Perverted Justice: A Case Study

JUDGE: Peter Martin Cartwright, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers for indecently exposing yourself to one Gabriella Webster. Have you anything to say before I pass sentence?

CARTWRIGHT: Yes, Your Honour.

JUDGE: Proceed.

CARTWRIGHT: M'lud, members of the jury, assembled witnesses, mum... I put it to you there is one key piece of evidence missing from the prosecution's otherwise completely watertight case: evidence that, if overlooked, will turn this trial into a miscarriage of justice and undermine the entire fabric of British whatsit. The truth is, it was impossible for me to have exposed myself to Miss Gabriella Webster on the day in question on account of the fact I possess a very small penis.

JUDGE: I'm sorry-?

CARTWRIGHT: No need to be sorry, Your Honour, it's a pain I've endured all my life. Miss Webster claims to have seen me waving it about in my hand in the frozen meat section of Morrisons supermarket, but I have here in my pocket a series of photographs which prove conclusively that the width of my hand is considerably larger than the length of my Jammie Dodger.

JUDGE: Jammie Dodger?

CARTWRIGHT: Todger, m'lud. [Takes out photographs] So if you'd just care to have a gander at these, Your Worship...

JUDGE: That won't be necessary. I have listened to your plea with considerable -ah- interest, Mr. Cartwright, but I am afraid I cannot accept this late defence.

CARTWRIGHT: How can you without having a butcher's. Look...

Cartwright goes to unzip his fly.

JUDGE: No! May I remind you, Mr. Cartwright, that this is a court of law and not Stringfellow's Nightclub.

CARTWRIGHT: Well have a look at the evidence, then.

JUDGE: If I must.

Cartwright approaches the bench and hands Justice Hammer the photographs.

You do realise measurements alone would have been sufficient, Mr. Cartwright.

He studies the photographs, flashing disapproving looks at Cartwright. Cartwright gives him the thumbs-up.

Well, from the evidence you have submitted here it seems entirely possible for you to have extended your member in your hand to make it visible to Miss Webster.

CARTWRIGHT: Bollocks.

JUDGE: They were clearly visible as well.

CARTWRIGHT: [Unzips fly] Your Honour, allow me the opportunity to prove my innocence before you today.

JUDGE: I think not.

CARTWRIGHT: Oh, please...

JUDGE: No. I will pass sentence. Peter Martin Cartwright, you have been found guilty by a jury of twelve good persons and true that on the 2nd of March you did wilfully and with malice of foreskin - forethought - indecently expose yourself to Miss Gabriella Webster. In light of your self-confessed shortcomings, I can readily imagine the many ways you may have manipulated your member to make it visible to Miss Webster.

CARTWRIGHT: I bet you can, you dirty old sod.

JUDGE: I beg your pardon?

CARTWRIGHT: Nothing, Your Honour. Please, proceed.

JUDGE: I rule that in spite of this, and that this is your first offence, I hereby sentence you to be my lawfully wedded husband.

CARTWRIGHT: Cock-a-doodle-doo!

The court erupts in a cacophony of cheers as Cartwright leaps over the bench and gathers Justice Hammer in his arms.

 

- The End -

The Restaurant Critics: A Play in One Act

Two portly, middle-aged men at a restaurant table, slumped back in their chairs and patting their voluminous stomachs. 

HULME: I don't think I could eat another thing after that. 

LANGWORTHY: Was that a beautiful meal for you? 

HULME: Was that a beautiful meal for you? 

HULME and LANGWORTHY: What a beautiful meal! 

LANGWORTHY: I don't think I've eaten this heartily since- 

HULME: Yesterday? 

LANGWORTHY: Yesterday, yes. Ah! The life of a restaurant critic, eh? 

HULME: You know, I might give this place five stars. 

LANGWORTHY: Really? 

HULME: Well, not the whole five. 

LANGWORTHY: No, the service left a lot to be desired. Rather disagreeable bunch, I thought. 

HULME: Especially having to fight tooth and claw to get table service. 

LANGWORTHY: Absolutely no respect for social convention. What is British dining coming to these days? 

HULME: Speaking of which, did you hear about old Truscott? 

LANGWORTHY: Restaurant critic for The Spectator? 

HULME: The very same. 

LANGWORTHY: No. 

HULME: Well, he was at the opening of that new restaurant in the Strand, tucking into his lobster thermador in béarnaise sauce- 

LANGWORTHY: With shallots and garlic? 

HULME: With shallots and garlic, yes. 

LANGWORTHY: Good man. Carry on. 

HULME: He was just tucking into that when the back of his throat felt a bit dry. 

LANGWORTHY: Too salty? 

HULME: Too salty, yes. 

Langworthy shakes head disapprovingly. 

HULME: Anyway, he decided to chase it down with a glass of Gevrey Chambertin, when he suddenly, and quite openly, belched. 

LANGWORTHY: No! Truscott? 

HULME: It's as true as I'm sitting here. 

LANGWORTHY: Good God. 

HULME: A brilliant career snuffed out by a minor indiscretion. A moment of carelessness, in fact. 

