I held up the small, dark green squash for the jury to see. For the past three hours they had heard some pretty revolting (to some) testimony about me, and now was my turn to launch a brilliant defense and bring them back into my fold. "Some see only a vegetable here. Me, I see something else... Nothing erotic, like most people would".
For some reason, this made one of the jury women kind of scowl.
"Now Me," I continued, "I have no use for this squash. None. Especially at this temperature. Room temp. or better is the general rule when boffing a veg, as I have heard from others. But me? No, I
merely see food. It is them, those who oppress me, who are actually guilty here. They have this need to sex up cute young vegetables and . . . "
The Judge interrupted at this point, telling me, "Johnny, stop rubbing yourself with the squash or I am going to have the bailiff take it out back and smash it." That judge, he was one mean bastard.
I really tried to stop rubbing that vegetable on my crotch, but it was just... A very difficult time to stop, and when I explained this to the judge, he yelled, "Mr. Pain, you have now lost the right to bring any more vegetables into this court. Now, or forever. Bailiff, take that squash from this sick bastard."
I wanted to be all non chalant about handing over the squash, because I didn't care, really, what happened to a squash -- let alone one that was much colder than room temperature. Even then, I am afraid as I started to hand over the squash, I accidentally let loose with a kind of cry of pain, or something. To be honest, though in a purely platonic way, I had grown close to that plucky little squash. Any one would have. That one was special. I guess then there was some chasing around in the courtroom. Someone was held down and forced to give up a true friend. And all during this, the judge was all, "Hit that bastard!! Knock him into next week!!" So I finally just turned that little queen over to the bailiff. . . . And I haven't seen her since.
Once everything settled down, I continued my defense with, "Some vegetables really want it." Looking the various jury members in their eyes as I spoke, I added, "We've all seen the come hither look of a summer squash, once in awhile, from time to time."
the prosecutor objected, and that damn judge goes, "Sustained!! You even go there, Pain, and I will jail you for contempt of court. Which I just may do anyways. Just for damn hell of it. I despise you that much."
"Okay," I went on, "Let's all try to remember -- as if any could forget, that glorious, glorious day that comes after thanksgiving and well before christmas, when the halloween pumpkins are all thrown out... who hasn't marveled at how the alley ways are transformed into almost surreally erotic walks of delight."
Then the judge just wouldn't let me talk anymore. I don't think that was legal, but he says it was, along with hitting me with that little hammer of his. So, as the papers made achingly clear to even my dearest old aunties, I am still doing, quote, "Community service in a vegetable free zone.' So, next time this happens to you, remember, Don't act as your own lawyer. I promise myself that I will get one everytime, and then I don't... but I'm an idiot.
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