A Blow Has Been Struck to the Nards of Justice

Last week "Dandy" Kent Weedman walked free. A jury of twelve of his peers, similar besides all the criminal charges against him, found him not guilty. A practiced American judge presided over this court case, and either he was asleep at the gavel, good people, or the dad-blamed thing was broken and he didn't overturn the not guilty decision.

Either way, a blow has been struck against justice, and justice took this one right in the nards.

Yes, the swollen testicular area of justice is feelin' it now, buddies. Clutching its throbbing scrotum with its eyes rolling, justice can only recollect similar painful strikes it has suffered in the past. But even as those past instances of injustice come back to it, justice shakes its red-flushed head and swears, with a tear leaking from the corner of its eye, this is the worst knocking around of its knobs ever. A nut-splitter from which American justice may never recover.

Much like the average America's Funniest Home Video clip victim, justice stood in khaki shorts and T-shirt over the bat-swinging blindfolded child "Dandy" Kent Weedman, as Weedman viciously swatted at an unseen piñata called the American dream, missed, and smacked with vigor the danglies of justice, as a resounding comical doing! sounded in the background. But Rok Finger wasn't laughing.

Justice, friend to every decent American, was metaphorically standing around on a street corner, minding its own busines, maybe checking out the hair in a reflective shop window. When "Dandy" Kent Weedman, armed with a crowbar of legal technicalities, sneaks up on it, and when justice turns around to say, "Yo, friend, what up?" Weedman swung the iron bar and justice took it hard in the sweet spot. "Jesus Christ!" justice screams, curling into a ball and clutching its goodies, murmuring "Shit!" repeatedly in a weak, babyish voice.

Who will stand up? If you've ever seen the statue of justice that represents our legal system, the statue, although incorrectly female, is blindfolded and holding a scale in one hand and a book, probably a legal book, in its hands. Its hands are full. How the hell is justice supposed to protect itself? Unh-uh. We must protect the delicates of justice. We, fellow Americans, must be justice's cup.

Though the misled jurors and incoherent doddering judge may think "Dandy" Kent Weedman has learned his lesson, has been rehabilitated, or is no longer a threat to society, I assure you he is. Or hasn't, wasn't, is, answering those questions all in order. Weedman will defecate in another mailbox in the future, just as I assured the jury. Rok Finger speaks from experience. I'm not sure how he picks his target, and even less sure how he manages to get fecal matter into a mailbox--does he squat over it at an angle? Does he catapult it in from some device a distance away? Can you mail excrement? Because I saw no stamps or envelopes on the horrible package left in my mailbox. Regardless, when Weedman strikes again, and he will, I can only pray you are not the next victim.

Meanwhile, justice will pant heavily, hunched over and actively weeping, waving away friends who try to help and declaring it'll be fine in a minute or two. Rok Finger prays it will.

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