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In the grand circus of American politics, where career criminals often masquerade as public servants, we find John Oxendine—former Georgia Insurance Commissioner, current prison resident, and aspiring health care fraudster. After a bout of federal justice, he has decided to surrender his law license, presumably because even he knows it’s just a glorified keychain at this point.
The Georgia Supreme Court has graciously accepted his resignation from the legal profession—like accepting a broken toy back from a toddler who thinks they can still play with it. Oxendine’s illustrious career now comes with a side of Orange jumpsuit, as he’s enjoying some leisurely time at a Florida minimum-security camp; think summer camp, but with fewer marshmallows and more regret.
As part of his grand performance in the health care underbelly, Oxendine supposedly encouraged doctors to order unnecessary tests—because who doesn’t enjoy a little medical roulette? “Spin the wheel, get a mammogram for your headache!” Aldous Huxley would be proud. Our protagonist even worked out a sweet deal with a medical testing company, bagging himself a generous $260,000 in kickbacks that he funneled back to his co-conspirator, Dr. Jeffrey Gallups, before gallivanting off to the pokey.
Now, if you thought criminals were supposed to be smart, think again. Oxendine paid $150,000 to charity but kept a cool $40,000 for himself—because why not contribute to a good cause while also keeping the change for those late-night snacks? The judge, likely chuckling from behind the bench, slapped a $25,000 fine on Oxendine—I’d call it “breaking the law in style”—and instructed him to cough up a joint restitution of $760,000. It’s like a group project gone wrong, but instead of an F, he gets a ticket to the joint.
And let’s not forget his glory days of almost becoming governor back in 2010. Alas, his dreams of political prominence were dashed faster than you can say “campaign finance violation.” The Georgia Ethics Commission was soon upon him like a pack of wolves, sniffing out his illegal use of campaign funds for exotic cars and country club memberships—much more fun than paying for actual governance. Of course, when facing multiple charges, his strategy of settling in 2022 with a wink and a promise of “no wrongdoing” was about as convincing as a three-legged race at a toddler’s birthday party.
In this clever twist of fate, it’s hard to decipher whether Oxendine’s real crime was fraud or an even graver sin—being utterly incompetent at being ethically crooked. Either way, as we watch the gears of our justice system turn slowly but surely, we can only hope the next time someone aims for the political spotlight, they’ll at least remember that cameras aren’t the only things that capture a bad angle.
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