Texas Attorney General and U.S. Senate hopeful Ken Paxton is deeply concerned about the safety of Tylenol and the corrupting influence of Roblox. But apparently, he’s even more concerned about finding rural judges who won’t laugh his legal crusades out of court. Despite previously whining to the U.S. Supreme Court that “forum shopping”—the proud legal tradition of hunting for a friendly judge—destroys public trust in the justice system, Paxton has spent the last nine years treating rural Texas courthouses like his personal scratch-off tickets. His latest stunt involves suing Tylenol manufacturers over autism claims; after a judge in Panola County threw out most of his case, Paxton did what any principled legal mind would do: he immediately drove over to Bailey County, right in our backyard, to file the exact same thing again.
But the absolute crown jewel of Paxton’s West Texas tour has to be his lawsuit against the gaming platform Roblox, which he chose to file in King County—a bustling ranching community east of Lubbock boasting a grand total of about 200 residents. The state’s bulletproof justification for dragging a multi-billion-dollar tech company into a county with more cattle than people? Paxton’s lawyers literally argued that because King County residents have internet access, Roblox is “ubiquitous” there. It’s a bold new legal theory that implies if you have Wi-Fi and a dream, the Attorney General can sue any company on Earth in front of your local justice of the peace. The best part? The landmark 1995 state law specifically passed to stop trial lawyers from pulling these exact venue-shopping shenanigans was authored by Lubbock’s very own former State Representative Robert Duncan. Irony is officially dead, and Paxton killed it.
All of this judicial gymnastics is peaking just in time for the incredibly messy Republican Senate runoff election between Paxton and long-time incumbent John Cornyn. Backed by a shiny new endorsement from Donald Trump to “terminate the filibuster” and go to war with the establishment, Paxton is pitching his chaotic energy as the ultimate conservative fighting style. Meanwhile, the old guard of Texas politics is collectively clutching their pearls, terrified that Paxton’s habit of treating tiny local dockets as campaign props is turning the state’s legal framework into a circus.
But hey, if Paxton’s Senate bid falls short, at least we know our neighboring counties have just enough cellular bars for him to keep suing children’s video games from the middle of a cow pasture.
Sources:
