“Knock knock! I’m here for our morning briefing, Judge. I thought we’d– Judge, why are you lying on the floor in your robe?”

“Oh hi there, Madam Prosecutor. I’m just…daydreaming, whiling away the time with my hands behind my head as I would when I was a boy, finding shapes in the clouds. Except now I’m performing a post-mortem, wondering precisely how that little bastard shut this jurisdiction’s mouth.

“It all makes so much sense now… He seemed so harmless! He was everyone’s favorite little scamp. His potty mouth and his dick jokes and his armpit fart noises and his cooking segments… And the whole time he was weaving his net around us.

“And we walked right into it. We took our seats. I now understand his intel-gathering missions and his hijinks and his quest for informational primacy. It all served his ultimate goal, which was to publicly expose, for all to see, both present and future, that this once-beautiful machine had lost the animating motive force of moral authority, without which we become just another street gang. We’ve become a dime a dozen. My name might as well be Rocco or Tic Tac. ‘All rise! Allow me to introduce to you the President of the United States District Court of America, Judge Tic Tac!’ We’re regular Original Gangstas, Madam Prosecutor. But instead of a gold grill, I’m wearing this idiotic robe. How am I supposed to strong-arm people on the street while wearing this stupid thing? ‘Well lookee here! Here comes the biggest badass on the block, wearin’ his dress, the leader of the Eighth Street Lawboys! Whatcha gonna do, lawboy, shake me down for protection money with your powdered wig?!’

“I know how that high school graduate with a library card did it. He popped in for a quick look around and translated what he learned into what he knows best: computers. If you think about it, a legal system is precisely like a computer. He’s got his circuits and so do we. He’s got his syntax and procedural rules and sequencing and so do we.

“And he’s got his endless loops and so do we. ’10 Goto 10.’

“And we’re trapped. We’re stuck in an endless loop from which we cannot escape. ‘Line Ten: Go to Line Ten.’ It would take a reboot to get out of it. And that would be just fine with him.

“So while we’re stuck in that endless loop, we’re helpless to do anything but watch from inside our own Kook Law Containment Field as he defecates on our mushmouthed, spirited attempts at speech. The inability to speak is equivalent to the inability to speak law. And that is the very definition of lacking jurisdiction. We can only stand mute as he erects new political and legal structures right under our noses. And what are we gonna do about it? What can we do about it? We’re trapped within a trap he inveigled us to lay.

“He’s blown up the Death Star. Shot after shot after shot, right down the pipe. And we dutifully delivered precisely what he needed: an escort. We hustled him right into the inner sanctum and locked the door. And now he’s yanking out cables and watching the sparks fly. Secondary explosions are popping off everywhere now. And we’re falling out of orbit, fast approaching an inexorable end, one ordained from the moment he first set foot on a stage. And I can’t say that we didn’t have it coming.

“And now I understand that limp of his. ‘The fool is possessed of a disability, either real or feigned.’ And he’s got the perfect disability: He’s perfectly innocent. He is perfect in his imperfection. He is the archetypal innocent: He only ever wanted to know the rules of this world so that he might prosper by them.

“But along the way he discovered that there are no rules –or if there are, that no one’s following them. Or if there are, that they’re extra-special secret rules known to all but him. And secret rules are no rules at all.

“And there you have it. That, Madam Prosecutor, is how Chris King employed ten years and every tool at his disposal to seal this jurisdiction’s mouth.

“But no sense crying over spilt milk. All we can do now is to go forth in the time remaining, doing what we can to advance the field of law. …So what’s on today’s docket, Madam Prosecutor, typhus or fecal coliform?”

“Fecal coliform. Typhus was yesterday.”

“Very well, then. Let’s get a look at that tax evasion case of yours.”

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