Madame Prosecutor was a beacon of competence in that courtroom. While I was arguing my own case in court by text messaging myself, I invited one who would later become privy to that routine --Madame Prosecutor-- if she might like to run back and forth between the prosecution and defense desks, defending her own case against me, much like a bored chess player will turn a chess board around and play herself.
When my attorney and his sidekick gratuitously pulled the "loose" routine on me, I said, "You understand that the outcome of this case had everything to do with my own arguments by way of my text messaging channel and absolutely nothing to do with your spirited efforts, right?"
He said, "What do you mean?"
I said, "Well, in among my 'delusions of grandeur,' as you put it, and what with needing 'to take advantage of all available mental health services,' as you put it, in your completely ignoring information that is arguably germane to my defense, I argued my own defense by text messaging myself during pretrial release. I was ridiculing you. My audience laughed their asses off at your incompetence. And I even asked if the prosecutor wanted to be my defense counsel."
His face flushed, as if all the pieces were falling into place to create this massive, behind-the-scenes apparatus to which he had been oblivious, despite my repeated attempts to describe it to him. "Why would you ask her to defend you?"
"Because she knows what she's doing."
And she does.
And for that, Madame Prosecutor, you come out smellin' like a rose.
Enjoy your status of competence, which is all I demand around here.
