“Well, Your Honor, once I put on that gleaming steel Ronald McDonald Reagan helmet-mask, that bulletproof science fiction jock strap, the boots with the fur, and then they put a gun in my hand? I mean, sweetie, what did you think was going to happen? I’m not saying I’m innocent. But I do have a question for you: how exactly does one stay pristine in a guilty world? I wish I knew the answer to that one, Big Dawg Your Honor! Ha, ha, ha, ah, yes . . . what’s that? You’re sentencing me to 10,000 simultaneous death penalties? Wow, you’re really earning those robes today, and not just settling for the fashion statement. I’m impressed. But do I agree with this sentencing? Hmmmm . . . you know what? I can dig it . . . dig my own grave! Woo-hoo-woo-hoo-woo-hoo-woo-hoo! . . . um, could I borrow your gavel for just a moment, Your Honor? When I’m doing the woo-hoos I prefer to be smashing myself in the head with a large hammer, but, uh, they wouldn’t let me bring my props trunk here into the courtroom. And you’ve such a kindly, freshly laundered sock of a face. I figured-huh? That’s a no? Well, like, maybe you could just walk yourself over here and vigorously smash me all about the skullular region-I’m telling you this is always the perfect bit to end on, Big Dawg, pretty much guarantees me an encore every time I do it. Oh, wait, the uniformed guys are dragging me off to a better place, I’m sure. Say, friend, you wouldn’t mind hittin’ me in the skull with that club as I do a reprise of my woo-hoos, would you . . . ?”
