Judge JD's Court of Bitchslap

Second, Kobe is a star player on the LA Lakers (I don't know what position he plays, aren't all positions in basketball the same? It's not like there's a fucking goalie.) So right off the bat, you have to give him the benefit of the doubt. Athletes are never guilty of anything. OJ? Please, if he was guilty, why would he be searching so diligently for the real killers? Tyson? Tyson couldn't hurt anyone, listen to that voice. He's precious.

Third, the plaintiff is a woman. Twenty years on this planet has taught me one thing: Women are crazy. Especially when it comes to sex. I mean, come on, she has to know how easy it would be to have sex with an NBA player and claim it was rape. BAM! Huge payday! Shit, I'm not even a woman, and I understand that logic. For the amount of money Kobe's got, he could eat my ass like Shepherd's pie.

Not to make light of something serious, but if Michael Jackson joined the priesthood, wouldn't that just destroy the ironic scale as we know it? Alanis Morissette would have to write another song, don't you think?! (Hey, have I ever been above an easy joke?) Michael did it. Okay, there's no if's, and's, or little boys' butts about it. I don't even need DNA evidence, the kid's testimony, or nothing. My whole prosecution would be based on one principle: He's a fucking weirdo!

Exhibit A: His kid's name is Blanket.
Exhibit B: He thought racism was the reason “You Rock My World” didn't sell. Did he even listen to that song?
Exhibit C: His moustache could best be described as “pubic.”
Exhibit D: His face just scares the shit out of me.
Exhibit E: He thinks it's okay for him to sleep with other people's kids. Huh? I almost drowned twice because my own father was afraid to help give me a bath.

Come on, R. You wrote “I Believe I can Fly” for God's sake! We all should have seen this coming. The same man can't write “Bump ‘n Grind” and sing a duet with Celine Dion. I really don't think this is such a big deal. I've publicly been wanting to bang Hilary Duff since the first time I watched a Lizzie Maguire commercial during Boy Meets World. And if I ever did Do the Duff, I'd tape the shit out of it. I'd even film it in that night vision shit, just so my friends could download and enjoy it for themselves.

Personally, I blame the minor. And don't give me that “She wasn't thinking” bullshit. I knew girls like that in junior high. They'd fuck anything, you put them in a room with a Grammy winner, that skirt would come flying off. Besides, if R. goes to jail, who'll write all that beautiful music?

Second, wasn't the whole point of this Iraq vacation to get oil? Come on, Dubya, we already know. So if that's the case, why are gas prices in Boston still hovering above two dollars? I would have been all for the war if I was promised low gas prices. Oh, you would be too, stop bitching. But lately things are getting a bit crazy. Iraqi assholes are doing sick shit to our soldiers and we're having trouble democratizing Iraq (big shocker!).

And now, Congress wants to do a draft. No foolin', see Congress.org if you don't believe me. Aren't we supposed to be the strongest army in the world? My logic is, if you run out of army, BOOM, no more war. If all of the pitchers on the Yankees suddenly died in a bus accident (and if there is a just and loving God, it will happen), Big Stein couldn't just waddle into the stands and make the fans play. If we suddenly run out of soldiers, which seems preposterous, maybe we should stop fighting bullshit wars for bullshit reasons. And hey, if you want to draft me, draft me. I won't drive to Canada or anything. I'll fight. But I'm warning you, I'll be the worst soldier ever. I shit myself during Black Hawk Down. I can't handle communal bathrooms. My skin chafes in the heat. Girls smaller than me have kicked my ass. I cry during Love, Actually. I break out in hives playing Rainbow Six. You really want me on the front lines? It's your call, Congress.