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 (mc)(parody)(catfight)
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<1st attachment, "PostingBailey.txt" begin>


I Fought the Law, And...  5  "Posting Bailey" 
(mc)(catfight)(parody)

Copyright by Writerzblocked, 2002. All rights, well, you know.
Repost and archive to your heart's content, just don't charge
anyone for it or I'll have to send Harry Long after you. You all
know the rest of the drill by now. I'm not big on headers and/or
labels, so anyone reposting may feel free to add whatever MF, MM,
FF stuff they think is necessary.


(Author's Note:  Reposted in this format by request so the files
will be easier to keep.  The series is getting TOO long to keep
reposting by individual chapter.  One of these days I WILL get a
website :-)

Dedicated to Chuck Jones (may he rest in peace), though I
certainly don't hold him accountable for my bad taste :-)

*********************************************

Posting Bailey



"Wow, somehow I thought it would be...bigger."

"Sweetie, honey, you, like, watch way too much TV, " Bubbles
said, smacking her gum in just the wrong places.  "Everything's
bigger on, you know, TV."

"I just wasn't expecting it to be so...tight.  And what else am I
going to do in jail?"

It was true, too.  The jail part. Well, OK, the TV part too, but
I wasn't going to cop to that.  I think I've seen every Bugs
'toon in the WB archive. Maybe that's where the antiauthority
thing comes in.  Bugs didn't take shit from no one.

And porn, of course.  But only back when they had actual plots.
Growing up, I always wanted to be a director like Tony Spinelli.
Can you imagine how much sex that guy must've got?

Bugs and Spinelli.  And you wonder why I'm the way I am?  Heh. 

So, anyway, we're in this teeny, tiny excuse for a court room
packed in with all the rest of the burglars, check kiters and
coke dealers waiting for the judge to show.  Nothing like Perry
Mason or even Ben Stone.  Hell, not even Night Court.  Four
little rows of benches and one little ass judge stand near the
back.  Talk about disappointing.

"Well, you know, you could've, like, tried to come up with some
good reasons to, like, you know, have them let you out."  

Smack.  Smack.  Smack.  Smack.

OK, maybe that was a little too subliminal for my tastes...after
all, she WAS just taking my advice about listening to her body
more.  Standing in the front row of a courtroom in red pumps,
white stockings, short red plaid skirt, virgin white blouse and
her hair up in bows and pigtails, she looked like a younger
Brittany Spears without the boob job.  She even had her court
papers in a brand new red N'Sync book bag.  But the gum thing
just HAD to go...

Even I have limits. 

"Isn't that supposed to be YOUR job?"  I reached into her mouth
to pull out the gum.

"Hey?!  That was my last one!"  She pouted.  In that outfit.  And
she said she only averaged 600 bucks a night.  If I didn't know
she wasn't lying, I'd have thought she was lying.  Must've been
an awful lot of Viagra customers in that particular stripclub...

Hell, just looking around at the slimes and pimps jammed into
that little excuse for a courtroom, I think she could've made
three times that right then and there.  But I'm not THAT mean.
OK, so I AM that mean, but like I said earlier, I kinda digged
her.  Or dug her.  Or whatever.  And Mr. Chuckles was behaving
himself. 

For the moment.

I figured there were six or seven perps and six or seven lawyers
crammed in there with us, but the only way you could tell who was
who was because the good guys in the state capital - or wherever
- decided crooks look good in orange.  'Cept for me, of course, I
look awful in orange.  Frank looked pretty good though, when I
left the cell block.  Can't say I like his taste in clothes much
though, so he let me wear mine...

Anyway, there were thirteen or fourteen guys in this little
courtroom wannabe, which meant there were 30 or so eyes all
trying to figure out what Bubbles had on underneath that skirt.
As they say where I come from, if an eye fight broke out in the
place, there'd be an awful lot of blind folks running around.  So
I just smiled the good smile and put my arm around my little
schoolyard lawyer's waist.  Then she leaned over and nibbled on
my ear.  Just goes to show you don't have to be a judge to get
everyone to rise in the courtroom...

OK, you can stop gagging now.  I mean, seriously.  Don't hurt
yourself on my account.  Too much, anyway.

Where was I?  Oh, yeah. 

I forgot about George and Stanley.  George was the officer of the
law that escorted all of us up there. Since you had to go through
all sorts of metal detectors and shit, they figured they only
needed one cop around to make sure everyone behaved themselves.
Like anyone wanted to screw up their bail chances by attacking a
judge or something.  Anyway, George was an OK guy...for a cop. He
told us a couple of lousy courtroom jokes on the way up, and he
wasn't full of himself like most of the other cops I'd met since
this whole thing started.  I think he must've been working a
double, 'cause his eyes kept wanting to shut on him.  Oh, well,
at least court duty was kinda safe, I guess.

Stanley was the court guy - I think they call 'em bailiffs.  Like
Bull on Night Court, 'cept Stanley was short, chunky, and looked
more like...well, a Stanley.  His mother really named him right.
Mainly he stood around and looked bored.  I bet he hadn't been
laid in years. 

So, make that four MORE eyes fighting over Bubbles.  Not that she
minded. Not anymore, anyway.  Her brain and body were getting
along MUCH better since she met me.  Every two minutes, she'd
drop one of her papers under a bench just to see which lawyer
would get his two hundred dollar suit dirty.  And it wasn't even
MY idea.  Yeah, she was really starting to grow on me.

So, anyway, fifteen or so guys were all focused on us instead of
on their cases when the main door opened and SHE came in.  George
and Stanley immediately followed their little men downstairs and
stood at attention.  Half the lawyers and perps turned to see
what was going on and the rest kept watching Bubbles as she
flipped through her paperwork.

