Dagnabbit! I don't rightly know if it's the full moon that causes that jackass Wonderaz to be so extra peculiar sometimes. Oh, I know peculiar is in his genes, but there are times when the goofy sumbitch goes waaaay beyond the call o' duty.

I'm sure ya'll recall his hi-tech disaster with the rollin' movie-deli. Well, I'm here to tellya, a little while back, he got it in his mind that he could save the big bucks on travel. Not only that, but he figgered this particular scheme o' his would also have several other added benefits, namely: No hassles with crowded airports; no lost luggage; and free transportation right to the doorstep of his chosen destination.

Yes, I know. An explanation is in order. Well, it's a comin', but y'all gotta pardon me fer a moment, whilst I git another pint o' George Dickle.

Aaaah, that's better. Now, where wuz I? Oh, yeah . . .

A few weeks back, his jackassedness started hammerin' together some pieces o' wood. I watched him sweat, cuss 'n' grunt the whole time without sayin' a word. I knew he wanted me to ask what the hell he wuz doin', but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. On top o' that, the smell o' yet another disaster in the makin' wuz gettin' stronger 'n' stronger with each passin' day. Anyway, the contraption began takin' shape and I'd venture t'say the dimensions were about 6' x 6' x 8'.

After several days, the jackass blurted out, "JEB, if'n you wuz a real pal, you'd lend me a hand! I'm fixin' to revolutionize long distance travel and rewrite the history books while you're just sittin' there on your no-good, lazy ass!"

Lazy ass? Some nerve. Ol' Blue had been sittin' there on empty all month cuz my check, as usual, had been consumed by his bail bondsman. "Uuuh, my back's hurtin', ya JACKASS!" I replied.

He retorted from inside the box, "Well, you lazy shit, you might as well git on over here an' check this baby out!"

Yep, Mr. Wondertech couldn't stand it any longer. He had to show-off his latest creation to somebody, an' since I wuz the only "body" who'd put up wit' his shit fer any length o' time, that meant I got the honors. Honors, my ass. Hell, I deserve a medal. Nay, lots o' medals. Oh well, I mosied over, stepped up on the little ladder he had leanin' against it, and looked inside.

Well, I had to hand it to him--it looked purdy cozy inside, in a trashy sorta way. The whole thing wuz lined with that ratty used red shag carpet they'd taken outta the Odd Fellows' Lodge a month earlier. The jackass, wearin' a smug expression on his mug, was sprawled out on a cot with two seat-belts attached that he'd pilfered from Nurse Boucher's Dodge Dynasty. On top o' that, he had the inside wired to a bank o' car batteries he'd slid under the cot. The wiring wuz necessary for the little microwave, refrigerator and TV/VCR combo he'd bolted haphazardly along one "wall". That wasn't all, though--he had a compact chest o' drawers with latches on each drawer sittin' next to a little rust-covered chemical toilet. I didn't ask him where he got all his li'l accessories, cuz instinct told me the less I knew, the better.

"I even have a bottle o' oxygen fer high altitudes!", Wonder said, gesturing to the foot o' his cot.

"What in God's name do you mean, HIGH ALTITUDES?!!" On closer inspection, I could see the ignorant sumbitch had apparently pilfered an acetylene bottle, I suppose under the mistaken impression it was a bottle o' oxygen.

"I'll be flyin' first class on Federal Express from now on, fer a fraction o' what those dumbasses pay to fly on the major airlines!"

Jeebus. The cat wuz finally outta the bag. He'd made hisself a travelin' crate. As if that wasn't bad enough, he proudly announced his plans fer his maiden voyage to Joeycat's place. Yep, you heard me right. The jackass planned to give Joeycat one o' his big "birthday suprises". Well, I already knew more'n I ever cared to know 'bout his damn "birthday surprises". Most importantly, I knew that somehow, someway, honor demanded that I use any means necessary to spare the divine Ms. Joeycat from such a foul and wretched abomination.

Well, the big day arrived. It was May 23rd, the day before Joeycat's birthday. The jackass had already confirmed that, with Fed-Ex's one-day service, his travel crate'd hit Joey's driveway at about 6:00 p.m. the following day. Of course, he needed my help closin' and fastenin' the lid as well as just bein' there to give the delivery instructions when Fed-Ex arrived to make the pick-up. Naturally, I told ol' Wonderturd not to worry; that ol' reliable JEB'd take care o' everything.

The followin' evenin', I called Joeycat to wish her a happy birthday. She answered the phone, excited as all git-out, but it wasn't about her birthday. Before I could say anything, she squealed, "JEB! JEB! Turn on your TV to CNN!! RIGHT NOW!! You gotta see this!!"

Thankfully, I was able to oblige since the jackass hadn't pawned my TV this month.

" . . . as Federal Agents swarm around a large, wooden crate just delivered by Federal Express to reputed NAMBLA headquarters in Jamaica, New York! Long suspected to be trafficking in illegal contraband to fund their organization, the authorities responded to an anonymous tip and arrived just as the crate was dropped off. . . ."

Joeycat wuz still on the phone with me. "Is that? . . No, It can't be. . . . IT IS!! . . . Oooooh!! Gross me out!!! . . . JEB? Why is Wonderaz wearing a red bra? . . .Eeewww!!! That is SOOOO SICK!! . . . JEB? I didn't know Wonderaz played the ukelele? . . . What in the?? . . . They . . they can't show stuff like that on TV!?!? Can they?!?. . . OHMIGAWD!!! . . . JEB? . . . JEB???"

"Happy birthday, Joeycat!", I replied over the sirens, screams and cursing blaring in the background from my boob-tube. "Happy birthday!"

Y'all hafta understand it's not really his nappin' durin' a movie that gits my goat. Rather, it's the racket he makes when he conks out. I can't hardly describe it, but it's a strange . . . nay, alarmingly cacophonous medley of hi-decibel whistles, screeches, hacks, snorts and gutteral honks uncannily reminiscent of the Fort Worth Zoo 'round feedin' time. On top o' that, the movie audience can expect a wide assortment o' random farts mingled in fer good measure.

Hell, I know from years of experience there's no use tryin' to wake his sorry, uncouth ass; if I do, he gits all riled up 'n' indignant, denies everything, and starts in accusin' me of very bad things. Hence, I generally just mosey over to the other side o' the theatre once his freaky audio sideshow begins.

Anyway, where the hell wuz I? Oh. This is 'posed to be a moooovie review. I can do that. No problem.

Yeah, the flick I saw was "Angel Eyes", starring Jennifer Lopez (good-lookin' singer wit' the really wide ass); James Caviezel (he needs a good soap scrubbin' with a GI brush); Sonia Braga (the porn business wuz rough on her bein' as she looked like 10 miles o' hard road); and several other assorted pricks 'n turds. Oh, and before I ferget, it wuz rated "R".

Ya know, I'm not a movie reviewer by trade, but I've always heard that you're supposed to be careful not to give the plot away. Well, they can kiss my ass. Ol' JEB'll do whatever the hell he wants.

J-Lo stars as a cop who wears skin-tight uniforms and craves sex all the time. Responding to a bad wreck, she spies a man named "Crotch" (James Caviezel) trapped in a car. He's too bunged up to screw, so Jennifer tells him to just hang on while she goes and does it doggie-style with her partner. This may seem unperfess'nal to some, but she knew Crotch wouldn't die while she got some, 'cause he's co-starring in the movie with her and it'd just started.

Later on, Lopez and her partner drive around having sex. They grow bored with that, so they chase down some sweaty lads for her to breed while her partner watches. It's here that we see Jennifer likes the ruff-stuff, as she hand-cuffs 'em and forces 'em to use filthy language while she's showing them a variety of sex techniques. There was even one feller she applied the business end of a strap-on to his rear bumper.

Later, she meets up with Crotch in a bar. She pulls the train with her shift crew and lets Crotch be the caboose. She apparently humps his brains out, 'cause he stumbles out into the street and tries to have sex with passing automobiles.

Throughout the movie, Crotch hallucinates a lot and Jennifer's mom 'n' dad have fartin' contests. This may not be apparent to the normal viewer, 'cause they were silent farts. But, I could tell it on their faces. Anyway, Lopez also makes a porn video and Crotch becomes a Boy Scout Leader so he can have sex with the old lady in the wheelchair. She begs for it and shows him dirty pictures, too.

Oh, I damn near forgot. Crotch picks up a stray dog. Decorum prevents me from describing herein what occurred with that dog. Let's just say he was real frisky.

Y'all don't need to thank me for savin' you the price o' admission. I'm just glad to do my part fer public service. I'll give 'er a coupla Fred Heads, no pun intended. Amen.

JEB was getting mighty crabby over the lack of both and was catching an earful from me for putting us in that situation which wasn’t helping his crabs any.
He had eaten most all the grub on the first day we were there, swearing that he was gonna snag up every fish in that river and goin on as to how we would be feasting away on panfried catfish and bass burgers in no time.

It didn’t quite work out that away, in fact, by the next day we were so drunk (having nothing to eat for breakfast but whiskey and beef jerky) that if some had drained that river, I wouldn’t have put money on us even being about to walk out an catch a fish flopping around, specially that old walrus, JEB.

Now, as soon as we had landed on that beach, he had picked himself out a spot on the river side of this old log that was about 15 feet from the bank and set himself up a wallow. He had stashed most of the supplies on the other side of the log so he could just reach over and grab what he wanted without having to actually get up. This was fairly typical for the JEB style of fishin.

Drinking can have an effect upon one’s perceptions after awhile and JEB was no exception. We had been fishing and drinking for a few hours when he started mumbling about the river. About every five minutes he would ask me if the water was rising which I couldn’t rightly tell and told him as much every time he asked.

After about an hour of this, he rolled himself out of his wallow and crawled down by the water and stuck a stick in the sand about three feet from the waterline and then crawled back to his spot all proud of himself for no longer having to depend upon my vague observations to keep his drunken personage from eventually being swept away as he now had a watermark.

I got up to fetch up a fresh bottle of fishing tonic and noticed that the old curmudgeon had dozed off. Not wanting to pass up an opportunity such as this, I took a long draw off the bottle and tiptoed down to his stick and moved it right to the waterline figuring that this act could stir up a little entertainment since the fish weren’t biting anyway.

I then noted where Fred was sprawled out on the beach and positioned myself so that JEB was between Fred and me and held up a piece of jerky and said, “Food”.
Now, when it comes to eating or humping, Fred will invariably take the most direct route to his target, in this case it meant climbing over JEB which would of course wake his ass properly up so I could see if he would notice the stick without my having to wait for him to wake up on his own. Hell, he could have died in his sleep and I wouldn’t know for awhile as he would have just gone on snoring for hours after he kicked the bucket, being the way he is and all.

He spotted that stick right after he got done sputtering and threatening and went and got all puffed up, going on about Noah and Bangladesh and all sorts of stories about just about every flood that ever happened, just going on like all of a sudden he was the foremost authority in the whole damn world on everything involving water from moist on up.

It was pretty interesting to listen to even though he was getting his facts all twisted up as he went on to where after awhile he had Custer drowning in the Nile and Gabriel blowing a foghorn off Nantucket. I almost believed it, too, he was so damned convincing.

Well, then he starts in on me about how I was such a bag of shit because I was just standing there watching the river rise up on him while he was “meditating” and would have let it sweep him away , carrying on about the last time I let him float off. He was making sure I got a good look at the scar on his cheek where I hooked him that time too. Well, that’s another story that I already told you.

I pointed out to him that he was erroneously assuming some sort of similarity between meditating and passing out and reminded him that I DID save his life that day and that he was an ungrateful bastard who I should have left to float out to sea.

Moving that stick was a good idea, it turned out. Fish weren’t bitin’ anyway.

So, now he comes up with a brilliant idea to circumvent having to depend upon me to warn him of the rising waters in case he fell back to “meditating”. He takes this chunk of rope and ties it around his ankle, lures Fred over and ties the other end to Fred’s back leg.

Now, he figure’s that even if Fred forgets that he is Man’s Best Friend, his own retreat will alert JEB to the approaching peril in time for him to escape. Ole Fred just sat there and let him tie the rope, showing his teeth in silent protest. JEB flopped back down and within two minutes, was snoring like a train.

Fred sat down and began chewing on that rope and within five minutes, had severed the offending bond, leaving about six inches dangling off his back leg and the rest attached to JEB’s. Then he hiked up his leg and commenced to soaking down that rope, especially the part around JEB’s leg as a reminder that he never has appreciated that sort of behavior.

When he finished, ole Fred took off walking down the beach, stopping every three or four steps to shake his roped leg. Damnedest thing I had seen in a while, him doing this weird dog cha-cha and JEB snoring away in a puddle of piss. I didn’t make a sound, just bathed in the glow of the grandeur of it all.

Now, about sundown, the old fossil wakes up and immediately starts yeowling about how he is near death from starvation and would not last another hour without sustenance. He staggered up and snatched the last bottle of fishing tonic out of my hand and we commenced to arguing about who was the hungriest when all of a sudden, this big ole frog hops out of the brush onto the beach not 15 feet from us.

Sensing our spewing hunter/testosterone manscent, Fred spun around, spotting this potential dinner right off and started galloping toward the frog; it was every dog for himself.

JEB knew that Fred wasn’t planning on sharing that frog so he took a step and quickly launched himself at the frog and with the strength of Thor, he brought that bottle down on the spot that the frog had vacated a split second before, smashing it into a thousand pieces, the last of the tonic arcing into this singular fountain onto the sandy beach, gone forever.

Fred had also launched himself at the now retreated French delicacy and managed to slam into JEB just as he started his first bounce. No football game ever produced a more impressive crunch than that collision. They laid there motionless while I watched the frog swim off downriver as casual as can be.

JEB rolled over and moaned and Fred was at least twitching so I knew they were alive. I announced that with the untimely destruction of the last of the tonic and the departure of our last chance at a meal due to the inept attempts by both of them, we would be taking off just after sunup when the Ebola Gray had warmed up enough to start and I flopped down on my blanket in disgust after tossing a chunk of driftwood on the fire.

JEB started in on his emaciated condition again and must have said something about being a goner but I heard different and asked him why he mentioned the Donner family. The whole area became deathly silent as the portent of those words sunk in. We knew then and there that there would be no sleeping that night. Both of us were suddenly aware of the potential for treachery from the other two as Fred was already known for not having much consideration for where his next meal came from and we both knew the fate of the less attentive of the Donner party’s members. It was going to be a long night.

Hours crept by as we kept a constant bloodshot vigil on each other. Around midnight, Fred let out a woof and both of us snapped to full attention, staring with intense loathing at each other, tensed for the expected attack from the other. We slowly rose from our blankets and picked up long sticks of driftwood, preparing to defend ourselves to the death if need be. The fire flared up to find us slowly circling it, sticks waggling, each looking for an opening, it was the moment of truth.

What Fred had woofed at wasn’t either of us but a group of rafters drifting down the river apparently on some weekend adventure. As they drifted past us, they all quietly crouched down in their rafts, staring in horror and wonderment at the savage scene before them.

Fred cut loose with another woof and we both looked at what he was woofing at, a potential meal. We ran towards the water screaming and flailing our sticks. Jeb was bellowing “Feed me!!!” and Fred started braying which caused these terrified souls to jump up and start paddling like mad, disappearing around the bend downstream. I stopped at the edge of the water and watched JEB and Fred go crashing through the underbrush, chasing after the rafts while screaming and howling like a couple of Banshees. They never stood a chance though, those boaters were running for their lives having just been told the tale of the Pecos River Demons by their guide and were firmly convinced that those very demons were now on their tail. The guide was paddling with no less ardor than his charges as he too had never encountered the likes of us especially with the eerie and unfathomable shape of the Ebola behind us. This was one raft trip that they would never forget.

I took advantage of their preoccupation with chasing down the rafters and went and locked myself in the plane and finally was able to get a few winks in before the impending flight only a few hours hence.

That morning I arose to the harmonious snores of the two marauders who were sprawled out by the smoking remains of the fire. I woke them up and we prepared for takeoff and the real fun that was about to commence, but that’s another story.

Actually I guess it was supposed to be this story but I seemed to have gotten sidetracked. Oh well, maybe next time, eh?

Oh yes. I wouldn't be surprised if, by now, y'all were wonderin' an' worryin' that maybe ol' JEB'd run outta bedtime stories. Well, the answer is a resounding "nope". I'm here to tellya--as long as that jackass Wonderaz lives 'n' breathes, ol' JEB'll always have more stories to share than he could ever possibly tell.

True--they're nearly always tales of woe, disgust, humiliation, misery and shame. And this one I'm 'bout to lay on ya is no different. I've learned over time (a considerable amount o' time) that's just how 'tis, and how it's always gonna be, a-hangin' with the high 'n' mighty jackassedness.

Another truism--if I had all the damn money I've pissed away over the years on bail bondsmen fer wonderturd the jailbird, I'd be a semi-wealthy man. Yep, I could be livin' on a tropical beach, instead o' rottin' away in a stale, urinized cesspool called a "resthome".

Oh well. So be it.

Hang on there, a minute . . . I lost my train o' thought. Jeebus.

