Woman Files Restraining Order Against the Sun After It Refused to Stop Shining in Her Eyes
**LAS CRUCES, NM** — In what legal experts are calling both “the dumbest case on the docket” and “a surprisingly compelling argument for blinds,” a New Mexico woman has officially filed a restraining order against the sun. Not the local utility company. Not her HOA. The actual, celestial, 4.6-billion-year-old ball of burning hydrogen that hangs out in the sky like a lazy roommate who never pays rent.
Karen Beauregarde, 54, filed the paperwork in Doña Ana County District Court on Tuesday, claiming that the star at the center of our solar system has been engaging in a “sustained campaign of targeted harassment” against her personally, primarily by doing its literal, only job: emitting light.
“Every single morning, without fail, there it is. Just peeking over the Organ Mountains, all smug and yellow,” Beauregarde told reporters outside the courthouse, squinting dramatically despite wearing three pairs of sunglasses stacked on her head. “It’s like it knows. It’s like it’s waiting for me to back out of my driveway so it can blind me. I can’t drive, I can’t garden, and I had to move my bird feeder three times. This is a quality-of-life issue, and I’m done being a victim.”
The complaint, a 14-page document written in crayon on yellow legal paper, alleges that the sun has committed “assault with a deadly weapon” by emitting UV rays that have caused “premature aging, severe sweating, and a rash on my neck that looks like a map of Texas.” It also accuses the sun of “aiding and abetting” the wind in knocking over her aluminum lawn furniture, and of “conspiracy” with local mosquitoes, who apparently use the sunlight to find their victims.
“The defendant has shown a complete and willful disregard for the plaintiff’s comfort,” the filing reads. “Despite countless requests to turn off or at least dim itself during the hours of 7:00 AM to 8:00 PM Mountain Standard Time, the defendant has continued its aggressive behavior. We are seeking a permanent injunction requiring the sun to remain at least 500 yards away from the plaintiff’s property at all times, and to refrain from reflecting off any chrome bumpers, windshield glass, or the surface of the Rio Grande within a two-mile radius.”
The judge, the Honorable Stanley P. Withers, reportedly had to take a 20-minute recess after reading the filing to “laugh uncontrollably and call his wife to tell her about it.”
“This is… unusual,” Judge Withers said from the bench, pinching the bridge of his nose. “While the court recognizes the defendant’s ubiquitous presence, we’re not entirely sure we have jurisdiction over a main-sequence G-type star. The defendant is not a resident of New Mexico, does not have a listed address, and, to my knowledge, has not been served because our process server refused to get within 90 million miles of it.”
Legal analysts are having a field day. “The plaintiff’s argument is fundamentally flawed,” said Duke Law professor and constitutional scholar Dr. Amelia Hernandez, struggling to keep a straight face. “The First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech, but the sun isn’t speaking. It’s just existing. And for the most part, we have a societal agreement that the sun is generally beneficial. It powers photosynthesis, regulates our circadian rhythms, and gives us a legitimate excuse to avoid white pants after Labor Day. The plaintiff is essentially suing the concept of daytime.”
However, the case isn’t entirely without precedent. In a landmark 2018 ruling in Florida, a man successfully sued a neighbor’s pool for reflecting sunlight into his living room, calling it a “nuisance glare.” But even that case involved a man-made object. “We’ve never had a case where the defendant is a massive, incandescent plasma sphere,” Hernandez added. “Proving intent is going to be a nightmare. How do you establish motive? ‘The sun did it because it hates my flower beds’ isn’t exactly a durable legal theory. You’d need to prove the sun has a *mens rea*, a guilty mind. And I don’t think astrophysicists have found evidence of a guilty mind, just a whole lot of fusion.”
Retired Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, reached for comment at her ranch in Arizona, was blunt: “She’s nuts. Bless her heart, but she’s nuts. Tell her to buy some polarized Ray-Bans like the rest of us and move on.”
Internet reaction has been, predictably, a dumpster fire of sarcasm. The docket number, “Case No. 2024-SUN-001,” is already trending on X, formerly Twitter.
- **@Suns_Publicist**: “We at the Sun Corporation would like to issue a statement: We have been providing light and heat to Earth for 4.5 billion years with a 100% customer satisfaction rate. One complaint. Karen. We’re literally a star. What do you want from us?”
- **@LegalEagleFan**: “If she wins this, I’m suing gravity. I tripped on a curb and it was totally gravity’s fault. Also, the curb. But mostly gravity.”
- **@VampireDiariesStan**: “Honestly, ladies, she’s got a point. The sun is an oppressive patriarchal force that dictates our schedules and makes us wear bras. I’m with Karen. Burn it down.” (Note: This tweet has been flagged for inciting violence against a celestial body.)
- **@ChadFromGym**: “She probably voted for the guy who wanted to nuke the hurricane. Just saying. Also, the sun is a great source of Vitamin D. Gains, people. Gains.”
- **@NM_Native**: “As a lifelong New Mexican, I can confirm. That sun is a relentless, unforgiving bully. It’s melted my mailbox, faded my car’s dashboard, and turned my lawn into a cracker.
Final Thoughts
Having spent years covering the boom-and-bust cycles of the American West, one thing is clear: New Mexico isn't just a place on a map, it's a pressure cooker of ancient cultures, staggering natural beauty, and stark economic disparities that often simmer just beneath the surface. The state’s greatest asset remains its unique identity, but that same fierce individuality frequently clashes with the federal and industrial forces vying for its resources, from the atom bomb's legacy to modern solar farms. Ultimately, New Mexico’s story is a cautionary tale and a beacon of resilience—proof that a place can be deeply broken and profoundly magical at the very same time, and that its future hinges on whether its people can finally write a narrative that isn't defined by outside exploitation.