Steawright Throomey met her timely death when a large sinkhole opened up inside a giant pothole on a neglected clients neglected driveway and swallowed her up, small european car and all. Because she was nominally a lawyer, it is likely the sinkhole was a portal to a special kind of hell reserved for her kind.
Steawright Throomey always imagined herself as a James Spader type character in the TV series Boston Legal, delivering blistering monologues to an enraptured courtroom, but sadly, she was more a decrepit and failing Denny Crane than an Alan Shore, a blustering liability, better suited to firing off irrelevant and self-important emails at 4.55pm every day than firing up a lacklustre courtroom. Any drama was entirely of her own creation, because she was at essence a duplicitous coward.
Her relentless insistence on always having the last word no matter how inane or immaterial allowed her to increase her billable hours, which is probably how she made partner.
A basement dweller of the manosphere would probably refer to her as a ‘DEI hire’, a tawdry, misogynistic, out-dated notion. In reality she was proof that feminism had finally succeeded; she was equally as incompetent as a mediocre male counterpart, and suffered no consequences for her general haplessness and inadequacies.
The police and emergency services were called to the scene, but after a cursory poke around unanimously declared themselves unwilling to put anyone at further risk for someone who was at best dead, and at worst, litigious.
R.I.P (rest in pothole)