the inquisitive one

“Good day,” said the attorney, while entering the small meeting room in the prison.

“It’s not!” cried the inquisitive one, who was chained to the table.

“Surely your mother did not name you ‘The Inquisitive One?'”

“Surely your mother did not let you leave home in that wretched old suit?”

(The inquisitive one was in an uncharacteristically bad mood. Which was understandable, seeing as none of the i.o.’s friends had been considerate enough to put up the two million dollar bail. Talk about rude!)

“I understand,” said the attorney, “that you were arrested for storming the U.S. Capitol.”

“I understand,” said the i.o., “that you weren’t smart enough to get into a good law school and get a better job than this!”

“It seems that you are eligible for in forma pauperis.”

“It seems that you could inform me about this on a papyrus, and then I wouldn’t have to look at your face!”

“I recommend, for your case, that we petition for voir dire.”

“Oh dear, that sounds dire. I’d rather petition for more dinero!”

“We could, conceivably, try to obtain a writ of certiorari.”

“If I’d only written about a centurion instead of dressing up and acting like one, I wouldn’t have to deal with you right now!”

“Unless, of course, you would like to go pro se.”

“I’d love to go pro, see, I’ve always been good at tennis!”

“Ah. Good day, then,” said the attorney, and left the room, never to be heard from again.


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