A choir of shrieks erupted through the chamber, consisting primarily of sweet sopranos until one by one, their voices gave way as their hosts either fainted in shock or exchanged their sweet melodies for a heaping helping of vomit. A more reliable tenor of low giggles and snide remarks then took over the room, creating a storm of chaos and confusion. And then came the bass. 

“Order! I say, I say! Order in the court!” 

The viewing gallery, packed to the brim with eager onlookers, slowly regained its composure, but sadly, any hope Judge Harker had of enjoying the lunch he so carefully prepared earlier that morning was dashed by the gruesome contents of the plastic baggie being presented by the unkempt defense lawyer. The lawyer in question was none other than famed law school dropout, Lenny Snorgenelli, and the evidence in his hand was none other than a severed penis.

It was roughly one month prior that the Boston community was shaken by the arrest of Sasha Bitlocker, a twenty-eight-year-old Cambridge woman accused of biting off boyfriend, Daniel Donovan’s, penis during oral sex. While many took to the internet to speculate on the motive behind such an act—many assumed it was a response to him cheating—Bitlocker’s memory seemed foggy on the details. According to the statement she provided to the police on the night of her arrest, she “didn’t recall anything being in her mouth that night.” 

Unfortunately for her, this wasn’t much of an alibi, and Lenny was now faced with the monumental task of crafting a defense out of almost nothing. However, nothing was precisely where Lenny excelled. 

“Your honor!” Lenny stood proudly in front of the courtroom holding his prized piece of evidence up for all to see. “In this bag is a dick.” 

“Lenny!” Screamed Harker in his thick southern drawl.

“Sorry, your honor. In this bag is a dong.”

Judge Harker inhaled deeply, attempting to regain some semblance of composure before roaring, “Lenny, you better have a dang good reason for bringing that… reprehensible thing into my courtroom.”

“My client, the lovely Ms. Bitlocker here, has been accused of a terrible act,” claimed Lenny. “According to the cops, she bit off this chumps dick—dong! Apologies. However, there’s one little problem with that theory: This thing’s a massive, wild, wilderbeast, hog dong, and that’s without blood. Imagine this thing as a full puppy, locked and loaded. I mean, chowing down on that would be an impressive feat even for that pink Nintendo motherfucker. What the fuck’s his name? Kevin? Whatever. What I’m really saying here is that the marks on the mutilated meat aren’t from this girl’s teeth.”

Lenny’s argument was based on a series of dental records “acquired” from Bitlocker’s orthodontist as well as the autopsy reports filed on the severed penis. According to Lenny, the bite marks on the penis did not match up to Bitlocker’s mouth meaning that it was “forensically impossible” for her to have committed the crime.

The prosecutor, Lindsay Winetown, objected to Lenny’s argument, but Judge Harker was, at the very least, willing to see where this was going. 

“You see, your honor,” spoke Lenny, “If the defendant wasn’t responsible for dickless Dan over here, then you may be wondering who is. Well, for that answer, look no further than Mr. Cock-a-Doodle-dissapearing-act himself!” 

The court burst into hysterics as Winetown leapt out of her seat, desperately calling for the Judge to reject the wild accusation. Harker’s voice boomed as he attempted to regain control.

“Order! I say, order! Lenny, I must need to get my ears checked because I thought I just heard you accuse Mr. Donovan of forcefully removing his own uh… little fella.”  

Winetown sneered, remarking that her client would have absolutely no reason to cut off his own penis, but Lenny stood his ground. He wasn’t claiming he cut off his penis, he was claiming that he bit it off. Again, that resulted in an explosion of laughter from both the gallery and the jury. Even Harker let a small giggle slip.

“Alright, Lenny.” Harker’s tone was more lighthearted.” I’m dismissing your argument on account of it A: Being crazier than a cock-eyed crow in Aunt Murry’s mushroom patch, and B: Because it’s physically impossible for a man to reach uh… down yonder, for the purpose of pleasure, or in this case, self-harm. The good Lord simply never intended mankind to suck the fruit from that sacred branch.” 

