My Imaginary Trial
Over the last week, I have not had pleasant thoughts about people. And in various ways, I have wondered how hard it would be to off them. At least in a story. Never in real life. Once in real life, but she had t coming. Taking the last everything bagel, what kind of monster does that?
So as my brain started to work on her death, maybe it would be a good catalyst for a romantic comedy, I wondered what would happen if I got caught. Certainly, I would be arrested. And there would be a trial.
Who would defend me? Well, me. Who better to reveal my way of thinking than me? Of course, my defense would revolve around the fact that it wasn’t really me committing the murder. I’d have to be drunk to do something so dark. Therefore it is Drunk Ed that should be on trial and not Classic Ed.
Judge: Sir, you realize “drunk” and “classic” versions of yourself are still you, right?
Me: Oh, Your Honor, how naive of you to think that. I drink this magic elixir and I’m no longer me.
Prosecution: It’s called tequila for God’s sake!
Why do prosecutors have to be so technical? There’s no worm in the bottle but that doesn’t mean I’m not chasing the worm. Mmm, that’s good double entendres.
I would offer to show the transformation right there in court but the Judge is afraid of a transformation not unlike that of The Mask. S-s-slutty!
Drunk Ed takes his clothes off once and suddenly he’s known as The Times Square Stripper. He needed money for more tequila and nobody was buying free rounds! Or was this the time he bet that he could be President before the end of the night and lost because that’s not how politics work?
Anyways, the prosecution uses these behaviors as a way to prove that I am a menace to society. She gets upset when I contradict her with notes that it’s Drunk Ed she’s talking about. However, she insists that there is no Drunk Ed and I’m just trying to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde my way out of this mess.
Bitch, please. If I was going to use classic literature to get away with anything, I’d use Sybil. She had more personalities than people live in my apartment building. And she knew how to blackout and really forget about what happened.
Hell, even my beloved Erica Kane could shake her head and go on a long monologue saying things like “My daughter Kendall dated My castoff Ryan and then my other trick Zach Slater. Of course, my daughter Bianca didn’t have that problem because she’s a lesbian.” I wonder if I could use the fake family I created to get out of this mess. Nobody likes my former son August Hail O’Beerly and she could take the fall easily.
Apparently, the Judge is sick of my shenanigans because he breaks open the Jose Cuervo. Now, this is my type of trial! They break out some “…oops I Did It Again” by Britney and well the jury comes back with their verdict.
I was found guilty of being sexy. And of first-degree literature botching.
My sentence is to read 50 Shades of Grey. I’m appealing based on it’s a cruel and unusual punishment.