Ask any genuine storyteller, and he or she will tell you, the best scenes begin on a basketball court in the middle of an earthquake, or in the stomach of a hungry wolf. With that in mind, here is a courtroom. In this corner, the yellow brown-spotted plantain plaintiff weighing in at just under a pound, the banana. And in this corner, the defendant, the cow.
The judge was harried. This case was confusing and giving her the biggest headache. It was going nowhere fast. She was at a complete loss, so she did what judges are prone to do in these situations; she called a recess. She slowly stood from her warm seat, the robe peeling off the wood. The back of her knees, moist with sweat, creaked. The younger version of herself used to get embarrassed by this sound.
The cow was incredulous by this travesty of justice, and lowed, “What the what?”
This drew the attention of everyone in the courtroom, so much so, they produced the greatest collective gasp of all time. Up to this point, which had been four days, the cow, under the advisement of his attorney, insisted that he only mooed and grunted. This way, the jury would believe that the cow did not fully understand the ramifications of the many laws broken while operating an underage topless casino with an open bar.
Prior to this revelatory moment, the banana was having its ass handed to him. What should have been an open and shut case, was turning into a loss. Even though it was all the banana’s idea, the cow should have had enough sense to ultimately do the right thing. The bottom line: people don’t trust bananas. A better bottom line: people trust cows more than bananas.
The banana, a well-known serial fruit, grimaced and smirked. Very few people refer to the banana as the burrito of the fruit kingdom, but trust me, the represented few make up for the brightest and most honest people known. That is to say, no politicians make up this elite group. Allow me to break it down.
At the risk of coming off as some damn alt-right fruitiest, the banana stunk like cumin and old man. So sickening and sweet, like melted crayons in a new car on a very hot day. And it lingers like dad yelling the shit out of you all the way home. Let’s face it, harsh misplaced words are an open wound in salt water being pounded by an anvil!
The cow glared at the shifty banana shaking his hoof in the air, “Damn you, banana, damn you all the way to hell! I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for…” He stopped short fearing that he sounded like the final act of a Scooby Doo drama.
The judge grabbed her gavel and pounded, “Order. Order!”
The cow’s lawyer approached the bench and reminded the judge, “But you called a recess, so technically…”
The judge interrupted and snarled, “This is my courtroom, jagoff. Step off.”
The cow was running out of options. He remembered; people love humor. And with some sort of bovine precision, he cried out, “I’ll have a hamburger with fries, and super size™ it.” Sadly, the cow forgot the number one rule of comedy, timing. Too much time had passed since the judge called for order. The cow resigned and rested his head on the stand.
One member of the jury mumbled loud enough, “Oh my God, isn’t that cannibalism?”
Another jurist claimed, “Oh my God, I need to eat. If I don’t eat and take my meds soon, I’m going to have a migraine.”
Another jurist panicked and dropped a vial of medicinal marijuana.
The cow snapped out of his resignation. It was either time to fall into the grave he’d been digging, or throw everyone else in. The cow’s eyes darted around the room, too many humans, just as he thought, but he had to make sure, cause how pissed would that cow be if he was wrong.
With the cow’s assessment, he knew what needed to be done. Even he comprehended, you don’t end sentences without punctuation. The cow jumped over the witness stand towards the banana, as the judge screamed, “I’ll hold you for contempt of court.”
The cow retorted, “I’ll show you contempt of court.”
One of the jurists, the guy who looked like a stoner, but actually wasn’t, laughed. The cow heard this. Pride swelled inside him, he thought, “So this is what good timing feels like.” In mid-air, the cow had a sudden change of heart. “Fuck this banana, he ain’t worth prison. I have a new career ahead of me…” His thought ended abruptly, for he was about to die. [SPOILER ALERT]
The whole time, the bailiff stood at near attention, his eyes trained on the cow. If you looked real close, under the extremely realistic human mask, you could see a faint red glow. Yes, it was a cyber-monkey, Ringo, to be precise. For so many reasons unknown, he had recently infiltrated the judicial system in this perfect disguise, like one of those pesky Transformers©. He was holding his machine gun tail and released a round of shots, killing the cow dead.
Yet the cow’s momentum could not be stopped, he tackled and landed on the banana full force, squishing the living meat out of it, and then they slid across the floor, as one is likely to do on a banana peel.
MORAL: Life transforming career changes moments right before you die is downright tragic or killing two birds with one stone.