Judge?

You know I’m trying to learn law, right? I am a renaissance man and law is, after all, the world’s second oldest profession. So I try to give that august field of inquiry its due.

You know how in your law dictionary there’s those long Latin phrases? Apparently Latin is the lingua idiota for that kook profession of yours. (Hey, don’t blame me; I’m not the one here who voluntarily elected to hire on with the world’s premier idiot organization that seems to be losing jurisdiction every time I turn around.)

So anyway, there’s those long Latin phrases that lawyers say to one another. It’s like a secret code that the unwashed masses would never understand because they’re not totally filthy and they can think straight. Those phrases evoke in the mind of the jurist on whom they are laid, like trump cards —Bam!— an entire legal principle, perhaps one first explicated in the fifteenth century or whenever, when lawyers thought it would be a bright idea to codify things instead of just winging it.

Of course, we’ve gone full circle in this glorious nation; we’re back to winging it again. But out of my boundless esteem for the field of law, I do now lobby for a return to those heady days when reason ruled the courts! I want powdered wigs again! I say we talk more Latin!

And do you know how sometimes lawyers will distill that lengthy Latin law phrase into just a few words? Kind of like “Ipso quo natorum?” (I’ve no idea what that means, or if it means anything at all. Though oddly enough, on those merits alone, it should fit right in over there as it makes no sense whatsoever.)

So when lawyers are kickin’ back in the judge’s chambers and swilling brandy and smoking cigars or whatever it is you do back there, the one lawyer lays his trump card down: “Ah, yes. But ipso quo natorum.” And he smiles and leans back again into his leather chair and invites all comers to suck on that!

“Hmm,” says the other lawyer. “Astute observation, one first explicated in Negative Five B.C. by Taciturnius. Good show, sir! I find your logic unassailable!” And then they clink their brandy glasses together and laugh uproariously in celebration of their joint defilement of the legal system with their kook talk.

So in any future appearances before you, I’m going to wow the court with my knowledge of legal principles. After flipping through my copy of Blackstone, I’ve found here the perfect defense against any possible charge brought by the single most respectable entity the world has ever known, the United States Government. It’s called “Consider the source,” and its pure awesomeness may be invoked with just a word or two, just like the shorthand does for those long, cumbersome Latin phrases.

So cries the bailiff: “All rise! Allow me to introduce to you the President of the United States District Court of Vermont!”

“Please be seated. … … … Mister King, would you please instruct your attorney to sit?”

“I apologize for the oversight, your Honor. It won’t happen again.”

“Mister King, the prosecution alleges that you have used punctuation marks in your speech, the use thereof has been held to be wholly incompatible with their grand plan to spoof the legal system with a spurious complaint since they didn’t get a big enough bite the first time around. How do you respond to that?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hmm… That rings a bell… Let me type that into my legal reference here. … …I see: That shorthand invokes the cascading awesomeness of the ‘Consider the Source’ defense, first explicated in the Seventh Century by one Gerard Robiliere on the occasion of being dragged off to a torture chamber because he looked at a Lord crosseyed …Madame Prosecutor, how do you respond to this turn of events?”

“Your Honor, that is preposterous, that man right there” (and here she wheels around to point an accusatory finger at me) “is a Bad Man, and he is not a saint, and he says ‘Huh’ all the time!”

“How do you reply, Mister King?”

“Yeah huh.”

“Your Honor, this is an outrage! He’s making a mockery of these proceedings –yes, yes, we were hoping that no one would notice that we were trying to spoof the legal system; he caught us on that one– but I’ve never heard of such a thing! It says right here in this secret kook determination of a secret kook court that Mister King is a terris in complete accordance with Subsection B of the secret kook memorandum in which someone got in a snit and wheeled around in their chair and typed his name into the terrism computer. It’s all legit, Your Honor! All the dog shit is in order!”

“Mister King?”

“Hibbledee jibbledee dibbledee doo! Me talk law talk and so can you!” And then I pull up my shirt and make a series of loud, wet armpit fart noises and loll my tongue out at the spectators in the gallery and they all laugh so hard that milk comes out of their noses. “I trust that I’m free to leave, Your Honor?”

“Please do, Mister King. I’ve had enough of this farce. This proceeding is stupid, this jurisdiction is stupid, its conception of terris is stupid, this court had been made stupid, and you are by no means any more stupid than anything or anyone else in the court. Now please, Mister King, go home. Leave us alone in our idiocy. Please, please, Mister King, please stop making sport of this total parade of idiocy that we once fancied a jurisdiction! Go home!”

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