It was like Moses and the Red Sea all over again, except with
orange and black and blue perp and lawyer Jell-O.  This gal don't
walk, she fucking GLIDES into the room.  Everything got really
quiet and even the guys who were looking at Bubbles got this
strange feeling on the backs of their necks and had to turn
around.  One of 'em was surprised and dropped his papers in the
aisle in front of her and I swear they went flying across the
room on their own, just to get the hell out of her way.  She
hesitated, just for a second, in front of one of the cons and her
head shifted just a teeny bit in his direction.  All of a sudden
there was this really awful smell all around and she cracked a
little bitty smile before finally settling down in a chair on the
other side of the room.  

Even I had to look down to make sure it wasn't me. 

It wasn't, of course, but the very idea that I even had to THINK
about it was enough to wake Mr. Chuckles up.  

"Of course, you know, this means war."

And that was the first time we met Miss Bailey Davenport,
Assistant District Attorney.  Mr. Chuckles was in love - again.
Yeah, I know, the little guy falls in love at the drop of
a...well, just about anything. But I gotta live with him, if you
know what I mean.

I gotta admit, though, he picked a good one this time.  She was
pretty tall, about five nine, late twenties, thin, cinnamon hair,
and was wearing this beige Armani suit that must've cost two
thousand dollars.  The only reason I know Armani is that I once
ran into this rich lady back on my corner one night and all the
time we were screwing she kept talking about how I could do
anything to her as long as I didn't touch the suit.  Amazing what
you can get out of people when they're being totally honest.  Of
course, now the only time she can cum at all is when she's
wearing her suits.  I bet that drives her husband crazy.  But
anyway...

The really cool thing about Bailey, though, was her four-hundred
dollar Armani shades.  I asked Mr. Chuckles and neither one of us
could ever remember ever loving a woman with glasses.  Very
strange, that.  Neither of us got nothing against them, mind you,
it just never happened.  But there she was, Miss ADA herself,
getting ready to do the work o' the people by taking us hardened
criminals off the streets.  Or at least taking our money so we
wouldn't go nowhere before she could take us off the streets.  Or
something like that.  I'm not a lawyer, I just watch cop shows.

So I was studying Miss ADA Glasses over there - along with most
everyone else in the room (except for the poor perp that George
had to escort to the john to get cleaned up) - when I noticed I
ain't heard much paper shuffling from this side of the aisle. So
I turned around to see what's up and Bubbles was sitting there
with this godawfull expression on her face.  I dunno exactly how
to describe it, but it was like someone had stepped on her foot
hard AND told her they'd killed her dog all at the same time. She
looked like someone had rubbed her cherry red lipstick all over
the rest of her face, her pigtails were curling around through
the air like two pissed-off rattlesnakes, and you could almost
see and feel those squiggly little heat lines around her head. 
Very, very, UN-Bubbles like.

"It's HER," she hissed. And it was a really, really GOOD hiss.

I've heard so many of them aimed at me in my time, I consider
myself the pimp daddy of all hissees.  And this was one time I
was kinda glad it wasn't aimed in my direction.  That was one
bad-ass nasty hiss.

So I'm watching with awe as this big momma hiss barrels over
towards Miss ADA there and somehow, someway, she must feel it or
hear it coming, 'cause just before it gets to her she tilts her
head down slightly and peers out over those Armanis with two of
the most evil looking green eyes I ever seen on a woman.  And
next thing I know, this great grandma hiss stops, shudders,
shakes and shatters into thousands of little baby hissettes that
all fall to the ground and run squealing and yelping under the
nearest bench. Oooh, I gotta tell you, it was something outa
Chuck Jones' worst nightmare. 

Somehow, I got the feeling these two didn't like each othermuch.

And everyone in this little corner of the local law world now
knew it.  All the paper shuffling and whispering stopped and
everyone started wondering if there was enough air in here for
all of us.  Bubbles was squinting really hard at Bailey and
Bailey's greens were working so hard her Armanis were vibrating
on the end of her nose.  The benches started shaking slightly and
the old tile on the floor started chipping in a straight line
between the two.  It was one BAD scene.

Like everyone else, I was in awe of all this sheer hatred
confined to such a small place, but figured I needed to do
something about it before it got worse. As I said earlier, I
consider myself a professional at this kind of mental loathing -
I've been in the middle of it more times than I can remember -
and Bubbles seemed pretty good at it, but nowhere in this woman's
league.  So I gathered my best smile and positioned myself
between the two, facing Bubbles, and put a hand softly on her
shoulder.

It didn't hurt, much.  But there was definitely some really nasty
karma torturing the air between those two.  I felt it, both in
back and in front, and somewhere behind me I heard a slight
chuckle as I imagine Bailey claimed victory and went back to
organizing her paperwork. Bubbles wasn't ready to give up that
easily, though.  She continued to stare through me, her little
hands balled up so tightly her cute red nails were close to
drawing blood.

Then it hit me.  I can be so dense sometimes. And evidently I
don't recognize a lesbian society whore when I see one.

"Oh," I whispered quietly to myself.  "It's THAT 'her'."

Mr. Chuckles added a few expletives of his own, though no one but
me could've heard him.  This was going to be even more fun than
either of us had figured.

Or as Bugs might say...  "How conveeeeeeennnnient!."

I put my other hand on her other shoulder and suddenly Bubbles
finally started to relax.  "Hey, kiddo, don't sweat it.
Everything's gonna be hunky.  Remember what I told you yesterday
about solving problems?  Well, kiddo, you just hired theA-Team."

And here it was, she was supposed to be helping ME.  Oh, well.
Whatever works.

As Bubbles picked up her N'Sync bookcase to get out some more
papers, I turned my attention back to Miss ADA Davenport.  They
sure weren't making lesbians the way they used to. I guess that
sounds kinda mean, but what the fuck.  I didn't come across many
on my corner and those that did stumble across me were your
typical flannel shirt, crewcut dykes and weren't much fun.  Yeah,
I've turned a few in my time, but it loses its appeal after the
first couple.  Let's face it, it's already an awful life and
there's no point in making it worse.  Besides, even after
turning, most of 'em STILL don't fuck worth a damn...

Which left me and Mr. Chuckles with kind of what you might call a
quandary.  On one hand, we had this marvelous symbol of
oppression over there just ready, unwilling and able, and on the
other, we had Bubbles.  Much as I liked Bubbles, me and Mr.
Chuckles have been best buddies ever since I was born.  Choosing
between the two wouldn't be much of a choice...

That's when the judge walked in and, just like Solomon, solved
ALL our problems.

You know Judge Judy?  Well, this was Judge Juliet.  As in
Anderson.  Aunt Peg. 

OK, so I just figured someone with your background and all your
experience would know legendary porno stars.  So, sue me.

Yeah, yeah, OK, so it wasn't her, but damned if it didn't look
like her.  Mid-'40s, tall, thin, elegant, short blonde hair.
Very, very, businesslike, despite wearing a funky black robe.
Suddenly Mr. Chuckles turned his attention to the bench.  He's a
really fickle guy, but like I said, I gotta live with him.

Anyway, I'm already on my feet when Stanley suddenly came to life
- well, as much of a life as he had, anyway - and announced the
judge and told everyone to rise. Like most of us hadn't been up
since the Bubbles and Bailey show first started. 

"Everyone rise for the Honorable Judge Meredith Wentworth."

Ugh.  I think I'll just keep calling her Juliet or Judge. Just
nod if you don't mind.  Good.

So the Judge sat at her bench and started doing her paperwork
thing just like everyone else. Mr. Chuckles still hadn't quite
made up his mind, even though I had.  I had a really nice scene
that could work, but I just needed to convince him.  He was still
hung up on the Armani thing and I couldn't get him to budge.  Oh,
you know what I mean.

That's when the judge must've come to some really teeny tiny
print she was having trouble with, because she reached into a
pocket somewhere under that robe and pulled out a little set of
gold wire rims.

Objection overruled.

Man, was this magic, or what?  I've always been a pretty lucky
guy, but someone down there must have decided that today was
going to be my day.  Either that, or he really, really had it in
for both Bailey AND the Judge.  Whatever was going on, I figured
I might never get quite this kind of chance again, so I sat down
quietly and began collecting myself while the rest of the actors
went about their parts.  This particular money shot was going to
take some serious work.

The Judge looked at Bailey and smiled.  "Hello, councilor, I
trust we can get this over with before lunch.  I'm famished."
Hell, she even SOUNDED like Aunt Peg.

"Yes, Your Honor, the people are only going to ask for one
defendant to be remanded without bail.  One Warren Bandan.  He's
charged with first degree rape of a police officer."  Gotta admit
I was kinda disappointed in her voice.  After that fireworks
display between her and Bubbles, I figured her for at least an
octave lower with maybe some gravel.  Instead, she came out with
a high, freshly paved four-laner, and the way she read off the
sheets had me thinking we were keeping her from chasing steeples
or something. I was almost insulted.  I expect venom when I hear
my name, dammit.

So, anyway, the Judge took off her glasses and looked over the
bench o' perps, scanning to see what kind of dirty bastard would
dare rape one of the city's finest.  I shrugged my shoulders,
smiled and waved politely.

She didn't like that much.  Not much at all.  But she had a
really nice scowl. Not quite as nice as Bubbles' but it would
have to do, seeing as Bubbles doesn't scowl much anymore.  "Mr.
Bandan, I assume you have an attorney present."

Bubbles rose and straightened out what little skirt she had on.
"Yes, Your Honor, Ma'am.  I'm, like, Bubbles Kramer for the
defense."  Smack.

Again with the damned gum. Where the hell did she keep getting it
from?  Fucking fraternity of public defenders...wonder which one
of 'em it was.  Oh, well.  I had more important things to
concentrate on at the moment.

Judge Juliet did a double take, put her glasses back on, then
took them off again. Then she stuck a finger in one ear to get
the wax out.  Bailey was doing her level best not to crack a
smile, but having a very hard time of it. 

"Is this some kind of a joke, Miss...?"

"Kramer, Your Honor. But you can, like, call me Bubbles. Everyone
else does."  Smack.

"Uh, Miss Kramer, I don't know if the bailiff explained it to
you, but we have a dress code in my court."

"Yes, Ma'am.  He said I had to, you know, not let my stocking
tops, like, show, but..." Smack.  Smack.  She lifted up her skirt
so to show the tops. "...it's really hard to do, you know." 
Smack.

The Judge glared over at Stanley, who was trying his best to fade
into the corner.  Shame on him for trying to have a life.  While
most eyes were fixed on Stanley, I noticed Bailey cocking her
head towards Bubbles as she straightened out her skirt again.  It
was just a very slight glance, but it said enough.

"Young lady," the Judge continued, "I don't know where you got
the idea you could come into my court chewing gum and looking
like that, but it is totally unacceptable behavior.  I'm going to
have the bailiff escort you out and we'll reschedule the hearing
for later this afternoon."

With the admonishment rendered, the judge solemnly leaned back in
her chair and motioned royally to Stanley. In response,
Bubbles...well...Bubbles blew a bubble.  A BIG bubble.

POP!!!!   "Oh, WHATEVER!"

Again, I gotta say I LOVE that gal.  And again it wasn't my idea
- not directly, anyway - I was too involved in planning my scene.
 But the orange members of the bench went crazy with laughter and
it was the Judge's turn to try on the cherry red face paint.
Hell, for what it was worth, I think she looked damned fine. Very
few women can pull off red, you know. 

Even Bailey couldn't hold it back and had to bring a hand to her
mouth so no one would see Miss Lesbian ADA had a sense of humor.
But I noticed.  Like I keep saying, I notice EVERYTHING. 

It might just be one of those court things, but I'd always
wondered if real judges use gavels like they do on TV.  That was
the day I found out they do.  Lady Judge Juliet started pounding
away on her little desk in an effort to get the peanut gallery to
shut up and it only took about two minutes to get everything back
nice and orderly. Well, nice, anyway.  Orderly is loooooong way
off, so long as yours truly is anywhere around.

"I will NOT, I repeat NOT have this kind of behavior in my court!
 Bailiff will escort both counsels to the deliberation room at
once, where I will weigh contempt charges, Miss Kramer!!!"

And with that, her Majesty Meredith rose in a huff and started
out the back door, stopping only to go back and retrieve her
glasses.  Still smiling, but trying her best not to show it,
Bailey collected her things and followed.  Me, I stayed behind to
pat my attorney on the back for a job well done.  She nibbled my
ear again and I grabbed the gum out of her mouth again. I looked
around and noticed a lot of sad faces.  Evidently, some of the
fraternity of defenders - not to mention the gang in orange -
were expecting more.  Good. Very good. Unfortunately, Stanley had
to break up the reunion as he sadly came to take Bubbles away. 

As they left, I noticed the doubles must have finally caught up
with Old George, because he was snoring away on the back bench.
If it weren't for their love of law and order (or something), the
orange gang could have waltzed right out of that courtroom and no
one would have been the wiser.  But they and their lawyers just
sat around staring at the judge's bench, waiting for her to get
back.  I know lawyers are boring by nature, but I expected more
from hard-working criminals.  Oh, well.

As for myself, I couldn't stand all that excitement, so after
five or so minutes of sitting around looking at comatose lawyers,
I decided to try and find out where this big legal pow wow was
being held.

It didn't take long.

Miss Judge Juliet was still very mucho pissed and her voice
really carried down the empty hallway.  About three doors down, I
saw Stanley keeping guard, so I sauntered up and nudged him in
the ribs.

"Hey, Stan, how's it hanging?  Or does it even hang anymore?"
"Uh, what are you doing out of the courtroom?" "Damn, it's boring
back there.  Don't you ever get bored hanging around lawyers and
judges all the time?" "Well, yeah, but..." "I mean, there's gotta
be SOMETHING interesting that goes on around here." "Well, not
really, but..." "Have you ever been in the Judge's chambers?"
"Yeah, a few times, but..." "What does she wear under those
robes?" "How should I know?" "You mean you've never, ever thought
about it?" "Well, yeah, but..." "C'mon, Stan, I bet you've snuck
a few peeks in there when she wasn't around." "Uh, no, that would
be..." "Oh, c'mon, Stan, you can tell me." "No, really, I..." "I
bet she's a lesbian." "NO." "Davenport's a lesbian." "NO." "Yeah,
she is.  Bubbles told me." "And how would she know?" "She was
having an affair with Bailey's husband." "NO." "Yeah.  But he
broke it off."

Geez, what a bore. Even I couldn't make a conversation with this
guy exciting and I was pretty much working both ends.  What can I
say?  Even a guy like me needs the raw materials.  But I got him
thinking and I guess that was something.

"Hey, Stan, aren't you curious about what's going on in there?"
"Yeah, but..." "I bet Davenport's gonna put the moves on
Bubbles." "NO.  Anyone can see they hate each other." "Yeah, but
that's only what it LOOKS like." "NO. You can't fake that kind of
stuff." "Look, I'll make you a bet." "What kind of bet?" "I bet
you they get it on in there." "Oh, that's silly. The Judge is in
there." "Yeah, but she likes to watch." "That's ridiculous.
You're on." "OK, but we'll need some impartial jurors." "Hey, I
can go back and get the lawyers...." "We might need a full
panel." "Yeah, I guess so.  I'll get the convicts too." "Uh,
Stan." "Yeah?" "They haven't been convicted yet."

"Oh, yeah, but they will be.  In Bailey's court, they always are,
" he smiled as he headed down the hallway to round up thejurors.

"What a maroon," I said to myself as I slipped inside the room.

Whoever was looking out for me was still on the job. This
deliberation room must have been one of those places where juries
go when they're deciding really big issues, because the whole
room was built around a really big table. I mean, a REALLY big
round table with over a dozen chairs all around.  Kind of like
what I imagine King Arthur had way back when, except I doubt he
ever had one pissed off judge and two knockout gorgeous lawyers
sitting around his.  Or maybe he did.  I wasn't around back then,
so I can't say.

Anyway, I peeked into the room, and Judge Porn Star was still
exercising her authority in pretty loud tones, while Bubbles was
sitting with her pumps propped up on the opposite end of the
table, filing her nails and humming something that sounded
suspiciously like the Barber of Seville. That's when I got to
thinking that I must have projected a lot more of myself into her
than I realized, 'cause I'm almost sure it wasn't true love. Not
this boy. Bailey was sitting next to the judge, looking as if
she'd rather be anywhere else, bopping criminals or boffing
beauty queens or whatever lesbian lawyers did in their spare time
back then.

Mr. Chuckles and I, well we were ready to party.

"...and don't think for one moment that I won't lock you up,
because I will! Are you listening to a word I'm saying?!"

Smack. Smack.

I dunno how she did it, but somehow she had found ANOTHER piece
of gum. I'm as stubborn as they come, but I started thinking that
was one fight I wasn't going to win. Some forces of nature, you
just can't beat.

The judge put both her hands on her head and sighed. Bailey, on
the other hand, had apparently had enough.

"I don't know why you bother, Meredith. Why don't you just give
her the citation and be done with it?"

"Bailey, you know I have a reputation to maintain."

Bubbles perked up. "Hah! Yeah, you know, a reputation as a lesbo
lover."  Smack.

The Judge looked genuinely perplexed. "Now, look young lady,
you're in enough trouble already..."

"No, you're, like, the one in trouble. Smack. There's a table
between me and the cunt-muncher. You're, like, sitting right next
to her. Smack. I hope you've got, like, a good strong pair of
panties on..." Smack.

I could tell she was reluctant, but nevertheless, she turned to
Bailey. "What the hell is she talking about, councilor?

Bailey was doing a slow burn. Even though I'd seen something like
it hundreds of times before, I never got tired of it. "The little
trailer trash is just bitter because she's not even woman enough
to take a man away from a dyke."

"Oh, like, how does it feel to have to suck his dick just to buy
your clothes?" Smack.

"Hah! At least I BUY my clothes. Somewhere there's a naked
fifth-grader wondering who STOLE hers."

"Does he, like, make you get on top or do you just close your
eyes and pretend he's a dildoe?" Smack.

"Is that your real voice, or did you swallow a helium tank?"

"Muff mouth"

"Grade whore."

"Is it, like, true what they say, Judge? Smack. Is her tongue as
good as her conviction rate?

That did it. Evidently, Miss Bailey Davenport had no problems
with her sexuality. Her profession, however...

In one amazingly fluid motion, she whipped off her Armani jacket
and jumped on the table.

"All right, you little asshole, you've had this one coming for
over a year now! I'm going to take that gum and shove it so deep,
the CORONER won't even be able to find it!"

For her part, Bubbles, well, Bubbles had been waiting for this
for quite a while, I'm guessing. More like an educated guess,
seeing as how she was up on her part of the table before Bailey's
thousand dollar jacket even hit the floor. As for the Judge, well
she was still trying to make sense of it all.

Not a problem, really. I was more than happy to help.

As she was standing at the edge of the table with her gavel out
and wondering what the hell was going on in the back of her
courthouse, I ambled up and put my arm around her. Now normally,
I figure she'd take offense at that, but this wasn't exactly your
normal situation and the armed enforcer of everything that is
right and good in the courtroom, namely Stanley, wasn't anywhere
around. So she's got to decide what to do and doesn't have a lot
of time to do it, considering two normally mild-mannered
attorneys were seconds away from getting bloody on one another on
top of her deliberation table. Not exactly something that happens
every day. So I figured she needed some advice and, as you know
by now, I give some really GOOD advice.

So I put my arm around her and told her she ought to do what
comes naturally, seeing as she's a judge and all. Since she was
obviously not going to be able to stop these two, she might as
well make sure it was a fair fight.

That settled, we were thinking the formal rules of catfighting
might've applied here, except as far as either of us knew there
WERE no formal rules for catfighting. Go figure. In any case, we
finally decided that even if there WERE formal rules for
catfighting, this one probably wouldn't have followed 'em anyway
because it was more like a cat/kitten fight. A really,
pissed-off, kitten, maybe, but Davenport had 8 inches and at
least thirty pounds on Bubbles back then. Not exactly fair, but
since Bubbles pretty much asked for it, we couldn't figure any
way to make up the difference.

Geez, sorry for the distraction. It didn't seem to take that long
in real time, but maybe it did. It all happened so fast and I was
pretty busy convincing the Judge that she'd better take off her
robe if she wanted to be able to move around the table properly.
We didn't miss much, though, 'cause by the time we got back to
the table, the cat and kitten were still circling around each
other, hissing and clawing and parading around like this was
Court TV's version of the WWF or something. All that was missing
was Vince McMahon and an audience. 

Well, OK, really only McMahon.

Because about that time, Stanley came back, leading the lawyers
and the accused whooping and hollering into the room. After
fifteen minutes alone in that small, cramped, unexciting excuse
for a courtroom, I guess even the boring boys in the suits were
ready for a break. Immediately, most of 'em threw off their
jackets and fanned out around the table like they were in a
Hooters or something.

In contrast, the orange gang pretty much sat down in the chairs
and behaved themselves. Again, it made you wonder exactly who the
bad guys were.

I felt a headache coming on, but Mr. Chuckles was really enjoying
the show now. The Judge had climbed up onto the table and placed
herself between the two women. Slowly, but surely, the lawyers,
one by one, took off their neckties and started waving them
around their heads. What a bunch of goofs. But at least they were
on the right side.

"Bubbles!"

"Bubbles!"

"Bubbles!"

Came the chant.  That seemed to put the spark in Bubbles as she
suddenly jumped towards her opponent and, with one swift motion
of her recently filed nails, managed to rip all but one of the
buttons from the front of Bailey's blouse. The crowd went wild
and a rainbow's worth of garishly colored ties flew across the
table from all sides.

Shame on her. Bailey Davenport, Assistant District Attorney,
Servant of the People, wore no bra. Must have had a hot date
after court. No wonder she looked like she wanted to be somewhere
else. She DID want to be somewhere else.  Especially at that
particular moment.

But she wasn't.  So she did the next best thing, and grabbed both
ends of her dangling blouse with both hands, doing her best to
cover herself.  Which of course, left her wide open when Bubbles
took hold of that cinnamon hair, twisted her around by it and
gave her a swift knee right in the butt. That sent the ADA
falling to the table with a loud thud. Momentarily dazed, the
woman wasn't able to prevent one of the lawyers from taking what
was left of her blouse as a souvenir. It also allowed Bubbles to
grab the waistline of those Armanis and pull for all she was
worth. She managed to snap the button, but Armani zippers must be
tough mothers to crack as they stayed up around her waist. I
guess she wasn't going to be content with pounding her rival into
submission. She wanted to humiliate her also.

Evidently sensing this, Miss ADA Davenport managed to spin
herself around on the table until she was face up and kicked
Bubbles hard in one leg. Bubbles crashed to the table and sat
there holding her leg with both hands, crying in pain. A hush
fell over the crowd as Bailey walked on her knees over behind
Bubbles and put her in a necklock with one arm and ripped her
blouse open with the other. OK, so I at least knew Bubbles wasn't
wearing a bra. Hell, she didn't need one, her boobs were sotiny.

