Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Judicial Wisdom
Clem Tillion appeared magnificent, in his betailed penguin suit and whiteface. His GongWacker's unclad tip tapped the hardwood floor as he waddled about before the bench.
"Your Honor, and everybody else's honor, including our esteemed jury," he began, "I stand before you today in defense of my client, Batum Schragg, who here faces charges of philosophical conundrum."
The judge interrupted. "Counselor Clem," he declaimed, "It says nothing here of philosophical conundrum. The charges are that your client pissed off peaceful penguins. Er, pigeons."
"An understandable slip, your honor," countered Clem, "for the penguins have a stake in this, too. However, I intend to show that these charges mask an unconstitutional attack on my client's right to philosophical conundrum."
"Give her a go then," said the honorable, "Do you intend to call the defendant?"
"Waste of time, your honor," replied Tillion, "We couldn't get a thing out of him."
" Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," began Tillion, waddling about again, the GongWacker tap, tapping with each unbalanced step, " the other day I was reading the newspaper on my porch. Some of you might also read the newspaper, and some of you also might, as I was doing, wonder why we do that."
The jury was not a faceless crowd. In fact there were twelve distinct faces facing Clem, but each indicated such wealth of detail and history that we can't go into it here. Picture twelve universes with biological appendages, all turning one so two could track Tillion's tapping.
"The neighbor boy came up the walk," continued Clem. "I thought he would offer to mow my lawn again, but instead he said, 'Who are you?'"
"I should have said that he knows who I am, but somehow his words, 'Who Are You' flew across the space between us and struck me right between the eyes, ringing my head like a gong and knocking all thought to the stars. I didn't know the answer."
"I was speechless."
Probably each universe in the jury was searching memory for similar experience, but we'll never know what they found.
"I submit, ladies and gentlemen," continued Clem, "that my client is perpetually stunned into similar silence by just that dilemma. That if 'I think therefore I am,' then, when you're not, you neither think nor speak."
Perplexity was evident in the jury and on the bench. "Counselor Clem," intoned the judge, "if this has any bearing on your case, you'd better get to it quick."
"Oh, that," finally replied Clem as he stood propped on his gongwacker, shaking off the immensity of his own presentation. "Let's ask the alleged victims."
Somehow, a pigeon flew into the room, and flapped directly to the witness stand. He perched near the microphone, at which he pecked and clucked. Half a dozen more pigeons appeared and parked along the rail before the gallery.
"THAT'S IT!," thundered the judge. "CASE DISMISSED! I will not have pigeon poop on my podium."
Phatic communion: Of, relating to, or being speech used to share feelings or to establish a mood of sociability rather than to communicate information or ideas.
Better go see the post from February 15, 2005. ¶ 9/30/2008 07:15:00 PM
"Your Honor, and everybody else's honor, including our esteemed jury," he began, "I stand before you today in defense of my client, Batum Schragg, who here faces charges of philosophical conundrum."
The judge interrupted. "Counselor Clem," he declaimed, "It says nothing here of philosophical conundrum. The charges are that your client pissed off peaceful penguins. Er, pigeons."
"An understandable slip, your honor," countered Clem, "for the penguins have a stake in this, too. However, I intend to show that these charges mask an unconstitutional attack on my client's right to philosophical conundrum."
"Give her a go then," said the honorable, "Do you intend to call the defendant?"
"Waste of time, your honor," replied Tillion, "We couldn't get a thing out of him."
" Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," began Tillion, waddling about again, the GongWacker tap, tapping with each unbalanced step, " the other day I was reading the newspaper on my porch. Some of you might also read the newspaper, and some of you also might, as I was doing, wonder why we do that."
The jury was not a faceless crowd. In fact there were twelve distinct faces facing Clem, but each indicated such wealth of detail and history that we can't go into it here. Picture twelve universes with biological appendages, all turning one so two could track Tillion's tapping.
"The neighbor boy came up the walk," continued Clem. "I thought he would offer to mow my lawn again, but instead he said, 'Who are you?'"
"I should have said that he knows who I am, but somehow his words, 'Who Are You' flew across the space between us and struck me right between the eyes, ringing my head like a gong and knocking all thought to the stars. I didn't know the answer."
"I was speechless."
Probably each universe in the jury was searching memory for similar experience, but we'll never know what they found.
"I submit, ladies and gentlemen," continued Clem, "that my client is perpetually stunned into similar silence by just that dilemma. That if 'I think therefore I am,' then, when you're not, you neither think nor speak."
Perplexity was evident in the jury and on the bench. "Counselor Clem," intoned the judge, "if this has any bearing on your case, you'd better get to it quick."
"Oh, that," finally replied Clem as he stood propped on his gongwacker, shaking off the immensity of his own presentation. "Let's ask the alleged victims."
Somehow, a pigeon flew into the room, and flapped directly to the witness stand. He perched near the microphone, at which he pecked and clucked. Half a dozen more pigeons appeared and parked along the rail before the gallery.
"THAT'S IT!," thundered the judge. "CASE DISMISSED! I will not have pigeon poop on my podium."
Phatic communion: Of, relating to, or being speech used to share feelings or to establish a mood of sociability rather than to communicate information or ideas.
Better go see the post from February 15, 2005. ¶ 9/30/2008 07:15:00 PM
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