LANGWORTHY: Don't get me wrong, I like to burp. I've never met anyone who doesn't like to burp. From a small bubble of air- 

HULME: To a wet slurpy blast. 

LANGWORTHY: But doing it in public is just not becoming. 

HULME: It's not professional. 

HULME and LANGWORTHY: It's just not on! 

HULME: Not for a restaurant critic, no. 

LANGWORTHY: [Picks teeth] Some people have absolutely no sense of decorum, have they? 

HULME: No. Still, I always said that when it came to his bowels he'd been dealt a bum hand. 

LANGWORTHY: I'll say! Old Trumpy Truscott. 

HULME: Yes, but fortunately I've never had to share the back of a taxi with him. 

LANGWORTHY: All that zucchini fritte was bound to have an effect sooner or later. Speaking of windbags, do you remember old Benjy? 

HULME: Restaurant critic for The Economist? 

LANGWORTHY: That's the chap. They've moved him to the home and garden section. 

HULME: The kiss of death! How's he coping? 

LANGWORTHY: Not very well, actually. They sent him some IKEA furniture to review and he got a whole trestle table lodged in his throat. 

HULME: [Shakes head sadly] Still, once a restaurant critic- 

HULME and LANGWORTHY: -always a restaurant critic! 

HULME: Crying shame about old Benjy, though. 

LANGWORTHY: Yes. Especially since he broke his teeth on the concrete toadstools. 

HULME: You know, I might get another serving. You game? 

LANGWORTHY: Absolutely! Mind if I order? [Calls off] Waiter-? Two more Big Macs, please.
 

- fin -

Zoology Today: An Interview with Dr Lawrence Equine

RICHARD: Dr. Lawrence Equine, you are one of the world's leading authorities in the field of zoology-

EQUINE: I am the foremost authority, yes.

RICHARD: -and yet your studies into the behavioural patterns of Patagonian chimpanzees have met with a storm of controversy from the scientific community.

EQUINE: I think it's extraordinary that 150 years after Darwin people are still uncomfortable with their ape ancestry. I blame Ant and Dec, myself.

RICHARD: But it's not so much your evolutionary leanings that have provoked this controversy, rather your interference in ape society.

EQUINE: Well, for a long time now I've had a theory that ape society is lagging behind ours by roughly ten million years. Even Desmond Morris - the Simon Cowell of anthropology, as I like to think of him - could tell you that. All I did was try to speed up the evolutionary process.

RICHARD: What did this involve?

EQUINE: This is the central tenant: monkey see, monkey do. That's what Jane Goodall said, and that's good enough for me. What I did was take 73 Patagonian bonobo apes and train them up in roles that would benefit society: builders, plumbers, electricians... that sort of thing. I showed them episodes of Ground Force, Changing Rooms, Auf Wiedersehen Pet and it was remarkable; after ten years of this exhaustive training they were able to build a holiday home.

RICHARD: For yourself. 

EQUINE: Well, in a job like mine one craves solitude to work. When you're in a tent, being attacked by cannibals and ravaged by tropical diseases, your concentration doesn't really stand up to much. 

RICHARD: So how did you go about this training? 

EQUINE: Speaking as a human being, I am not an ape - nor will I ever be. At least, I hope not. So what I did was take part in their own rituals. This involved mating rituals, flea-picking, coprophagia- 

RICHARD: Sorry, coprophagia-? 

EQUINE: Yes, that's eating one's own faeces. It's not a wholly unpleasant experience, but certainly not the stuff of dinner parties. It really was a case of winning their trust. Of course, having said that, after about ten minutes into my arrival I decided I couldn't be bothered so we flew Steve Irwin in to do it for me. 

RICHARD: How did you communicate? 

EQUINE: Sign language, mostly. He is Australian. 

RICHARD: I meant with the chimpanzees. 

EQUINE: Oh, with great difficulty, I'm afraid. 

RICHARD: Dr Equine, I have to ask: how do you respond to accusations this is merely the exploitation of dumb animals under the pretext of scientific research?

EQUINE: I'd just like to clarify here that these are not, as you call them, 'dumb' animals. I resisted introducing money into their society to inspire a sense of community spirit, but, of course, the absence of financial recompense was conspicuous from the off. There was one particularly plucky little chap under my employ - Scargill, as I called him - who was in the middle of a rather difficult grouting job when he suddenly realised he wasn't getting paid. There he was, working his hands, and the hands on his feet, to the bone with nothing to show for it except the knowledge of a job well done. Well, he got on to the other chimpanzees, they organised strike meetings and eventually the decision was made to down tools. But I'm only happy to say, after a period of intense negotiation we were able to arrive at a very amicable settlement.

RICHARD: Which was?

EQUINE: I shot him. Now, people can call that exploitation if they like, but I prefer to think of it as sound business acumen.

RICHARD: So what have you learned from all this?

EQUINE: Chimpanzees are a cheap, effective workforce, but they can't mix cement properly.

RICHARD: Dr Lawrence Equine, piss off.

EQUINE: It's a pleasure