ensions ran high in the world court this week as prosecutors continued what will undoubtedly be the greatest trial of the century, at least for a long time: The world vs. Kris Kringle, also known as Santa Claus, also known as Father Christmas, et al. It was a trial marked by emotional outbursts and brutal accusations of crimes against humanity.

Kringle, led into the courtroom with his ankles shackled together and a series of elaborate handcuffs binding his hands, sat quiet through most of the prosecution's presentation of evidence. For the defense was world-famous Swedish lawyer Jorgen Fiord, who successfully defended Argentine dentist Emilio Rodriguez in 1996 against charges he was the infamous "Tooth Fairy."

"This man, sitting right here—though he may appear jolly, and have the very glint of holiday joy in his eyes, is at best a worldwide fraud and perpetrator of lies," presented attorney Manfred Hauser for the prosecution. "At worst, he's the greatest terrorist in the history of mankind."

Hauser was referring to the charges levied against the alleged jolly old elf: the first, pretending to provide toys and presents to all the children of the world, when in fact they're bought and delivered by the children's parents; two, attempting to set up a non-profit "holiday" religion by infringing upon the beliefs of Christianity; three, initiating and operating international pyramid schemes of "helpers" on street corners and department stores everywhere; four, cruelty to animals, i.e. specifically the training and illegal housing of endangered reindeer; and five, violating labor laws and international laws against slavery, specifically regarding the livelihood of diminutive people.

Kringle had the entire world on the edge of their seats, awaiting how he would plea, when he finally entered a statement of "not guilty" two weeks ago.

The trial has been the focus of the entire world ever since the world-famous "Santa Claus" was taken into custody last year, Sept. 19, 2012, by Russian soldiers while leading a Chechan rebels' rebellion during his so-called "off season." Tipped off by local naughty boys, soldiers found Kringle hidden beneath a collapsed chimney that he may have been using as a home for as long as six weeks. The U.N. had planned to try Claus in October of this year, but thought given the circumstances they could postpone the event until the holiday season.

The highlight of Thursday's trial included the testimony of an anonymous elf, known only to the jury as "Sprinkles," alleging Kringle used magic powers to extend the days just so he could make his elf workforce work 28-hour shifts. The testimony took a turn for the lewd as the witness alleged, through sobs and comically high-pitched crying, Santa Claus made the workplace even more uncomfortable with the use of a device called a "mistletoe belt buckle."

"Humbug!" exclaimed Kringle, standing up and shaking a green-gloved fist at the video screen. "Complete and utter humbug! And there's no use disguising your voice—I know it's you, Butterscotch! He's a liar, your honor! Check his closet and you'll see—nothing but coal!"

Kringle denounced the trial as a sham, and tried to remind the court of the reason for the season, but was warned by Judge Avril Harkrieger he would be bound and gagged if he didn't keep quiet, and maybe would anyway, if the judge wanted it bad enough.

Each day the trial has been marred by protests outside, middle- to upper-class kids demanded Santa's release, and several children living below the poverty line demanded years worth of retroactive gifts.

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You meet some interesting people riding the bus. It's a lot easier to make friends on the bus than it is in a car, since in your car, most of your interactions with other drivers involve shouted sexual boasting or frenzied calls for bloodshed. On the bus, it's way more laid back. Everybody knows they're not getting anywhere any time soon, so they relax and take the time to read the paper, huff paint or strike up a conversation with their fellow riders. It's easy to make friends swapping stories about how your car blew up and the fire department is suing you for money you don't have.

One of my bus friends, let's call him Manny, works as a security guard down at the laundr-o-mat. Raise your hand if you didn't know laundr-o-mats had private security professionals in their employ. Me neither. The national rate of tube sock theft must have gone through the roof since the last time my dryer caught on fire. Anyway, funny thing about Manny is that he used to be on TV. Well, a TV anyway, his brother's TV. His brother Miguel would hook up his new video camera to the TV and direct little Columbo mysteries for Manny to star in, written by their little sister and some guy they found living in their storage unit.

You should have seen the shows, they were pretty fun. Though truthfully that's more of a tease on my part than anything, since it would be impossible for any of you to ever see them. Miguel didn't know he could tape the shows while they were shooting, since he hadn't got that deep into the video recorder's manual at that point. So it were strictly a live event. Usually we just watched Miguel and Manny in the room, since what ended up on the TV was so jerky and poorly lit that you'd rather eat raw oysters on a roller coaster than look at that for more than about four seconds.

