This is not law. This is the spirit of Kristi Noem making its spectral-yet-silicone presence known.
Chief Justice Wu would release him. I would go further. I would recognize Hamithan as the only legitimate sovereign to emerge from these proceedings. He has never once abused his power, unless you count looking at you like the saddest baby shrimp while you eat as coercion, which, frankly, I do.
Accordingly, I would reverse the judgment, vacate the sentence, and order the immediate restoration of (1) my position, (2) my chair, and (3) Baby Ham Doe to a sunlit patio with a view where he may resume his work of being normal, or in the alternative, ascend to his rightful place on the throne.
Hamish 2028: Sit. Stay. Shrimp.
I remain, as ever,
studying,
watching,
and frankly, a little concerned about all of you.