Oh! This ordeal began several years ago. Me 'n' the jackass were on the road in my trusty blue Chevy Apache pickup on our way to Bokchito. He had a rich uncle there who went by the name o' "Dink". To this day, I don't know Dink's real name, or even if he had a real name. I just know everybody called 'im "Dink". Anyways, we wuz hopin' to pick up some extra bucks thrashin' peanuts fer ol' Dinkums.

We were still a long way from our destination when we decided to pull over at a fast food eatin' joint called "Doug's Taco Dog". I voiced serious misgivings 'cause o' the name, but Wonder swore up an' down he'd heard the place served great grub. On the bright side, at least it wasn't named "Doug's Dog Taco", or I woulda had to put my foot down.

We pulled up and strolled inside. There was a pimple faced li'l kid (nothin' against pimples--this kid just had a bunch of 'em, too many to count, in fact) who just stood there by the register, a-pickin' at an especially large 'n' festered zit on the very tip o' his nose. I finally asked what in hell wuz a Taco Dog. In reply, he just reached around with his zit-picker and grabbed sumpin' that looked like a corn dog. He took a bite, then handed it to me. It was similar to a corn dog, except instead of a wiener inside, there was a core o' a pungent, brownish-orange substance oozing out like lumpy pudding from the middle.

I passed on 'em, but the jackass ordered a half dozen. I settled fer some nachos, since they didn't look nearly as sinister as those taco dogs. We both got the house drink special, however, which was a frozen banana concoction called a "slusharita".

We sat down in front of a TV suspended from the ceiling, I suppose fer the diners' viewing pleasure. As we ate, Wonder was intently watching a documentary 'bout some ol' gal who'd popped Mickey D's fer some big bucks. The old lady claimed she'd burned the shit outta herself when she accidentally dumped a cup o' MacDonald's coffee in her lap.

I swear, when that program started talkin' 'bout the tub o' money she got, I began hearin' those rusty gears in that sick and feeble jackass brain a-creakin' an' a-squealin' like there was no tomorrow. Lemme just tellya like it is--I've learned, from experiences too numerous to count, that noise from that noggin o' his is always a portent of very bad things to come.

Sure 'nuff, my instincts were correct. As if in a trance, his eyes still glued to the boob tube, ol' Wonder took a big swig o' that ice cold slusharita. Suddenly, he grabbed his head with both hands and let out a howl that sounded like a coon dog listenin' to feedback from a Marshall amp. Naturally, when his hands went to his head, gravity took charge o' the slusharita and the remaining contents were promptly deposited in his lap.

He put on an Oscar-worthy performance, I must say, although this was to be no one-act show. Oh, Wonder Cagney hit the floor a-rollin' an' a-sobbin'. The peewee zit-picker apparently paused long enough to dial 911, 'cause the Deaf (pronounced deef) Smith County EMS arrived in no time flat.

I got in ol' blue and followed the ambulance to the hospital.

fast-forward two years later . . . .

"Oyez! Oyez! The County Court o' Deaf Smith County, great State of Texas, is now in session, the Honorable County Judge Rollo M. Pulchney presiding!"

How in hell Wonder's case ever made it to a jury is beyond me. But, there he was, a-wearin' a polka-dot tie 'n' plaid shirt, sittin' next to his lawyer, Truman "Tuffy" Trujillo. "Tuffy" had a reputation, alright, but he'd earned it from years o' hard drinkin', rather than any kinda courtroom prowress.

Sittin' at the other table was Doug Sliger, owner 'n' sole proprietor o' Doug's Taco Dog. Immediately to his left was the attorney provided by his liability insurance carrier. Her name was Jane Chesworth and lemme put it as simple as I can--Ms. Chesworth Esquire had flamin' read hair and was built like the proverbial brick shithouse. To be precise, she had a rack o' melons on her that'd revive the nursin' instinct outta even the most jaded, over-the-hill, sumbitch alive.

*Bam-bam-bam!* Hizzonor Pulchney rapped the gavel, hacked and snorted, then said, "Miss Chestworthy, are you ready?"

"Umm, that's CHEZ-werth, your honor, and yes, we are ready", she cooed as she stood up in all her mammaried glory.

Wonder jumps up and hollers, "Hey Judge! We're ready, too, and that monster over there owes me millions o' dollars for my pain 'n sufferin' 'n' other stuff, too!" The sudden outburst apparently woke-up Tuffy, 'cause he springs up, pounds his fist on the table, and yells, "Your honor, I object as being incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!"

Without diverting his gaze from Ms. Chesworth's awesome baby feeders, Judge Pulchney says in an icy, deadpan voice, "I could not agree with you more, counselor. Now, sit yore client down so's we can get on with it."

