Thursday, October 09, 2014

Here Comes the Judge!



Listen voters and you shall hear
Of candidate Jones’ incompetent career,
Getting less done from nine to five
Than any man now alive
On any day, in any year,
In one and out the other ear.
As Portsmouth city solicitor,
His performance was so poor
In the office and the courtroom,
He didn’t know his who from his whom.
In fact, he was so ill-suited for the job  
That he prosecuted Harald Daub
For allegedly shoplifting a shopping bag
From Aldi’s—Yes,  a shopping bag!—
But the jury unanimously acquitted
Daub, Jones having proved himself half-witted
And guilty of gross incompetence,
Revealing himself as very dense
By showing an Aldi videotape
Over and over again as if a rape
Was being committed, as if Daub
Was attempting to brazenly rob
Or commit a felonious assault
While doing a double summersault. 
But he was doing nothing of the sort,
As the jurors could see clearly in court,  
As shown by the security camera,
Which was very different from Jones’ chimera.
Having been found unanimously not guilty. 
Daub deserved an apology, not a penalty, 
For Jones had shown himself to be not Perry Mason
But Inspector Clouseau, avec très peu de raison,
Bumbling ahead without a clue,
Worthy of inclusion in The Fool’s Who’s Who.


A fool in court, without any ands, ifs, or buts,
Jones was a royal dunce when it came  to donuts.
His name will forever be Crispie Cremed
With the  roaches with which his donut shop teemed—
Roaches in display cases, on the counter,
More roaches than you would ever encounter
In roach motels or in greasy diners
Or in all the pantries in the Carolinas—
Roaches on the ceiling, roaches on the floor,
Roaches lining up impatiently at the door,
Roaches with reservations, roaches without,
Roaches without pull, roaches with clout,
All waiting to fulfill their crummy dream,
Of carte blanche at Jones’ Crispie Creme
Where appalling, unsanitary conditions
Led the neighbors to circulate petitions.
For the roaches, Crispie Creme was all the rage, 
But customers avoided it like the plague.
Now, if those roaches were allowed to vote
That would sure be all she wrote,
For Jones would be judge in a landslide,
With swarms of insects by his side 
Because roaches don’t know from incompetent.
To the  roaches Mike Jones was heaven-sent,
Which is why they’ll shout, “Here comes the Judge!”
And from him they will never budge, 
And in Portsmouth the future tense
Will be drugs, drugs, drugs and the usual nonsense—
Counseling Centers, half-way houses,
And judgeships filled with incompetent louses.

                                Robert Forrey, 2014

The kind of shopping bag Daub was falsely
accused of shoplifting from Aldi's

      Other relevant posts from River Vices

Donuts, Obesity, and Diabetes (click here)
La Cucaracha (click here)
From Dollars to Donuts (click here)
The Trial of Harald Daub (click here)