Fast Food Federal Court

Richard Luthmann says Jeremy Hales wants Judge Robert Hinkle’s Gainesville Federal Courtroom turned into a drive-thru fee window.

LUTHMANN NOTE: Jeremy Hales and Randy Shochet apparently think federal court is a fast-food counter. Pull up, bark into the speaker, demand fees, and wait for Judge Hinkle to hand out a hot bag of drive-thru justice. That is not how this works. First, prove service. Then explain the contradictions. Then follow the local rules. Courts are not YouTube studios. Dockets are not content mills. Judges are not fry cooks. Hales can scream into the camera all he wants, but federal litigation moves on law, facts, and procedure. No clean service. No emergency. No fries with that. This piece is “Fast Food Federal Court.” Watch on YouTube.

By Rick LaRivière with Richard Luthmann

(GAINESVILLE, FLORIDA) – Richard Luthmann recently appeared on Two Lees in a Pod with Lisa Lee and Robbie Keszey for a full-force legal and media breakdown of Jeremy Hales’ latest move in Gainesville federal court. The case is Jeremy B. Hales v. Lynette Michelle Lacy Alexis Preston and Richard A. Luthmann, Jr., Case No. 1:25-cv-00058, pending in the Northern District of Florida’s Gainesville Division before Judge Robert L. Hinkle.

The fight centers on Hales’ push to expedite a pending motion for expenses and attorney’s fees allegedly incurred in making service under Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 4(d). Luthmann’s answer is blunt: no. Not now. Not on this record. Not while service, jurisdiction, pleading consistency, and procedural compliance remain open questions.

In his opposition, Luthmann brands the motion as “Plaintiff Jeremy B. Hales’ Motion to Turn the Court into a ‘Fast Food Stand.’” The point is simple and sharp. Luthmann says Hales and attorney Randy Shochet are treating federal court like a drive-thru window: place the order, honk the horn, demand immediate service, and expect the judge to hand over a ruling like a combo meal.

Luthmann argues that the federal court does not work that way. A motion to expedite requires a real emergency. According to his filing, Hales identified no jurisdictional deadline, no imminent loss of rights, no irreparable harm, no lost evidence, and no case-management necessity. The only claimed urgency, Luthmann says, is Hales’ desire to get reimbursed sooner rather than later. In Luthmann’s words, that is not exigency. That is impatience.

The live show dug into the bigger issue. Luthmann framed Hales’ litigation conduct as POLAMOP — protraction of litigation and multiplication of proceedings. He says the filings are not merely legal filings. They are content devices. In his view, Hales uses the docket to create new drama, new livestream fodder, new grievances, and new audience engagement. The opposition filing makes that point directly by noting Hales’ own complaint allegations that he operates the “What The Hale$” YouTube channel, has hundreds of thousands of subscribers and followers, and generates revenue through advertising, sponsorships, subscriptions, and online auctions.

Luthmann also hammered the alleged procedural defect under N.D. Fla. Local Rule 7.1(B). The rule requires a meaningful conference before most motions. Luthmann’s filing says Shochet emailed him on April 29, 2026, and filed the motion the next day after receiving disagreement. Luthmann calls that “a countdown clock with a send button,” not a meaningful conference.

The service argument is where Luthmann says the whole Hales-Shochet structure collapses. Hales wants Rule 4(d)(2) costs, but Luthmann argues that Rule 4(d) fee shifting only applies after a proper waiver request and a failure to waive without good cause. Luthmann says that did not happen. His filing argues that the waiver effort was tangled in bad addresses, returned mail, improper email theories, and inconsistent claims about whether Luthmann was supposedly in New York or Florida.

That contradiction matters. According to Luthmann, Hales’ earlier operative pleading alleged Luthmann was domiciled in Staten Island, New York, while Hales’ service efforts relied on Florida addresses and later substitute-service theories. Hales did not plead Luthmann as a Naples, Florida resident until the Third Amended Complaint in April 2026. Luthmann’s filing says Hales cannot “plead New York to sue and Florida to surcharge.”

The declaration filed with the opposition goes further. Luthmann states under penalty of perjury that he has lived in Florida since 2021, never agreed to email service, never signed a waiver, never authorized anyone to accept service for him, and did not receive a properly completed Rule 4(d)(1) waiver package at his Los Altos Court residence. He also states that substitute service through the Florida Secretary of State was unavailable because he was not a nonresident, was not concealing his whereabouts, and had a publicly ascertainable Naples address.

On Two Lees, Luthmann translated the legal fight into plain language: Hales wants money before proving the basic predicate for money. First, he says, the court has to resolve service. Only then could anyone talk about costs. Until then, the fee motion is not merely premature. It is upside down.

Hales’ problem is not just Hales. It is the ecosystem around him — the livestream peanut gallery, the litigation cheerleaders, the monetized grievance merchants, and, most explosively, his admitted alignment with Danesh Noshirvan, the Iranian-American cancel-culture influencer Luthmann has repeatedly described as a suspected foreign influence actor and possible recipient of foreign-linked support for domestic subversion operations.

That is not a small footnote.

Hales openly discussed on his own YouTube channel that he and his legal team were in contact with Noshirvan and Noshirvan’s legal camp in connection with the broader anti-Luthmann litigation theater. Luthmann framed that as an admission against interest: Hales was not merely observing Noshirvan’s operations from a distance; he was, in Luthmann’s words, “in league” with him.

During the show, Luthmann pointed to Hales’ own video statements as proof that Hales and his lawyers had communicated with Noshirvan’s side, calling Noshirvan “GERM’s admitted coconspirator” in the same litigation-media ecosystem.

That matters because Noshirvan is not just another online loudmouth in Luthmann’s reporting. He is the prototype of the modern cancel-culture enforcement agent: a mass-reporting, reputation-destruction, outrage-manufacturing influencer who, according to Luthmann, weaponizes social media pressure, legal threats, platform complaints, and public shaming campaigns to destroy enemies while hiding behind the language of “accountability.”

Luthmann has gone further, alleging that Noshirvan’s conduct raises foreign-agent red flags and should be scrutinized by federal authorities for possible foreign funding, foreign influence, or ideological subversion tied to anti-American or anti-Trump operations.

Hales’ alignment with that machine drags all of Noshirvan’s baggage into the Hales story: the suspected foreign-influence angle, the cancel-culture tactics, the lawfare model, the platform-abuse playbook, and the broader question of whether Hales’ lawsuits are really about justice — or whether they are part of a coordinated pressure campaign using courts, YouTube, and online mobs as one integrated weapon.

The episode is classic Luthmann: legal analysis, scorched-earth rhetoric, media criticism, and courtroom warfare. Lisa Lee and Robbie Keszey gave the platform. Luthmann brought the flamethrower. And the central message was unmistakable:

Judge Hinkle’s federal courtroom is not a YouTube set. It is not a content mill. It is not a McDonald’s. And Jeremy Hales does not get to order federal relief with fries.