Blake Prosecution Adds Co-Defendant to Raise Media Ratings

urprised by the waning media interest in the Bonny Lee Bakley murder case, the Blake prosecution team named young actor Christian Slater as a co-defendant in the case. As the prosecution's murder theory now stands, Blake murdered his wife in front of the Vitello's restaurant and Slater co-conspired in the plot and drove the getaway car.

The move has been seen by some to attract attention to a case that sounds pretty ho-hum in the modern media age. The Blake case, while garnering some media spotlight, has failed to attract the attention of the infamous O.J. Simpson case, lacking in comparison in brutality and sheer star power.

Slater, whose own career has slipped from attention in recent years, welcomed the prosecution, with a firm promise he and Blake will beat the charges.

"C'mon, we're famous!" he shouted at a press conference. "We'll be out in time to guest star on the Ally McBeal finale. Or, failing that, Fox Celebrity Boxing."

The prosecution announced at the same time it was dropping conspiracy charges against Robert Blake's bodyguard Earle Caldwell, saying he "just didn't appeal as strongly to the 18-35 age group as Slater."

"We thought of many possibilities," said prosecution team member Rad Harmscull. "Our first thought was Peter Falk, but we figured people might have trouble figuring out which is which. Todd Bridges was another possibility, but he had his day in criminal court for murder and we all yawned and let him go. This time I think we've got a can't-lose case for international media buzz."

However, Blake counsel Harland Braun was less pleased about the move.

"It's ridiculous media manipulation by the prosecution," said Braun. "Mr. Blake is not afraid to have his day in court over this matter, but we're not going to share it with some kid from Young Guns 2. Not to mention it makes no sense. They don't even know each other. Why not longtime Blake friend talk show host Tom Snyder or something? This is plainly a media-oriented move by the prosecution."

If the co-defendant prosecution ignites sparks in media interest, there are already rumors abounding about bringing in former Wiseguy star Ken Wahl on a conspiracy to destroy evidence charge. And if that move is successful, Wahl could receive his own spin-off murder trial, depending on the focus group's look at the evidence.

"I think we're doing very well now," Harmscull said. "We took a so-so case and have possibly made it into the trial of the century. This century, and even bigger than the trial of last century. Sure, we may not win as all the facts don't line up meticulously. But while we could've had a victory and execution before, killed some little rascal for some humdrum crime no one cared about… now we've created a lasting piece of criminal justice. This is the trial to which all others will be compared. And if it takes off, we promise there will be others."

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"Feed a cold, starve a fever—that also applies, respectively, to Gandhi and Orson Welles."

I feel like an asshole because I think I got that SARS stuff that's going around. Only nobody else I know has it. It's possible it's not the SARS stuff, since there's not been any reported cases where I live, and that Mexican Sushi place was pretty awful and I got diarrhea the last time I ate there, too, but I'm not taking any chances.

Neither is anybody I know. Taking chances, I mean. They all wear those goofy masks when I come around, but some of them have been doing that for months. They say they don't want to give me nothing, but the way they frown when I accidentally cut cheese says more than words can say. And it sounds like a duck. That's funny. I got to write that one down. I suppose I already did.

Those masks are funny. They remind me of bank robber masks, like in the old west. You know, Billy the Kid and stuff. I bet in Hong Kong where they have lots of SARS it would be easy to rob a bank, you could just walk in wearing a mask like all the SARS people, then pull out a gun and stick up the teller. Tell her you'll give her SARS if she doesn't give you all the money, but don't get a dye pack to go with that. Those dye packs aren't as fun as they look and that's how they catch bank robbers.

Doctors wear those masks all the time. I bet that's why they give you the knock-out gas before the doctor comes in the room. The doctor walks in and you're thinking, "Great, now I'm getting robbed when I came here for surgery!" But they said the doctor doesn't come in before I'm knocked out because every time he sees the bottle sticking out of my ass he cracks up laughing. I tried to tell them I didn't know how he was going to be able to get it out while he was laughing so much, but the gas knocked me out.

