Last updated 10/05/01
Site contents Copyright © 1999-2001 Mel Grubb II 
This one's an easy one kids, it won't take me long.
I say, if you can prove someone was a general detriment to the human race and therefore needed to be killed, that should count as a legal defense. Now this could be divided into many categories, some of which I will elaborate for you now.
Your honor, the deceased clearly deserved to die. He had just come barreling down the street, in a residential district mind you, doing at least 45 miles per hour in a 25 mile per hour zone, with no muffler. He sideswiped two cars coming around the corner, failed to stop at the stop sign, and continued down the street where children were playing, all the while cranking what must have been at least 75 watts per channels worth of completely PLAYED gangsta' rap through factory stock speakers, that are only rated for 25 watts per channel, resulting in the worst acoustics ever conceived by man. He parked his car facing the wrong way, on the wrong side of the street, got out of his car wearing nothing but a speedo, and a tattoo bearing the message "Love Machine" in 100 point type across his chest. He then chirped the loudest 7-sound car alarm in the world, and threw his beer can into the street, walked up the driveway, and asked my client's wife if she wanted to come over and "party" later when she got bored with him. In short, he was an inconsiderate, uneducated, unintelligent, low-foreheaded, knuckle-dragging, cro-magnon prick, and therefore, needed to be removed from the gene pool. We should all be thankful that my client saw fit to kick the jack out from under the deceased's car while he was working on "dropping" it.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I first became annoyed at Mr. Dahmer a few months after he moved into the apartment above mine. That kind of constant screaming is very disturbing to someone like myself who doesn't get it very often. Now I used to have a pretty kinky girlfriend in college, but PLEASE, the chains and stuff every freaking night, was starting to get to me after a while. I think it's when the power tools started up that I really started to lose it. When he bought the band saw, I decided that was enough, and I couldn't take it any longer. The next time he has one of his girlfriends over, I'm going up there and give him a piece of my mind. Well, it was a couple of days later that I heard the moaning, and so I got dressed, and started up the stairs. I was barely out of the apartment before the chains were already hitting the floor. When I kicked in his front door, I can tell you he sure looked surprised. He was standing there wearing nothing but rubber gloves and a "Kiss the cook" apron, which had blood all over it. Bit's and pieces of his "hump du jour" were scattered around the room, apparently dismembered in some kind of freaky bondage accident, since most of them were hanging from chains, wires, or ropes. Well, I decided right then and there that you just can't be that careless when it comes to a fetish. The complete lack of safety catches on any of his torture gear showed an utter lack of care for the bottom in question, and that just can't be overlooked. So I told him off and smashed his head through the wall with the refrigerator door.
I'll hopefully add more later, but my lunch hour is over, and I must get back to work.
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Last updated 10/05/01
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