Written 13 February, 2009
Those who are newly come to this blog should understand ImSoNotADiva Bartlett was the prosecuting attorney in the groundbreaking case known as The United States of America vs. Sweetie. Disgraced and demoted after Sweetie won her freedom, Diva joined a conspiracy of disgruntled pastry makers who were constructing a donut death star on an alternate grid. Using a copybot purloined from a federal evidence room, Diva managed to make multiple copies of herself, but was stopped high over Black Rose sim by Sweetie, myself, and a planeload of Sweetie’s fans. When I last saw the original Diva—or, rather, her head—she was falling away from the plane, clutched in the hand of my Sweetie.
When Interventions Go Wrong
II. The Hearing Continues
The bloody bag on the prosecutor’s table was twitching and moving. Suddenly it tumbled off the edge and fell heavily to the floor.
A round object careened across the floor toward me, leaving a trail of red particles. And yes, it was the severed head of ImSoNotADiva Bartlett.
“J’Accuse!” it screamed.
“Diva!” I cried, and scrambled up onto the witness chair.
“Be brave, Chey!” shouted Sweetie.
Yes, Diva was back, and nastier than ever.
“I have some questions for this witness,” Diva snarled.
“I object, Your Honor!” I said. “This woman has been disbarred. And disembodied.”
“You mean decapitated,” said Sweetie, helpfully.
“I retain my TSA clearance,” said Diva. “That’s credential enough!”
“Ok, then, I guess you’re the er, head prosecutor,” Judge Camper chuckled.
“Ms. Palisades,” demanded Diva, “What do you know about Leona Helmsley shade number 502?”
“I know you wear it,” I said. “It’s your lipstick”
“It is. As an agent of the Teleportation Security Authority, I wear it as a defensive weapon. And what do you know of its chemical composition?”
“It’s highly unstable,” I said. “Like nitroglycerine or Britney Spears.”
“And Ms. Palisades, do you know what this is?”
“What what is?”
“Oh, damn! No arms! So of course I can’t wave it in your face for the benefit of the judge. Ms. Palisades, can you tell me what a British throwing scone is?”
“It’s an edged pastry weapon, quite lethal in the right hands.”
“Thank you, Ms. Palisades. Your Honor—“ Diva was trying to look Judge Camper in the eye, but Sweetie had just stuck her foot out and rolled the head over so the eyes faced down, “mmmmmm.”
Judge Camper said, “What’s that, Counselor? Speak up!”
“Mmmmm.”
The bailiff walked over and flipped Diva right-side-up. She glared at me.
“Hey, it wasn’t me who knocked you over,” I said.
“Where was I? Oh, yes—Ms. Palisades, have you ever seen one of these throwing scones in the hands of Sweetie NoLastName?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it was in the line of duty.”
“Just answer the questions, Ms. Palisades. And may I direct your attention to Exhibit 492?”
Exhibit 492 was Sweetie’s katana.
“I see it,” I said.
“Have you ever seen Sweetie use it?”
“Dozens of times!” I said. “Mostly to cut the heads off TSA agen—Oops! Did I say that our loud?”
“I’m afraid you did,” said Judge Camper.
“Your honor,” said Diva, “Those are just three items from Sweetie’s armamentarium. She has hundreds— maybe thousands—of dangerous items in her inventory. They range from that extensive collection of explosive cosmetics to the edged weapons to watermelon guns. Watermelon guns! And let me draw your attention to these newspaper articles dating from just before her hospitalization. She attacked the very people who were trying to help her. One of her best friends was severely injured when he attempted to sit on an improvised explosive poseball.”
“She felt horrible about that!” I exclaimed.
“Nevertheless,” said Diva.
“And she looked fabulous while doing it!” I said.
“That’s a point in her favor,” said Judge Camper.
“What assurance do we have Sweetie’s institutionalization has cured her homicidal tendencies?” asked Diva. “How do we know she won’t continue to be a danger to others?”
“There’s her discharge certificate,” the judge said. “It says right here she met her therapeutic goal.”
“Which was?”
“Sweetie will cut off no more than three heads in a six week period.”
“See,” I said. “She’s cured.”
“Yeah, sneered Diva. “By the Torley Linden Asylum for the Virtually Unusual.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Judge Camper. “Sweetie NoLastName, I hereby find you mentally competent. Court is dismissed.”
“Yay!” I said. I leaned over and picked up Diva’s head and drop-kicked it through the open window. The last I saw, it had come to a rest on the Calleta sim and some hobo had stuck a stick through it and was toasting it over a fire.
