'Twas a typical torts classby Glenn Otis Brown'Twas a typical torts class,And all through the house,The students were stirring,Zittrain pawed his mouse.Two laptops were wiredOn the table with care,Though all of us wondered,Would Nesson be there?Zittrain had mulled overThe cases assigned.But, somehow, it seemed,We'd fallen behind."_Summers v. Tice_,"The syllabus said.But all of us knewThat no one had read.In short, things were normalAnd little of news.Nick Eddy fell intoA torts-induced snooze.Dave's laptop was humming.Don rocked in his chair.Yuriko was quiet.Glenn preened at his hair.When out in the hallway,A shadow appeared.It burst in the classroom,To Zittrain it neared.We knew of one manWho'd so wreck a lesson:Not Jolly Saint Nick,But one Charlie Nesson.His cheeks were quite rosy.His hair was slicked back,His turtleneck halfway tuckedInto his slacks.He wore not a beard,No red suit, and alack -- oh! --The smoke from his pipeSmelled not of tobacco.Bags hung from his eyesAs though fresh from a nap.And he donned Sony headphonesIn lieu of a cap.But his bag contained gifts,And he passed them around:Our briefs, at last, backFrom that lawyer downtown.He asked us what was itThat he was to teach?He stretched out his hamstrings,Then started a speech.But not beforeSetting his story to song.(Just a _few_ seconds ofFleetwood Mac is too long.)"You'll see when you workin your law firms," he said."Your joints, they will stiffen,Your ass, it will spread."He climbed on the tableAnd turned to the classAnd, puckishly grinning,He wiggled _his_ ass.The music became moreElectric, frenetic.This Eon made NessonFar too energetic.He writhed and he twisted,His legs jerked and jolted.And fearing his life,Zittrain turned and bolted."I've got you alone!"Nesson licked through his lips.The music pulsed faster,And, likewise, his hips.The nuclear curtainsWere lowered and, thus,Nesson felt safeWith his secret and us.But there was a witnessTo Charlie's imprudence:Fifth-columnist FennoWas one of his students.Soon Zittrain returnedAnd asked what had happened.Atop his desk Sean screamed,"Oh, Captain, my Captain!"And suddenly color cameBack to his face,And Nesson reenteredRhetorical space.The vault to the next zoneHad ended like that.I said a Hail Mary,Breathed deeply, and sat."Back to the doctrine,And strictly black letter,"Nesson told Zittrain.But we all knew better.No sooner than ZittrainHad loosed his first phraseHad Nesson's eyes clouded --The same purple haze.He went to the board,He picked up some chalk and said"I'm Gerry Spence,"And he drew a big cock.The students were shakenBy this phallic reference:We'd shown great respect --He gave us vas deferens.In protest, perhaps,Mr. Babineau left.As he passed through the door,He said under his breath:"Some weeks of this classAnd I now understandThat Nesson embodiesJudge Holmes's Bad Man."But finally weReturned to our taskOf answers to giveAnd questions to ask.We spoke of strange doctrines,From Law's Latin past:_Flagrante delictum_,Or simply, "bare-assed."And young Brian Daily,That menacing tyke,And babies in puddles,And steering-wheel spikes."I'm Princess Diana,"said Prince Charles the Professor.But the class voted ZittrainThe snappier dresser.Raj dreamed of RehnquistAnd Posner . . . in hell.Phil praised CardozoAnd B, P, and L.We heard of causation,And fishbones in soup.And Greg Belinfante'sMisogynist hoops.But Glassman objectedTo Greg's sexist lens.Greg rose and said, "Ben,You just _try_ self-defense."Greg gripped Glassman's gullet.We thought he would choke!But somehow, o, somehow,The Subaltern spoke.He pleaded to Nesson,"Injunctive relief!Intentional tort!Battery! Grief!"But Nesson respondedTo Ben's desperate gasp,"Save doctrinal noisesfor Todd Rakoff's class!""But tell me a story, Ben.What do you want?Give me some narrativeNot Hume and Kant."But Ben's urgent criesFell not on deaf ears.James Pfeffer stepped inArmed with verbal spears:"Desist from thattracheal trauma this instant!Although I'm not versed in the vagaries and intricacies of asphyxiation orthe etiology of hematoma, one need not be particularly perspicacious todiscern that a forceful manual compression of the fleshy elongation betweenvertebrae C1 and C5 is dispositive evidence of a battery."With Pfeffer's fair judgmentGreg's hands, they released.The classroom fell silentAnd all was at peace.The holiday spirit imbuedPfeffer's messageAnd spread through the class -A glad New Year's presage.And suddenly NessonClimbed out on the roof.His sleigh was parked thereA la _Putnam v. Ploof_.A snowstorm had forcedHim to land on the eaves.He summoned some studentsTo give it a heave."On Bevin! On Clement!On David!" "- um, Michael.""On, faster than Zittrain'sFour-Wheeled Motorcycle!"And he shouted to usAs he flew out of sight."Good luck on your tests,And to all a good night!"With that final mystery,And all of his quirks,We all were left wondering,"How does the mind work?"