Law school. What do those words do for you? For me they mean three more years of malingering. Kidding. I'm mature. So, yeah, I'm heading to school this fall. Not much will change. I'll still be in Charleston and I'll still be working part-time with a local green developer. And, of course, I'll still be doing my cards. Only now I'll be able to sue people who don't laugh at my jokes. And if you happen to be that guy who continues to write all those things about my inconsequential manhood in every bathroom stall on King Street, you betsta put the cap on that Sharpie.

So tonight I was treated to a little show I like to call "The Bachelor". Apparently a lot of people like to call it that. Anyway, there are three book-challenged bimbos from Charleston in this season's miracle, each one looking for her latest soul mate. Each one destined for greatness. They all (the Sandlappers) received a rose this week, and the one from Folly Beach, the one who uses "animosity" as a verb, seems to be the early frontrunner.

The bachelor this year is either in the Navy or has a very limited wardrobe. He also drives what looks to be a Lotus or Lamborghini. I'm not what you'd call a "grease monkey" so I'm not really sure. Either way, the car he toots around town in looks like it costs as much as all of those hopeful girls' breast implants combined. And this oddly chiseled Navy guy is all about those implants; he is the biggest cheesedick this show has ever had. And though I haven't watched many seasons, I feel I can say that with certainty.

Next week there appears to be an accident that sends one of the "ladies" to the hospital, there's some mud wrestling, and there's a drill sergeant yelling about roses while the girls are doing crunches. In other words, time to program your Tivo.

In other local news, Al Parish, a Charleston Southern University economics guru (oxymoron?) who has a penchant for technicolor suits and fountain pens, is heading to court. He allegedly swindled about $140 million out of investors. However, upon closer look at his mutual fund, the blame seems hard to place solely on Parish's shoulders. Take a look at his fund's portfolio:

Kiawah Island Beach House, Inc. (KIbh) - 15%
Fast Cars, LLC (Fcrs) - 11.5%
Diamonds for Wife, LLC (DFW) - 7%
Filet Mignon, Inc. (OStx) - 1%
Technicolor Suits and Fountain Pens, Inc. (Tsfp) - 3.5%
Monocles, Inc. (Monc) - 1%
Ivory Canes, Inc. (Icne) - 2%
Golf Lessons, LLC (Glfl) - 4%
Faster Cars, Inc. (Fscr) - 4%
Gucci Loafers, LLC (Gulo) - 2%
Pimpy Jet, Inc. (Pjet) - 20%
Butler, LLC (Btlr) - 8%
Tall Brick Fence so Neighbors and SEC Can't Peek in, LLC (Tfns) - 5%
Vault that I Can Swim in Like Scrooge McDuck Had in Duck Tales, Inc. (Vltd) - 2%

So you see . . . it was clearly listed in his holdings. Diverse? Yes. Awesome? Of course. This guy is so off the hook, in every possible usage of the term. Including the rare usage that means "Lacking both scruples and brain, rendering said person completely fucked." Follow the story here.

And the story gets good:

The SEC said after it attempted to contact Parish, "he checked into a local hospital claiming to have amnesia."

In an exclusive Keller's Kards interview, I spoke with Parish earlier today and he had this to say: "I totally forgot I was a fund manager. For the past two years I thought I was a Foot Locker manager. You sound to be about a size 12. What say we put you in a new pair of Zippydeedoos?"

Alls I can say is these shoes are terrific. You go, Al Parish. Keep fighting the good fight.

Update: Steven Jordan, a Mount Pleasant-based artist, met Parish when he was commissioned to paint a pattern of jaguar spots on the convertible top of the economist's Jaguar sports car. Read the latest in the Post & Courier. It's engrossing. Emphasis on "gross".

And now more songs about lovings and loves: