Okay, Judge, I mean "your Honor," sir. I apologize for jumping up onto the stand, partially undressing while doing an Irish Jig, and screaming "Semper Bertis Pluribus Pluribus!" For those of you who don't speak Latin, what that means is that I am angry about being silenced. I have a story to tell, and I got so mad that I was driven to shouting Latin-sounding gibberish. I am only the alleged naked man found at the duck pond feeding the ducks bagels. It should be pointed out again that it is only a coincidence that I bear the same build, height, and description as this offender. And a similar-looking name and driver's license. What I'm about to tell you is my story. And please, try to withhold your judgement until the end.

Heh, heh. That's a little defendant's humor. Is it hot in here?

What I'm doing to this pillow and rye bagel is perfectly natural, but in no way did I do this last weekend at the duck pond. First, if you could all close your eyes, I'd like to get into character. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, you are about to go on a journey of the mind. Hey, I see you peeking. Cover them peepers, Judge. I mean "your Honor," sir.

Imagine, it's a blustery winter's day. The snow is fiercely blowing. The landscape all around you extends to an infinity of white, an indistinct horizon where land fuses with sky. You're all by yourself, alone in a cave somewhere. Your bearings are shot, and you have no idea where you are. Pretty lonesome huh? It gets worse. You've never felt a cold like you do at this moment. Purple lips, numb extremities, and far beyond the point of shaking—you're literally dying from the cold. Just when you think all is lost, a man who resembles Harrison Ford slices open the stomach of a two-legged snow horse and slides you inside.

And open your eyes. Okay, now I want everyone to imagine for a moment that I'm not naked. I took a couple of garments off while you were imagining. It's okay, it's purely natural, there's nothing wrong with the naked human form. It was getting so hot in here. See, I have this thing where I get a little sweaty telling stories about tauntauns. Plus the goddamn laundromat always uses so much starch, am I right? Collar is stiffer than a bagel dispenser at the duck pond.

Where were we? Ah yes. Close your eyes again. Judge, I mean "your Honor," you're testing my patience. I can wait. Okay, looks like we're all on the train to Imagination Station! You're in a castle, dank and damp. Tapestries adorn the stone walls. The butler made a comment, something that tested your credibility as a Scotsman. A punch in his face did his German well. But uh-oh! Now you're strapped to a chair. This German broad you fell in love with—you say you don't like fast women, but you really do—just broke your heart because she turned out to be a Nazi. Your father, played by Sean Connery, is strapped to a chair behind you. That's when you find out that you both had sex with the same woman.

Ooooh! Pretty gross huh?

And open your eyes. What I'm doing to this down-feather pillow and whole wheat rye bagel is perfectly natural, but—and I want to make this perfectly clear—in no way did I do this last weekend at the duck pond. Not with a sesame seed bagel, not with a poppyseed bagel, not even with that tramp the everything bagel. Furthermore, if anything, what Harrison Ford and Sean Connery did is much grosser than this beautiful act between man, beast, and carbohydrate could ever be.

I also would like to point out that what Mr. Ford and Mr. Connery did with that Nazi woman is technically legal.

Sean Connery and Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones movie
"Sexual fetishes are HEALTHY, bro! We're perfectly normal people, do not forget that!"
Once more, close your eyes. Judge—just fucking do it.

You're looking in a mirror. Who is that looking back? You are Harrison Ford.

From the ruggedly handsome good looks, to the earring that no one understands but you, to the six-pack of raisin cinnamon swirl hanging from your bagel dispenser—you are Harrison Ford. The phone is ringing. Probably some movie bigwigs wondering where you are. "Where are you Mr. Ford? We're shooting ‘Indiana Jones 7—the Mystery of the Living Skeleton,' played by Callista Flockhart." "Get off my plane," you say as you hang up the phone, unknowingly using a line from that travesty of a movie, Air Force One. To make up for the slip, you add, "No ticket," and casually point to the phone. You've got a hard day ahead of you, Mr. Ford, because today you are shooting your documentary about naked duck pond bagel feedings, starring Harrison Ford and 12 mallards.

Umm, I was kind of hoping that Mr. Ford would be in the jury today. I stayed up all night working on this papier machet mask of Bob Falfa from American Graffiti, and I guess now I just look funny wearing it, naked, on trial. I guess the yolk's on me. Oh well, tis better to regret something you did than something you didn't do. Out of curiosity, does anyone in the jury know Mr. Ford? I have a movie script here I'd like to pass on to him. No one?

At any rate, I'm still offering you an opportunity. I think I have proven pretty conclusively today that I am not the one on trial today. Love is on trial. Man-duck-bagel love. Today you can make a statement, that you're mad as hell, and you are tired of the government taking away our rights at local ponds no matter how close they are to schools or daycares or—

What's that you say, Judge? Just unpaid parking tickets?