Stephen Finlays Monologue

Way to Go

“So when Ms. Trulove here refused to refund your 150 bucks, you beat the hell out of her. Is this so?”
“N-no, it wasn’t like that at all.” The accused is a small man, tub shaped, with a puffy face and lanky brown hair. “She tripped and fell.”
“That’s not exactly how the complainant remembers it,” counters the magistrate. “How do you explain the multiple bruises and lacerations on her upper arms and neck?”
Stephen Finlay turns yellow. It’s his way of blushing, having succumbed to Pansy’s full pouty lips, ponytail, capacious tank top, and jeans cut off at mid-thigh.
The magistrate stares down at Finlay. “You know what you need to recite in order to plead guilty to a lesser charge. But let the record show that I strongly oppose this proviso.”
He begins, “Have mercy upon me, O God, according to . . . er . . . thy loving kindness; according to . . . ah . . . the multitude of-of. . . ,” his voice expires.
“Very well, then,” says the magistrate with evident satisfaction at the opportunity lost. “You’ll be taken to punishment room number four. Does the complainant, Pansy Trulove, wish to exercise her legal right to witness or . . . er . . . participate in punishment?”
Pansy flutters a raised hand and shakes her