Nevertheless, it drew a delighted gasp from the peanut gallery.
The lawyers must have found this fight highly arousing, because
most of them now had their pants all the way down and were
playing with themselves. The accused just sat there in their
chairs watching the whole thing with a kind of detached
amusement. It was like nekkid female lawyer wrestling wasn't
exciting enough for them. Or something.

[[[So my defense attorney was in a bad way at that moment,
topless and being held in a sleeper hold by her rival, the
gorgeous, near-nude, lesbian Assistant District Attorney on the
deliberation table in a back room of the county courthouse. That
sentence was a recap for those of you who are scrolling down to
get to the good parts. You aren't there yet. Keep scrolling.]]]

Now, like I said, I notice things other people don't and at that
moment I chose to notice that with all the jostling and tearing
and rending going on, those darned Armani shades were STILL
hanging on the tip of Bailey's nose. Amazing, simply amazing.
Like a part of her character design or something.

Anyway, while the judge pranced around the table looking at this
scene from different angles to make sure Bailey wasn't cheating,
one of the accused came to life, snuck up behind the ADA and
grabbed the waistline of her pants, evidently trying to finish
what Bubbles started.  This got the judge all upset and she swung
that gavel just like the God of Thunder himself and darned near
whacked his fingers into the next room.  The crowd started booing
really loudly and another one of the orange gang decided he was
going to try and wrest the hammer of the law from Her Honor. He
grabbed it tightly while another one did the same to her blouse,
meaning that she had to make a decision.  They really teach love
of the law above all else at Judge School, obviously, because she
held on to that gavel with both hands like it was her firstborn
while her blouse ripped into five or six pieces. Then she fell
off the table into an orange sea.

I guess Bailey was wrong after all. Judge Meredith wasn't
Bailey's date, I figure, because she wore a bra.  Yellow, with
tiger stripes, even. Never seen anything like it before or since.
 Needless to say, Mr. Chuckles was pleased.

Unfortunately for Bailey, though, with the judge busy, it meant
no one was keeping the fight fair. And one of the lawyers decided
he'd take a cue from both Bubbles and the orange gang and grabbed
the back of Bailey's pants yet again.  Armanis might be tough,
but this pair was definitely outnumbered. Tag-teamed and trying
to hold onto what little dignity she had left, Bailey let go of
Bubbles to try and turn around and keep her designers up with
both hands. Bad decision, as it turned out, because Bubbles
wasn't nearly as hurt as she'd let on and she immediately grabbed
the ADA by the neck with both hands and started choking.  A
definite no-no if I ever get around to writing up formal rules
for catfighting.  It's too darned effective, especially if you
have two law partners each pulling on a pants leg at the same
time. All Bailey could do was gasp mightily and bring both hands
back to her neck to try and pry those hands loose.  Which meant,
of course, that the Armanis were down around her feet in no time
flat. Guess what...?

When I rule the world, I'm going to outlaw plain white panties.
Just because. Anyone caught wearing them, man or woman, is going
to be hanged on public television. Law enforcement officials will
be hanged twice. There, I said it.

Well, OK, except for little girls. And Bubbles. And only because
they just look so darned cute on Bubbles.

Which is, by the way, how Bailey got out of her dire predicament.
 As a lesbian, I guess she was pretty good at getting women out
of their clothes, because she suddenly changed tactics.  Instead
of trying to loosen Bubbles' grip around her neck, she grabbed
Bubbles' skirt and ripped it away.  Strangely enough, though,
Bubbles didn't seem terribly put off by this and continued to
play John Philip Souza on the ADA's windpipe until those evil
green eyes were actually bulging out bigger than the lenses in
those four-hundred dollar glasses.

Friend, it was NOT a pretty sight. Even the lawyers stopped
stroking for a few seconds while Bailey, her face now redder than
the nails around her throat, made her last, desperate, bid for
life, liberty and prosecutorial justice.  Yet another of those
things I'm going to outlaw when I get around to writing the
formal rules of catfighting.

Rule #2:  No combatant, at any time, shall stick her hand down
her opponent's underwear and diddle her clitoris.

Just like the choking maneuver above, it's just too darned
effective.  And unfair.

And, besides, it's just, well, icky. 

But, what the hell, Bubbles violated unofficial rule #1, so any
fair-minded judge would probably see it as fair to violate rule
#2 in response.  Besides, in this particular case, the judge was
too busy trying to keep her gavel and her clothes from a bunch of
sex-starved defendants, but I'll get back to her in a few
minutes.

So, anyway, Bailey found she could breathe again because Bubbles
suddenly got this really, really, strange look on her face.
Though I wouldn't think it was possible, her eyes even got bigger
than Bailey's and her face got redder than Bailey's. I thought at
first it was because she had swallowed her gum, but no suchluck.


She immediately brought both of her hands down to her panties to
repel the invader, but found the invader wasn't going anywhere.
Bailey might have been new at the catfighting thing, but she was
a 69th degree black belt at the old "hand in the panties"
maneuver and could perform it flawlessly even when big-eyed,
red-faced, and out of breath.  Now that I think of it, that's
probably when she's BEST at it.  But anyway...

Not being able to pry Bailey's hand loose, Bubbles started waving
her arms all around like she was having a seizure or something
and obviously didn't know WHAT the hell to do next.  Though both
of Bubbles' arms were free, this particular secret lesbian
technique was obviously more powerful than the sleeper hold used
on her earlier, and Bailey started pressing her advantage - among
other things.  And when she leaned over and took one of Bubbles'
perky little nipples in her mouth and started lightly sucking, it
was obvious to everyone that the momentum had swung back in her
favor - Bubbles' head started swaying like a cobra caught in the
music and the lawyers all stopped whooping and started oooing and
awwwing in hushed tones. They didn't stop stroking, mind you,
just weren't so damned enthusiastic about it.  But it was obvious
to everyone that Bubbles wasn't going to come out on the winning
end of this one unless she somehow managed to reach down deep
inside herself to find a way to counter this dreaded secret rite,
undoubtedly passed down from mother to daughter, sister to
sister, through the vast mists of time from the ancient history
of the Isle of Lesbos.