Another great bank robber was Jesse James. He had a brother named Frank, but nobody's heard of him. I wonder if Jesse did all the talking and that's why we know him and not Frank. I betcha Frank was probably thinking, "Goddammit, I wish he'd let me say something. He's afraid I'll freeze up and forget the routine, or I might get nervous and blurt out where our hideout is. But he's really just wanting to hog all the history to himself."

I bet Jesse James was pulling down "wanted dead or alive" money in the neighborhood of $30 or something ('cause it was all real cheap in the old west). Frank was stuck with "bring in the head of Frank James and get a free drink of grade-B whiskey." Wow, it really sucked to be Frank James.

That would be funny if Frank James lived forever because he had that SARS mask on all the time, on account of he never did the talking, but Jesse caught SARS because he foolishly pulled the mask down to tell them about the dye packs and stuff. That would suck to be Frank James and live all those years after your brother died and then just catch SARS yourself going to Hong Kong to rob a bank.

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You say I ruined your life, whatever.

Who gets machine-gunned to death these days, anyway? I mean, seriously. The chances have got to be astronomical. You practically have to be begging to be machine-gunned to death. My cousin was on the waiting list to get machine-gunned to death for three years when he was hit by a train. I'm serious! The way I see it, you should be writing me a thank-you note. I'd call you an inconsiderate prick if I wasn't certain you'd take it the wrong way.

Ruined your life, ha. That's rich. I'll have to remember that to tell my ex-wife, she'll get a real kick out of that one. She loves jokes like that, about me ruining her life or sucking out her will to live, all those old chestnuts. She has this great new one about me chewing up the best years of her life and spitting them out like tobacco juice, it goes over really well at parties.

Because really, how do you ruin somebody's life? Seriously. I can't even fathom it. A priceless Faberge egg, now that's something you can ruin. You can't play catch with one of those things without ruining it completely, trust me on that one. Friendships? Yeah, I suppose you can ruin a friendship. Especially if it's with a stuffy Faberge egg collector who doesn't keep his house locked securely at night. Those are both ruinable, I'll admit. But an entire life? Keep dreaming.

So what, so you have to get all your sustenance by licking pulp off the filter screen from a juicer now. Who doesn't? I'm serious, my grandpa lived off juicer pulp for years, and I didn't hear him complaining. Sure, after the kangaroo ripped out his voice box he had to talk by tapping out Morse code on a pair of spoons, but if he'd really wanted to complain I'm sure he'd have found the time. If he'd wanted to, grandpa could have sat around all day, bitching about how I took him to Australia and told him all the kangaroos were so tame you could get them to eat chewed-up peaches right out of your mouth. But did he? No way! Not after I took away his spoons. Who can sleep with that rat-a-tat-tat going on all night? Jesus. He acted like any of us actually bothered to learn Morse code.

You kind of remind me of my grandpa, actually. That fuckin' guy would believe anything. Well, I'm not sure he'd believe a tall tale like "Go on, stick your hand in there. It's not like they'd keep a loaded machine gun laying around!" but he wasn't an idiot. He was just old and feeble of mind. He didn't run around, sticking his fingers inside the gears of a loaded machine gun on a fool's dare, just because the fool had talked him into sneaking onto a military base in the middle of the night. But then again, grandpa always did hold his liquor better than some people who I won't mention by name.

(You.)

So come on, let's drop this tired old argument. Any reasonable person knows you can't really ruin a life unless it's two thirds of the way there already. Yeah, then maybe you can give it a nudge down the crapper, but hey, that's life. The important thing to acknowledge is that we're both a little to blame. Sure, I may have pulled the trigger, but whose idea was it to ignore me when I was yelling "Dodge! Dodge!" like a good friend? Sure wasn't mine. Granted, you might not have thought it was funny when I was shooting the machine gun down at your feet and yelling "Dance, motherfucker!" but I sure did, so that's really your word against mine when you think about it. And hell, if your fingers hadn't been caught in the gears I don't think most of those bullets would have even hit you, if you insist on calling a spade a spade.

I swear, when those doctors brought you back to life sometimes I think you left your sense of humor on the other side. Let me know if they ever sift it out of that sack of unidentified gristle that was left over after the operation. Otherwise, I don't even know why we're talking.

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