The standard definition of “turkey” is a fowl eaten on Thanksgiving Day. But there’s another, slang, definition: In AI speak, a turkey “can mean a person or thing that is a failure, incompetent, or a dud.” Close enough for purposes of reviewing some of the most outrageous faux pas in our profession this year. There are so many that it is difficult to choose. But let’s start with several judicial turkeys.
A judge of the Missouri St. Charles Circuit Court loved Elvis so much that he wore an Elvis wig and played his music during court proceedings. (I am not making this up.) He also discussed politics while on the bench. The Missouri Judicial Commission did not take kindly to the judge’s antics. So they cut a deal with the judge: six months unpaid suspension, after which he would return to the bench for another 18 months and then resign with the understanding that his judicial career would then be over permanently.
Meanwhile, in Alabama, for a longtime Lauderdale County circuit judge, it’s not turkey but a long stretch in the pokey awaiting him when sentenced later this month. A jury convicted him on 17 counts, including, but not limited to, using his office for personal gain, lying to a grand jury, and lying to state auditors looking at why there was almost $150,000 that couldn’t be accounted for in two accounts that the judge oversaw. Funds were used for vacations, personal expenses, and to cover overdrafts in his personal bank account. The judge blamed “sloppy bookkeeping” during COVID-19. Puhleeze.
All but one of the convictions are felonies and carry various sentences from two to 20 years. Do they serve turkey in the pokey or only crow?
How can judicial officers be such turkeys as to trash their careers? Lack of judgment perhaps? (Pun intentional.)
I would be remiss if I didn’t include some lawyers competing for the turkey award.
We’re still in Alabama, but this time it’s about an Alabama lawyer who has been accused of trying to kill her husband with fentanyl, not once but three separate times. The husband is alive, but the lawyer has been charged with attempted murder and other charges. Married to a former Auburn football player for more than 30 years, the lawyer, Sara Baker, has been her husband’s caretaker since he suffered a stroke a few years ago. Even if driven to distraction and beyond, trying to murder him and almost succeeding, her actions do not look good for her wedding vows “till death do us part” nor the attorney oath she took. Baker was obviously trying to advance her spouse’s date of death on her calendar.
How many hallucination cases can we take in one year? Those attorneys are also running in the turkey trot. The flock of hallucinating attorneys (and even some judges) continues to grow. In every case, there have been sincere, remorseful apologies, promises to never do it again, to take whatever remedial steps have been already taken and will be taken. Yada, yada.
Vigilantes had their place in the Old West, and they are now reborn. Back then, they were sometimes crusaders for justice, depending how you defined “justice.” These 21st century vigilantes are lawyers, they don’t carry sidearms, and they have nothing to do with horse stealing or horse trading. These vigilantes deal with horse shit, aka hallucinations in briefs. Their weapons are words, not guns.
The lawyers track down AI snafus in court filings. They collect the most outrageous examples and post them online, hoping to shame the offending lawyer(s) and reduce what is now called “AI Slop.” Essentially, they are trying to put a stop to that slop. An attorney in France has created a database of cases in which AI hallucinations have appeared. It lists more than 600 cases as of mid-September 2025. The database includes the nature of the hallucination, the outcome and sanctions, and any monetary penalty. Take a looksee if you’re curious.
If public shaming doesn’t work, should punishment return to the medieval stocks? And no, I am not that old, but something has to be done to prevent attorneys (and judges) from running afowl [sic] of proper procedure. How hard can that be?
Jill Switzer has been an active member of the State Bar of California for over 40 years. She remembers practicing law in a kinder, gentler time. She’s had a diverse legal career, including stints as a deputy district attorney, a solo practice, and several senior in-house gigs. She now mediates full-time, which gives her the opportunity to see dinosaurs, millennials, and those in-between interact — it’s not always civil. You can reach her by email at oldladylawyer@gmail.com.
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