Those who are newly come to this blog should understand ImSoNotADiva Bartlett was the prosecuting attorney in the groundbreaking case known as The United States of America vs. Sweetie. Disgraced and demoted after Sweetie won her freedom, Diva joined a conspiracy of disgruntled pastry makers who were constructing a donut death star on an alternate grid. Using a copybot purloined from a federal evidence room, Diva managed to make multiple copies of herself, but was stopped high over Black Rose sim by Sweetie, myself, and a planeload of Sweetie’s fans. When I last saw the original Diva—or, rather, her head—she was falling away from the plane, clutched in the hand of my Sweetie.
When Interventions Go Wrong
II. The Hearing Continues
The bloody bag on the prosecutor’s table was twitching and moving. Suddenly it tumbled off the edge and fell heavily to the floor.
A round object careened across the floor toward me, leaving a trail of red particles. And yes, it was the severed head of ImSoNotADiva Bartlett.
“J’Accuse!” it screamed.
“Diva!” I cried, and scrambled up onto the witness chair.
“Be brave, Chey!” shouted Sweetie.
Yes, Diva was back, and nastier than ever.
“I have some questions for this witness,” Diva snarled.
“I object, Your Honor!” I said. “This woman has been disbarred. And disembodied.”
“You mean decapitated,” said Sweetie, helpfully.
“I retain my TSA clearance,” said Diva. “That’s credential enough!”
“Ok, then, I guess you’re the er, head prosecutor,” Judge Camper chuckled.
“Ms. Palisades,” demanded Diva, “What do you know about Leona Helmsley shade number 502?”
“I know you wear it,” I said. “It’s your lipstick”
“It is. As an agent of the Teleportation Security Authority, I wear it as a defensive weapon. And what do you know of its chemical composition?”
“It’s highly unstable,” I said. “Like nitroglycerine or Britney Spears.”
“And Ms. Palisades, do you know what this is?”
“What what is?”
“Oh, damn! No arms! So of course I can’t wave it in your face for the benefit of the judge. Ms. Palisades, can you tell me what a British throwing scone is?”
“It’s an edged pastry weapon, quite lethal in the right hands.”
“Thank you, Ms. Palisades. Your Honor—“ Diva was trying to look Judge Camper in the eye, but Sweetie had just stuck her foot out and rolled the head over so the eyes faced down, “mmmmmm.”
Judge Camper said, “What’s that, Counselor? Speak up!”
“Mmmmm.”
The bailiff walked over and flipped Diva right-side-up. She glared at me.
“Hey, it wasn’t me who knocked you over,” I said.
“Where was I? Oh, yes—Ms. Palisades, have you ever seen one of these throwing scones in the hands of Sweetie NoLastName?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it was in the line of duty.”
“Just answer the questions, Ms. Palisades. And may I direct your attention to Exhibit 492?”
Exhibit 492 was Sweetie’s katana.
“I see it,” I said.
“Have you ever seen Sweetie use it?”
“Dozens of times!” I said. “Mostly to cut the heads off TSA agen—Oops! Did I say that our loud?”
“I’m afraid you did,” said Judge Camper.
“Your honor,” said Diva, “Those are just three items from Sweetie’s armamentarium. She has hundreds— maybe thousands—of dangerous items in her inventory. They range from that extensive collection of explosive cosmetics to the edged weapons to watermelon guns. Watermelon guns! And let me draw your attention to these newspaper articles dating from just before her hospitalization. She attacked the very people who were trying to help her. One of her best friends was severely injured when he attempted to sit on an improvised explosive poseball.”
“She felt horrible about that!” I exclaimed.
“Nevertheless,” said Diva.
“And she looked fabulous while doing it!” I said.
“That’s a point in her favor,” said Judge Camper.
“What assurance do we have Sweetie’s institutionalization has cured her homicidal tendencies?” asked Diva. “How do we know she won’t continue to be a danger to others?”
“There’s her discharge certificate,” the judge said. “It says right here she met her therapeutic goal.”
“Which was?”
“Sweetie will cut off no more than three heads in a six week period.”
“See,” I said. “She’s cured.”
“Yeah, sneered Diva. “By the Torley Linden Asylum for the Virtually Unusual.”
“That’s good enough for me,” said Judge Camper. “Sweetie NoLastName, I hereby find you mentally competent. Court is dismissed.”
“Yay!” I said. I leaned over and picked up Diva’s head and drop-kicked it through the open window. The last I saw, it had come to a rest on the Calleta sim and some hobo had stuck a stick through it and was toasting it over a fire.
2 comments:
I think it was this line:
"'It's highly unstable,' I said. 'Like nitroglycerine or Britney Spears.'"
that caused coffee to come out of my nose. ROTFL.
I particularly liked “Sweetie will cut off no more than three heads in a six week period.”
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