Let the record show that Brent L. Torque, age 44, father of three, possessor of one snake and zero working brake lights, earnestly believed he was winning.
Not metaphorically. Brent does not “do” metaphors. Brent does hot takes about libertarian Facebook memes, cold gas station hot dogs, and the belief that any man with access to an Arby’s napkin and a Sharpie could practice law. This is a man who believes the IRS is an optional social club and that emotional growth can be measured in push-up count.
The saga began when Brent received what he later described as “a personally threatening letter from ‘Big Government,’ but what the rest of the world would call a court summons. It was handed to him by a man in a beige polo and khakis who asked, politely, if Brent was Brent. Brent responded by revving his 2001 Dodge Ram and yelling “You’ll never take me alive!” before accidentally reversing into a shopping cart corral. The summons was lodged in his windshield wiper. He considered that a victory.
Still, he showed up to court, eventually, wearing a tank top that read “#1 Raw Dogger” and gym shorts with a visible mustard stain that he claimed was a “freedom patch.”
Brent had come prepared. His evidence was a vision board constructed on a corkboard he’d stolen from a community center in 2009. It featured: loose bullets, a Polaroid of a raccoon giving the finger, and the phrase “Co-Parenting is for Cowards” spelled out in beef jerky.
His witness list included his weed guy, the guy who once tattooed “Don’t Tread on Me” directly over Brent’s appendix scar, and his snake, Judas, who Brent claimed was more emotionally available than his ex-wife.
“Terry the raccoon watches the kids when I’m out huntin’ or, y’know, spiritually absent,” Brent explained to the judge. “He’s basically their forest stepmom.”
He referred to the judge as “Generalissimo Hammerstein,” his ex-wife as “She Who Demands Alimony,” and his children as “my divine spawn.” When asked if he’d missed any visitations, he said, “Define visitation. Define missed. Define society, your honor.”
His living arrangement was, in his words, “off-grid experimental cohabitation with nature.” In reality, it was an illegally parked RV behind a Bass Pro Shops. He had furnished it with a futon, Christmas lights, and a bucket system he refused to elaborate on.
“I’m teaching them real skills,” Brent insisted. “They got Field & Stream magazines. I laminated a few. I got ‘em a Trapper Keeper with swear words. They know how to hot-wire a boat and tell the difference between deer poop and government lies. That’s education.”
He argued that he was teaching the children real-world skills. He claimed to homeschool via VHS. The curriculum? Seasons 1–4 of Walker, Texas Ranger. He mailed them a dead possum for Christmas. It was, according to Brent, “a symbolic lesson on mortality, and also I was outta stamps.”
Of course, Brent had a podcast. You don’t wear a Bluetooth earpiece to a custody hearing if you’re not broadcasting. The podcast, “Divorce Court Is a Scam (And So Is Monogamy),” was recorded weekly in the back of his van, often shirtless, usually during storms. In one episode, he accused the judge of being a lizard and claimed his children were being “psycho-spiritually harvested by suburban school lunches.”
At one point, Brent pulled out a crumpled Arby’s receipt and declared it a legal poem: “Let me see the kids / I swear I’ve changed / This time the chickens are outside.”
“That’s growth,” he said solemnly.
When the judge asked about his missed supervised visitations, Brent explained, “I perform unsupervised visitation. I drive by the playground and yell their names while doin’ donuts behind the Wendy’s. It’s called fatherly presence.”
When shown a video of him attempting to kidnap the court-appointed social worker with a leaf blower and a net, Brent responded, “Y’all call it kidnapping. I call it patriotism.”
Brent concluded his defense with a PowerPoint labeled “WHY BRENT’S HOUSE IS SAFE NOW.” Slide 1 included a picture of his couch, which “only has some bees.” Slide 2 was just the phrase “TRUST ME” in Impact font. The court was not moved.
When the verdict was handed down—full custody to the mother, zero visitation rights for Brent until the bees were removed by a licensed professional, the raccoon was rehomed, and Brent promised to stop referring to himself as “The Biological Landlord”—Brent looked genuinely shocked.
“I’ve been silenced. Cancelled by the court,” he declared, saluting with a Slim Jim.
He attempted to exit through the janitor’s closet. He slipped on a wet floor sign. There was a loud thump. Brent screamed, “THE SYSTEM STRIKES AGAIN.”
He was last seen marching back to the Bass Pro Shops parking lot, muttering about “launching BrentTV.”
And somewhere, deep in the woods, Judas the snake hissed in approval.
The court may have won. But in Brent’s delusional heart, the revolution had only just begun.
Olivia Stemp is a Junior screenwriting major who is trying to popularize “freedom patches.” You can reach Olivia at ostemp@ithaca.edu.