But still, it was cool that Manny was on TV, at least until he got a big head about it. After a couple of shows, Manny started demanding his own bedroom and a cheese tray and everybody else kind of lost interest in doing the show. Finally Manny got tired of waiting for the writers to barf up another mystery for him to solve every week, so he went out into the real world to find some real mysteries to solve, which got him his ass kicked at the speed of light.

When Manny got out of physical therapy, he decided that being a security guard would be the best way to get paid to solve mysteries, or at least watch soap operas all day. Plus, they let you carry a walkie-talkie. Regular folk are harshly ridiculed for walking around with walkie-talkies on their belts (unless they're also carrying ray guns), but not security guards. Therein lies their power.

Manny and I have this game we play called "Stealth," where we sneak up and scare the crap out of each other at the most unexpected times. Manny's not very good at it, usually it's just me stealthing Manny most of the time, but he did get me good one time when I came home one afternoon and found him having sex with a prostitute in my bed. That's Manny though, just when you're about to count him out it turns out he's got an ace card ferreted up his ass.

On Manny's first day on the job at the laundr-o-mat I wanted to bring down the granddaddy of all stealths on him, so I went there the day before and snuck into one of those big dryers before they closed the place. I hung out there all night (thank God for flip-books), and when Manny came to work the next morning, I waited quietly until he walked close to the dryer. Then, "Booya!" I stealthed his ass something fierce! It must have been some kind of world-record stealthing because Manny banged his knee brace on a change machine and he went down like a giant sack of shit. I've never laughed so hard in my life. I think I also set an Omar Bricks land speed record getting out of there when Manny came back after me with that screwdriver. Sweet flaming Jesus that was funny.

Turns out Manny's got a lousy sense of humor, so guess who can't ride the bus to work any more. It's definitely for the best though; did you know you can take a taxi to work? Talk about moving up in the world, your own seat and everything. As far as I'm concerned, the unwashed masses can have their precious bus, they don't know what they're missing.

So it's time to break out the jealous mugs, boys. Omar Bricks has got a private driver! Yeehaw.

Bricks out.

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So apparently there's a war of some sort going on. I mean, I knew about it, just like in high school. I knew it was going on, even if I couldn't tell you where it is or who all is involved. Who knew it was going to affect me at any point in time?

Yessir, bob, this war has claimed another victim: My TV show.

I got a call from Dusty last Monday telling me that UPN decided to delay airing Archipelago Law until after the war was over. Like anybody knows when that will be. It won't be before May, at least, and the network won't air the show during sweeps since they can get bigger ratings with Family Matters syndicated re-runs. So I'm up a sewage-heavy creek and not about to paddle with my hands.

This is just like war. When that guy sings what is it good for, hey brother, I hear ya. Every time I'm in a movie there's some war movie that comes out and beats us at the box office or gets higher ratings on the TV. Every time I have a boyfriend and talk him into going to the movies we have to see some stupid war movie, even if it's a mob war or a gang war or some small kind of war movie. And now war is interfering with my big comeback show. Way to go, war.

I'm sure the people of Iraqistan are grateful there's a war going on there, they get all the free publicity they could use and every time we have a war we pay for it afterwards 'cause we're such good sports, but it doesn't help me at all. I don't care what kind of government they have—Republican, Democrat—it's none of my business. But when fuzzy green shots of tanks and missiles and oil fires are airing when I'm supposed to be running around in a grass skirt and coconut bra on the TV, then it's my business.

Unlike a lot of things, I'm not taking this lying down. Yep, I've taken a political stand for the first time in my life and joined a group of protestors. They weren't as hard to find as you might think, either, these folks were right in front of the commune. They must feel strongly about whatever it is they believe in because they've been out front of our building for months now.

Don't be a Ramrod Hurley and bitch me out because I don't know what the group I'm involved with is for or against. I'm too busy protesting to ask questions. Yeah, I guess I could read a sign and find out, if I was really boring and liked wasting my time. I joined a protest group, not a book club. If they're protesting they must be against war, right? So we'll get this war stopped sooner or later. I'm making history and producing social change, folks.

I don't know why there are pictures of Omar Bricks on the signs, but near as I can figure it Omar must have taken some kind of harsh pro-war stance that pisses these dudes off. That's cool, me and Bricks don't have to agree on everything. I just hope our divergent political interests don't keep him from inviting me to luaus in the future, 'cause that guy throws some kick-ass luaus.

I'm not stopping at carrying a sign around in a circle either. I'm going to get my mom out here to carry a sign, too. Sooner or later, right now the timing hasn't worked out well. Most of the protests happen in the daytime, and that's when she watches TV.

Feel our grievances, America. In the shouted words of our radical group: "He must be brought to justice!"

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