“I really had no intention of getting into this situation. Each element of the event, I assure you, was performed under extenuating and, indeed, understandable circumstances. Under what was undoubtedly a most uncommon pecuniary distress, I admit that I did give my accountant a financial report of somewhat, shall we say, deficient nature. To be sure, it should only seem a minor infraction to be perhaps less than entirely forthcoming with a predatory and wasteful organization such as the U.S. government. I, a man scarcely able to feed himself, much less to afford the exorbitant amount and quality of gasoline required by his Dodge Viper. Well, these unfortunate events most unexpectedly raised the ire of certain persons within the Internal Revenue Service. And, to my chagrin, it just so happened that a representative came to call at precisely the moment I was leaving my humble abode to purchase some clothing from Goodwill and a 42” high-definition widescreen television! While I had every desire to stay and chat, such basic needs as these could not be easily put off, and I believe there was a silent agreement that this interview could be comfortably delayed in favor of a later date. Upon leaving the driveway with the door remaining ajar, however, I had the sorry misfortune of very slightly nicking the aforesaid representative’s vehicle. I immediately left the scene, intending to fetch a policeman to survey the accident. As I was dialing the insurance company’s number on my combination cellular phone/digital camera with MPEG4 Video Playback capability, it occurred to me that the representative would probably not be inclined to remain at my house while I fetched the proper authorities. Now, let’s look at this situation. All in all, I had every reason in the world to be rather overcome by anxiety. Under such considerations, I deemed it expedient that I drive no more, and preferably check into a motel, one of course within my very limited means. A motel in, well, Canada. Indeed, it may seem like more driving than I should have done, but in my altered state of mind I decided it would be most prudent to patronize a certain particularly cozy establishment which I had stayed in and liked some years before. The next morning, as I walked out of the motel, I paused a moment, deeply disturbed by the disparity in quality between my own Dodge Viper and the two-door Toyota Corolla parked next to it. I stood silently, nearly with tears coming to my eyes, reflecting on the fact that even I, in my uniquely disadvantaged fiscal condition, was a supremely blessed individual. Some people, I thought, still exist in this wide, wide world whose fortunes are yet lower, who stare, day after day, without hope at bleak futures crammed with naught but squalor and detestable wretchedness. Who find themselves slaves of a giant, heartless structure. A structure shrouding them and all the world in impenetrable blackness, and satisfied only with the eternal sacrifice of their whole, unadulterated souls. And with those souls, it towers, laughing, shrilly cackling into the dreary mist, content only in keeping these poor creatures at work. At work for nothing. I thought of the combine from Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the giant, inhuman bank in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, and the tyrannical, demagogue swine Napoleon from Orwell’s Animal Farm. After some extremely emotional moments gaping at the repulsive ignominy of this world’s inequality, I resolved to act. Indeed, to combat this structure, this combine, bank, or swine, with everything I had. Leaving the Viper for this poor soul, I took upon myself the responsibility of being the man who had to conform to the will of the strong in humbly driving a Corolla. Having hotwired this vehicle with such warm-hearted intentions, and, silly me, accidentally kept the keys to the Viper, I left. I was most displeased when, at a gas station some miles away, I was apprehended by a police officer who wished only to be the power structure’s deputy, to force this poor slob into reclaiming his Corolla. The rest of the story is known to you, your honor. I stand before you today, in what I must say is a very nicely furnished courtroom, in this very noble city of Toronto, to answer for my actions. I do not wish to defend them. I can see that my romantic notions were not completely consistent with the laws of our society.”

To this testimony, all the prosecutor could say was “I rest my case.”