And get on with it, they did. The jackass took the stand, of course, and ranted on and on 'bout the dangers o' frozen slusharitas. Said he had a $250 ambulance and emergency room bill, plus millions o' dollars worth o' pain 'n' sufferin'. Told the jury 'bout how his testicles 'n' crank had been ravaged by frostbite from the exceedingly dangerous slusharita. Claimed he had to endure the humiliation o' wearin' adult diapers 'cause that "infernal" slusharita had robbed him of all bladder control. He testified on and on 'bout daily excruciating migraines brought on by the severe head freeze he'd sustained from his first gulp of the frozen concoction. Then, with tears in his eyes, he dropped his voice, looked at the jurors and said, "Worst thang of all is I can't git it up anymore. You know? I just can't git an e-rek-shun. I-I-I've lost my manliness, my manhood!" With that, he just dropped his head and began sobbing like a baby.

On that high note, Tuffy's direct examination had ended. With a flourish of his right hand, he announced, "I tender this poor, pitiful witness, yer honor!" I couldn't help but notice several of the jurors slumping down in their chairs, covering their mouths and rolling their eyes as Tuffy stumbled back to his table.

Ms. Chesworth slowly approached Wonder with her back to the jury. As she sauntered to the witness box, I caught just enough of a flash to see that three buttons on her blouse had somehow come undone, exposing more o' her boy toys than the law should allow. I'll hand it to her, though. It was an ingenious ploy, since she had the Judge droolin' while our lad Wonderaz began sweatin' bullets and squirmin' in his seat.

She asked a few questions until she was satisfied the witness was sufficiently "warmed up". Miss Jane then directed the jackass to get up from his seat and walk over to a table about 10 feet from the jury booth. Wonder looked pleadingly up at the Judge, but Hizzoner just pointed him to the table without once breakin' his eyes from the one woman hooter review occuring on the courtroom floor.

So, Wonder slowly arose. Hunkered over with both hands over his crotch, he quickly shuffled over to the table and sat down.

Ms. Chesworth placed her hands on the table and leaned over. With eight or nine inches of prime and creamy cleavage less than 3 feet from Wonder's red, perspiring face, she inquired, "Sir, why were you slouched over with your hands covering your groin area when you walked to this table?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . m-m-m-my m-man-hoo-hoo-hood wuz achin' from the-the f-f-frost-b-b-bite!" The jackass was sinking fast.

"Oh really?", she purred. "Well, I'm sooo sorry, sir. This won't take long. I just need for you to show us what happened on that awful day. Mmmm-kay? The Chesworth loaves o' plenty inched even closer to the gulping and twitching Wonderaz.

"Ho-ho-hokay, m-m-m-ma'm." The jackass was fixin' to git the ten count.

Thereupon, Ms. Chesworth produced an empty slusharita cup. She put it on the table and, as Wonderaz reached for it, her left mega-boob just happened to come to rest on top of the cup. The jackass's hand started tremblin' and his eyelids had disappeared.

That did it. Wonder snapped. "YAAAAAHHHHH!!!! BUBUBUBUBUBU!!!" He shot outta his chair and buried his face smack dab in the middle o' the promised land. Ms. Chesworth just turned her head and looked at the jury as she gave the jackass a little jiggle, just for good measure.

Of course, within seconds, our aspiring millionaire had been subdued by a coupla deputies. As the jackass stood there with his wrists handcuffed behind his back, Ms Chesworth, Esq. patted her hair, straightened her blouse, then pointed at Wonder's crotch and said in a loud, triumphant voice, "Your honor, I move to introduce defense exhibit number one, the plaintiff's erection!"

The courtroom went dead silent as all eyes turned to the bulging defense exhibit number one. The jackass's eyes began darting around wildly, then he finally blurted out, "IT'S A MIRACLE!!! PRAISE BE!!! I'M CURED!!! HALLELUJAH!!! I'M CURED!!! PRAISE BE!!! AAAHAHAHAHAAA!!! HALLELUJAH!!!"

Judge Pulchney rapped the gavel and announced, "I've heard all I'm gonna hear! Case dismissed! Officers, remove the prisoner!"

As the deputies led Wonderaz to his free room 'n' board, we could still hear him babbling, "I'M CURED! A MIRACLE!! HALLELUJAH, I'M CURED! GOD BLESS AMERICA! I AM SOOOO CURED . . . ."

Amen.