An overdose of Moxie, dear

by David Benjamin

“Judge Rayford: Mr. Kirkland you are out of order!
“Arthur Kirkland: You’re out of order! You’re out of order! The whole trial is out of order! They’re out of order!…”
— And Justice For All (1979)

A COURTROOM SOMEWHERE IN WISCONSIN — The judge pushed aside several empty Chinese food cartons and pounded his gavel.

JUDGE: Order! Order in my court!

PROSECUTOR (Cross-examining the defendant): Young man, when you saw the large thirteen-year-old girl approaching you on the street, waving and smiling, what did you do?

DEFENDANT: I pumped twelve rounds into her.

PROSECUTOR: With your weapon, a Thompson submachine gun?

JUDGE: (Interrupting) Whoa! A Tommy gun? That baby’s a classic. Where’d you get it, son?

DEFENDANT: On a website, sir: www.whiteandnothingmuchelse.com

JUDGE: Cool. I’m writing that down.

PROSECUTOR: Your honor, please!

JUDGE: (To the prosecutor) You, loudmouth. Put a sock in it! (To the defendant) Young man, tell me. It was getting dark, wasn’t it?

DEFENDANT: Yeah. The sun was going down, your honor.

JUDGE: And this girl who suddenly approached you, without provocation. Was she wearing pigtails?

DEFENDANT: Come to think of it, yeah.

PROSECUTOR: Judge, what on earth do pigtails have to do —

JUDGE: (To the prosecutor) I’d swear I just told you to shut the hell up. (To the defendant). I hate pigtails.

JUROR #4: Me, too!

PROSECUTOR: Objection! Your honor, this is a travesty. You can’t allow jurors to just interrupt the trial and express opinions.

JUDGE: I can allow any damn thing I please. You know that, don’t you?

PROSECUTOR: Well, unfortunately, yes, Judge. But I was objecting because I was trying to impress Juror #7.

JUDGE: Juror #7? Why?

PROSECUTOR: Well, I’m pretty sure she’s on our side. She’s been smiling at me.

JUDGE: All right, I’m putting a stop to this right here and now! I will not have a biased juror! Bailiff, remove that smiling bimbo from my jury.

PROSECUTOR: (As the bailiff seizes Juror #7). Your honor, this is unprecedented. You can’t just arbitrarily banish a juror!

JUDGE: Can’t do it? Haven’t I just made it clear? This is my court. My reality! I’m old, I’m eccentric, I’m a bully, I’m clinically demented in a cute sort of way and I’m prone to wandering into weird, inexplicable tangents. So, I can do and say whatever pops into my head and you can’t do a thing to stop me. You got that?

PROSECUTOR: I guess so.

JUDGE: Besides, I kind of like this kid. He’s got moxie.

PROSECUTOR: Your honor, you like the defendant?

DEFENDANT: What the hell is moxie?

DEFENSE LAWYER: It’s a soft drink, son.

PROSECUTOR: (Helpfully). Like Coke.

JUDGE: What did I just hear? Did you just admit that the mother of the little dead girl was high on coke?

PROSECUTOR: (Befuddled). Judge, no. I was just explaining. You know, Moxie, soft drinks, Coca-Cola. And I didn’t mention the mother of the victim.

JUDGE: Victim? I told you never to use that word in my courtroom. If there are any victims here, it’s me! My lunch was cold and my hemorrhoids are killing me!

PROSECUTOR: But, your honor, please, this isn’t fair.

JUDGE: (Laughing out loud) Fair? You think life is fair. You think the law is fair?

PROSECUTOR: I guess not.

JUDGE: (To the defendant). So, young man, what you’re telling me is that after you shot the girl, you faced a threat from her mom who was stoned out of her mind on coke.

DEFENDANT: I did?

JUDGE: There. You see?

PROSECUTOR: Wasn’t that a question?

JUDGE: I’ll ask the questions here.

PROSECUTORS: But, your honor, it’s my job to ask —

JUDGE: (To the prosecutor) Shut the hell up, ferret-face! (To the defendant) Tell me, son. Why exactly were you on Main Street downtown, wearing body armor, and carrying a Tommy gun and forty pounds of ammunition?

DEFENDANT: Well, sir, I… um… er…

JUDGE: Perhaps — I’m just spitballing here — maybe you were hunting?

DEFENDANT: Hunting? Oh! Yes, right. Hunting.

PROSECUTOR: Oh, come on, Judge! Hunting on Main Street?

JUDGE: (To the prosecutor) One more peep out of you, pencil-neck, and you’re in contempt. (To the defendant) Hunting, for what?

DEFENDANT: (Puzzled) For what?

JUDGE: Deer?

DEFENDANT: Dear what?

PROSECUTOR: Dear God!

JUDGE: Deer hunting. Good. Now, let’s get back to those pigtails.

DEFENDANT: (Totally lost) Pigtails, sir?

JUDGE: Yes. As you’ve already testified, it was getting dark. You saw this teenage girl, who was — as I believe we’ve established — quite large for her age. And you were looking into the sun.

DEFENDANT: Gee, yeah. I was. It was sort of hard to see.

JUDGE: Exactly. Everything in silhouette.

DEFENDANT: Still wet?

JUDGE: Now, as you were walking along, hunting, you saw these things, these long, spiky pigtails protruding from the head of this fast-encroaching figure, like… well, like what, young fellow?

DEFENDANT: Um… like, um… er…

JUDGE: Like antlers?

PROSECUTOR: Oh, for Pete’s sake. Judge, you’re leading this idiot witness!

JUDGE: That’s enough of you, needle-nose. You’re outa here! Bailiff, drag this buttinsky off to lockup!

DEFENDANT: (As the prosecutor is marched out of the courtroom) Antlers?

PROSECUTOR: (In a parting shot) That’s another damn question!

JUDGE: Son, think back now. Did you see that oversized girl silhouetted against the sun, rushing toward you, her pigtails bristling from her head like deadly horns. And did you mistake her for a whitetail buck, deranged and hydrophobic from brucellosis? And did you think that this menacing apparition, galloping toward you, was a rogue deer bent on goring you where you stood?

DEFENDANT: (Smiling) Yeah, you got it, Judge. That’s what I saw. A rogue deer.

JUDGE: And were you scared? In fear for your young, promising life?

DEFENDANT: Yeah, right. Scared, whoa! That sucker was way rogue, Judge!

JUDGE: And is that why you opened fire and blew the harmless, unarmed girl — who looked for all the world like a rabid ruminant on a rampage — to kingdom come in a hail of bullets?

DEFENDANT: (Sitting back, pleased with himself) Yes, sir. I had to do it. It was my life or the rogue deer. Self-defense, yo.

JUDGE: And then, having wasted Bambi, you had to deal with Bambi’s mother, who was not only driven to savage vengeance over the death of Bambi, but was doubly dangerous because, after snorting a massive dose of cocaine, washed down with an entire pint of Moxie, the mom was possessed with superhuman strength?

DEFENDANT: Boy, yeah! That’s why I shot the junkie whore. It was either me or her. Self-defense, yo.

JUDGE: And by “whore,” you mean “doe,” right?

DEFENDANT: Yeah, doe, whore, moxie, whatever.

JUDGE: Well, I think that settles this case. It should’ve never come this far. Everyone, go home. (To the bailiff). Bob, make sure you give the young man his machine gun before he leaves. After all, deer season’s just around the corner.

DEFENDANT: Thanks, Judge.

JUDGE: Happy hunting, son.