Or whatever.

But, the fucking bottom line is, Bubbles was in quite a fix.

So, of course, I'm going to tell you what was happening with the
Judge.

Last we saw her, if you remember, she had fallen off the table
and into the crowd of defendants, all dressed in orange. The
defendants, not the Judge. Well, to make a long story short -
yeah, yeah, I know we're long past that point now - when they
were finished with her she was standing there in a matching Simba
and Kimba bra and panty set.  Finally, a woman of the law with
some imagination. But, hey, I'd expect no less from Aunt Peg.
Kind of redeemed my faith in the justice system, I must say.

And while it might have been an unruly mob of accused convicts,
they did leave her with her gavel as well as her legal briefs.
And her glasses.  And her dignity.  Well, most of her dignity,
anyway. She'd have to give the rest of that up her own self.

So I decided that was as good a time as any to show I do so have
a chivalrous streak and I rushed over and chased all the convicts
away from her. Well, OK, so most of them were actually pretty
bored with her and were more interested in the fight once they'd
humiliated her sufficiently, and when Stanley threatened to draw
his gun they all ran to the other side of the table.  But I was
the one who gave him the idea.  I'm more an idea man than a man
of action.  I leave that kind of thing to Mr. Chuckles.

Speaking of Mr. Chuckles, he was out now, and in fine form.  Her
Judgeship was shaking all over, obviously terrified by her
experiences on the other side of the bench, as it were. So
Stanley and I helped her over to the table because, shaken or
not, she still had a job to do, darn it, and Bubbles really
needed someone to look after her interests at that moment.  She
was obviously being subdued by an ancient, exotic form of lesbian
catfight cheating, her eyes growing dimmer, her breathing deep
and labored, and her mouth was uttering smallish, whimpering
moans instead of smacking gum like a normal healthy Bubbles mouth
should've be doing.  

Of course, the fact that Bailey had those cute white panties down
around her ankles and was eating away on her pussy might have
something to do with it. Man, that woman worked fast. Not much in
the way of preliminary motions for Miss Bailey Davenport, no sir,
it was right to the trial.  And all this while Bubbles was still
standing up, too.  I dunno what I marveled at more, the fact that
Bubbles could stay standing under the strain of such a ghastly
maneuver or that Bailey could bend backwards that far on her
hands and knees and twirl her tongue like that all at the same
time. It looked humanly impossible. I pointed it out to the judge
and she agreed she needed to get a closer look at that one to see
if it was legal or not.

So Stanley and I helped her up onto the table, but not before
Stanley accidentally snapped the clasp on her tiger bra.  Well,
at least I think it was an accident because he looked pretty
embarrassed afterwards as he folded it up and stuffed it under
his shirt. Probably the most daring thing he'd done in his entire
life. Fucking loser.

I gotta admit, I almost - ALMOST - didn't notice him doing that
because Mr. Chuckles was busy admiring Her Judgeship's dockets.
Really large Dorothy Strattens, she had, complete with big, puffy
nipples.  I LOVE puffy nipples. Absolutely, positively, adore
them.  Mr. Chuckles saw 'em and began to get really, really
disturbed at how slowly this whole thing was going. Strange, too,
because patience was usually his strong point. I was getting a
monster headache too, but, dammit, you just can NOT rush good
art. It's gotta come out on its own, even if it kills you. But
enough of that.

Anyway, Judge Meredith was crawling on her hands and knees with
her gavel to get a closer look at Davenport's Amazing Amazon
Back-Breaking, Tongue-Twirling, Lesbian Cunt-Chewing Maneuver
(TM), while Bubbles, still dazed and confused, swayed back and
forth on her feet, looking very much like a bowlegged cowgirl
riding a hobby horse that's just a teeny bit too small for her.
Hard to say how much she was standing and how much Bailey was
supporting, if you know what I mean.  The lawyers, sensing a
pivotal moment, all gathered closer and started actually getting
up on the table, an obscene circle of shuffling knees and pumping
fists. Just like in the cop car a few nights back, I could almost
hear the cheezy porno music start up in the background. The
orange gang gathered closer also, their organs out, playing along
with their attorneys.  It was one of those really rare courthouse
Kumbaya moments, let me tell you.

But, alas, it didn't look good for the home team, boys and girls.
Bubbles' eyes were almost closed now, her hands lightly moving
across her breasts and her face flush with something other than
anger for a change.  It looked very much like she was close to
surrendering to her hated rival, and in more ways than one. Her
heart rate and pulse were quickening, but, more importantly to
those of us in the know, her gum smack rate was down to about two
per minute.  And they were getting so soft as to be barely
audible.  It was do or die time and she looked very much like she
was going to die in the very best Shakespearean manner.

Somewhere beneath a pair of four-hundred dollar Armani shades,
two green eyes were twitching with excitement. She didn't even
have to reach for her own golden spot to bring the smell into the
room, it came simply from thinking about turning this weak little
kitten into a genuine cat.  So close. So close.

But, then again, she wasn't writing this particular scene, was
she? 

If I may be so bold as to steal from the pre-imminent poet of our
time: 

"Then plain little Stan did a plain little thing -  "He came, and
his cum shook the throne of the queen."

It was like the whole room stopped totally dead and all eyes
turned to Stanley, who was still groaning and moaning like he'd
never had an orgasm in his whole life.  Then, again, maybe he
hadn't.  But this one certainly made up for it.  White stuff was
flying everywhere and a bit of it, just a tiny bit, mind you,
managed to make it onto the table and hit ADA Bailey Davenport on
her right foot.

