I agree. I couldn’t believe that not only did they not do anything about it, but they had Julie joke about it on the live show.
Nitpick, it’s a battery not assault. And part of making a case for battery is proving damages. I don’t think Jen suffered any recognizable harm. Juvenile and mean though it might have been, it wasn’t particularly actionable behavior.
The cigarette incident was two more battery cases. First Dick purposefully exposed Jen to a particulate matter, then she struck him in retaliation. Again, not much in the way of damages.
Legal bs aside; dumping iced tea on someone’s head and blowing smoke in their face is just a totally dick move. No pun intended.
So is destruction of personal property. 
That one is trespass to chattels.
I think a BB/ Judge Judy crossover could be in the cards. 
“Don’t dump iced tea on my head and tell me it’s raining!”
Very funny!
She had permission to destroy the cigarettes, so Dick must have agreed in his contract to that possibility.
I don’t believe that for a minute — (1) no one can give someone permission to destroy another person’s property, and (2) Dick smokes two packs a day (at least) and never would have agreed to such a thing. Jen is simply lying.
I believe her. Everyone in the house seems to believe her. Not even Dick has accused her of lying about that. She had destroyed individual packs previously with no penalty. I see no reason to call her a liar. Dick probably just didn’t read his own contract.
I gave two reasons.
================================================
A deeply disturbing scene from last night’s After Dark:
Jen is hogging space at the kitchen counter, brooding like a sniper in a repository. Her children-of-the-corn eyes are dark and vacant. Her face is contorted into an angry scowl. She is twirling ribbons of her filthy hair, planning God only knows what sort of calamity. Behind her, blurred from the camera’s prodding reach, her house-victims are relegated to a couch near the toilet. Their squeals and laughter mask their feelings of dread. Humiliated, Dick endures the infantile schmoopie-love between Jess and Eric. Even Zach cannot hide the tension of the moment, as he quietly eyes the toilet stall, waiting for the emergence of a Sartrian nightmare. Just as one wonders, “Where is Daniele?” — the camera closes in on Jen’s evil face. Her black magic tells her we are watching as she glares into our souls. There is the faintest hint of a Cheshire grin. I yank myself away before I am caught up in a vortex that empties out in Hell.
Amazing post there, Liberal! Bravo!