Tila Tequila put on her formal work thong and checked in the mirror to make sure she was wearing too much “labial pink” lipstick. She used a lint roller to get any remaining fuzz from her zebra-skin-printed-fur-lined-handcuffs off her power suit. She had a big trial thingy at the justice factory and she didn’t want her fierce look to be incommenshurate with the gravity of the situation. Her justice trial suit was a sleek gray a-line, with one sleeve removed to highlight the tattoo on her left arm of a heart with the words “C’est La Vie”. That was French for “Life Party!” which she took very seriously, almost as seriously as she took the, like, law.
Before leaving the house, Tila had a quick breakfast consisting of four Cuervo shots and a bowl of cigarettes. She threw an economy pack of condoms and a baggie of angel dust into her briefcase, along with a copy of The Secret and 10 changes of Juicy Couture underwear. She was ready. It was time to help people who needed her to help them with the things that she, that they, and also, so, the things what needed helping.
Not a day went by when Tila didn’t think back on her days in Law School, sitting at her novelty desk shaped like a penis, pouring over the envelopes that Phoenix University sent her. Everything seemed so confusing at first, but she knew that if she just kept sending in checks, eventually it would, hopefully it would, like start, to, like, whatever, click or whatever. And she’ll never forget the day the envelope came with the diploma in it. She celebrated with an extra bottle of sparkling Hot Damn that night at dinner.
The buzzer went off on the magic gate at the justice factory and a security guard passed his sorcery stick over her body. This happened every time. She was seriously thinking about getting out her box of crayons and writing a letter to the company, because it was ridiculous to be living in the second most wonderful country in the world (after Ibiza) and still not be able to pass through a magic gate without your clit piercing setting off the wizard bells.
It was so silent in the court room. If she didn’t know that Mr. Judge would yell at her again, Tila would try and get that jury loosened up with some Popov 100 jello shots, or some lapdances or something. Been there, tried that. Mr. Judge was such an old stick in the mud. Last time he didn’t even let her give him one of her famous blowjobs. It was like he didn’t even know how the world worked. As she waited for her turn to talk, Tila lazily tied cherry stems into knots with her tongue. It’s important to stay active!
For a long time there was some guy in a suit who just kept talking and talking and it was so boring, like, what is this, church? “Haha,” Tila thought, “church.” That made her think of the twin crosses she had tattooed on either side of her vagina. She thought about some other stuff, too, like smoothies with protein, and caffeinated gum. Then she realized that, like, no one was doing anything. It was so lame. But Mr. Judge was looking at her and so was that boring guy in the suit. Maybe she would have sex with him later to try and not think about her loneliness. Whatever. Oh wait, it was her turn to talk!
“Mr. Judge, chicks and dudes of the jury, my client is, like, a beautiful person who totally enjoys, like, living our lifes. And for you to not have anything better to do with yourself is just sad. If you want to hate, hate on me, but don’t, like, hate on my client. She’s a child!”
Mr. Judge looked confused, like the face Tequila made when she was making BM.
“Ms…Tequila, your client is 47 years old and accused of murder in the first degree.”
Tila smiled. She knew that no one could deny the power of her winning smile.
“I think I’ve made, like, my point, Mister Honor.” Tila then went on to make her point again for 10 more minutes. When she finished, she farted a little, winked at the judge, and sat back down. “I rest the case!” Tila leaned over to whisper in her client’s ear. “I think this is going really fun!” Tila knew she would have to do something nice for herself to celebrate tonight. Maybe she’d get a 12-pack of herpes medicine. Or jump in front of a paparazzo’s car. Party!