It was like kryptonite and Superman.  Holy water and Dracula.
Truth and politicians.  You'd have thought Dr. Laura herself had
come up and grabbed her by the ankle, the way Bailey suddenly
started howling and writhing about on the table, grabbing her
foot and letting out words that weren't in any dictionary I'd
ever heard of.  It was pretty brutal.

It was also exactly what Bubbles needed to shake herself out of
whatever lesbo voodoo hypno shit she'd been put under.  Her eyes
flashed open, her arms and legs firmed up, and she let out with a
tremendous series of gum smacks just to remind us of how annoying
it really was.  But, hey, my schoolyard lawyer was herself, once
again. I could almost swear I heard Wagner playing in the
background.

She immediately got her bearings and saw Bailey lying on the
table, desperately wiping Stanley's DNA from between her toes.
Bubbles let out with a yell as she leapt up into the air and
landed with a muted thud, her butt right on top of the ADA's
face.  Davenport, obviously still smarting somewhat from
Stanley's sperm and semen sneak attack, didn't see it coming and
got caught with her Armanis down, as it were. Funny thing about
those shades - they were STILL on her face and didn't show any
signs of structural damage whatsoever from either the Amazing
Amazon Cunt-Chewing Maneuver, OR Bubbles' Bodacious Butt Flop. I
made a mental note to write a letter to the advertising
department as to a potential ad campaign...

So Bailey was lying there stunned by the man/woman DNA
double-team and Bubbles took advantage by grinding her butt so
hard onto Bailey's face that the ADA's shoulders were pinned to
the table. Instinctively, Judge Meredith dropped to her knees and
rapped her gavel on the table.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

But Bailey wasn't quite done yet and lifted her right shoulder at
the last second.  Even a lesbian has too much pride, I guess,
when pinned to the floor by another woman if it's in front of an
audience of men. Just a few minutes ago, she seemed fine with the
situation.  I think it's a Bailey thing.  Even when following a
script, she didn't like to lose.  A lot like me, actually. Very
strong, this one.

But not nearly strong enough.

Bubbles renewed her effort and once again pinned Bailey's
shoulders to the floor. This time, however, there was an
unanimous verdict in the courtroom.  All the jurors, orange and
blue and green and fleshy - mostly fleshy by this time - rose to
their knees on the perimeter of King Arthur's Round Table of
Catfighting and chanted as one.

"Bubbles!"

"Bubbles!"

"Bubbles!"

And just as nude Lady Judge Meredith's gavel thundered down a
third time in succession, the air was filled, absolutely ribboned
with white streamers celebrating the victory of good schoolyard
lawyer Bubbles Kramer over the representative of the state, the
evil and wicked Queen of Conviction, Bailey Davenport.  Bubbles
smiled broadly, loudly smacked her gum and raised both hands in a
celebratory hand clasp as she was showered with ticker tape the
likes of which the New York Yankees will never experience.

Well, OK, most of 'em would probably consider it a nightmare. But
for me, it was THE money shot. "One Froggy Evening."  "Talk Dirty
to Me."  "Bubbles, Bailey and the Boys."  Director's nirvana.

Just in time, too. That headache had turned into the fucking
Grand Canyon of all headaches.  Problem was, Mr. Chuckles wasn't
satisfied.

And NO one around me gets to be happy until Mr. Chuckles is
happy.

Luckily for us, Her Judgeship was still pretty grateful we saved
her from the orange gang and she showed her appreciation by
proving Bubbles wrong yet again. No lesbian gives head that good.
 It was so good, in fact, that Mr. Chuckles came very close to
achieving his own nirvana of sorts.  But, alas, still no luck
coughing up in her lmouth. So close. May have been the headache.
Or maybe she just wasn't high enough on the law chain.  Something
to ponder later, I thought to myself, as Meredith turned around
and offered her lovely ass.  Mr. Chuckles was only happy to
accept.

As we went about our business, I couldn't help but look around.
It's amazing what folks will do when left to their own devices
after watching a good fight. Bubbles and Bailey were pretty much
in the same position they were in when the fight ended, except
that Bubbles didn't seem to mind that Bailey was having fun at
her expense. Maybe her victory was the first step in healing old
wounds. Wouldn't that be something? 

Bailey must have felt somewhat like a broken stallion, laying
there contentedly munching away while the defense attorneys took
turns at her trough.  Or maybe, like kryptonite, all that sticky
ticker tape glistening off her nude body zapped her strength and
will to resist. I dunno.  In any case, I noticed with amazement
that, with all the cum on her, not a single drop stuck to those
Armanis. Not a single drop. I could almost imagine flocks of
researchers in France or wherever getting together to recreate
this particular experiment in order to verify another potential
ad campaign. On second thought, it would have to be France. Only
in France...

The guys in orange stood around and all looked glum. I figured
they must've all been guilty after all, which is why none of 'em
could go back for seconds.

And Stanley.  Poor Stanley.  He sat over in a corner, apparently
unable to get it up again despite everything going on around him.
I might have helped him if it weren't for that damned headache,
which was getting almost unbearable now.

But, hey, I thought, as Mr. Chuckles finally coughed up, just
about everyone else ended up happy.  Bubbles finally got revenge
on her rival. Bailey got to munch on a cunt that hadn't ever been
munched on by a lesbian before. The defense lawyers got to munch
on the ADA with the highest conviction rate in the city.  Mr.
Chuckles got to fuck Aunt Peg with glasses.

And me?  Me, I got a money shot that Mr. Anthony Spinelli could
only DREAM about.

Unfortunately, that was pretty much the last thing I thought
about on that particular day. OK, maybe not the very last thing.
The VERY last thing I thought about as the gopher chewing his way
through my head turned the lights out on me was that I was never,
EVER going to do a big budget scene again.  Strictly B-pictures
from now on.  It's what I'm best at. 


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