And as far as the public was concerned, Harker was correct. While attempts have been made to, as he put it, reach down yonder, as of writing, this feat is yet to be achieved without the assistance of performance-enhancing drugs, rib removals, or penile implants, none of which methods are accepted by the Guinness Book of World Records as being legitimate.

Lenny stood alone, surrounded by the snickering doubters and disbelievers. 

“Your honor.” The chamber simmered down, and the focus again returned to the shabby-looking defence lawyer with the Boston accent. “Respectfully. You’re full of shit.”

Judge Harker penetrated Lenny with a gaze so sharp that had David witnessed it during his battle against Goliath, he would have taken the rock from his sling, bashed himself over the head with it, and called it a life well-lived. But Lenny continued: 

“I’m gonna impart you all with a little anecdote. You see, lawyering runs deep in my veins. My great-great-great-great-grand uncle was a great defence lawyer. So great, in fact, that he was once faced with defending a man everybody assumed was a murderer. My ancestor, the genius that he was, knew his client was innocent and that the piece of shit shot himself, but the prosecution said suicide was impossible with the type of gun used in the killing. Well, folks, let’s just say that OG Lenny proved that prosecutor wrong and won his first—and last case. I intend to use those same methods today to prove the innocence of my client!” 

Lenny placed the baggie down on the table in front of Bitlocker—who seemed to inspect the severed member questioningly—and began stretching out his back as if preparing for a gymnastics routine. However, before he could get cracking at convincing the jury through a hands-on, or should I say, mouths-on, approach, Big John the bailiff grabbed him from behind. 

“Lenny, if you so much as pop a button on those trousers, I’ll make sure the only case you’ll be testifying at is your own!” Yelled Harker, completely fed up with the lawyer’s inappropriate antics.

“You’re scared,” Lenny yelped frantically. “You’re all just scared that I can do it! What’s the big deal? We’ve all seen one dick today! What difference does two make?”

“A BIG one,” replied Harker. “When the second one is yours!”

Lenny smiled coyly. “Oh, your honor. You flatter me, but it’s average. Remarkably so, actually.”

“Johnathan,” Harker smiled widely and deviously. “Show this boy to the door.” 

Again, the court erupted with Harker desperately pounding his gavel against the worn-for-wear sounding block as a defeated Lenny was led away by the hulking bailiff; however, before he could be ejected from court, Bitlocker leapt up from her seat and whispered something in the maverick lawyer’s ear. Suddenly, Lenny spun around and screamed:

“WAIT! WAIT! I’d like to call Ms. Bitlocker to the stand!” 

The room went quiet as the palm of Harker’s hand came up to meet his face. Maybe he was in a forgiving mood, or maybe he just wanted another cheap laugh at Lenny’s expense, but whatever his reason, he allowed Lenny to continue with his defence, swearing Bitlocker to honesty as she took the stand. 

“Now, Ms. Bitlocker,” Lenny paraded proudly across the floor. “You had a chance to take a good look at the evidence provided in the baggie, did you not? Is there anything you’d like the jury to know about said evidence?” 

Bitlocker’s tone was direct and sassy. “Yeah. It ain’t his dick.” 

A legion of gasps sounded through the courthouse so forceful that one would almost fear all the air in the building had been instantly sucked up. 

“It ain’t his dick?” Lenny repeated, nearly doing a victory lap around the room. 

“Nope,” replied Bitlocker lackadaisically. “His dick wasn’t that big. Not even a quarter of the size… hard.” 

The audible surprise then turned into laughter as Donovan became as red as a tomato in Harker’s garden. Winetown jumped up from her chair, calling out: “Your honor, that claim can not be seriously entertained. My client has suffered enough public embarrassment, and this sorry excuse for a defence lawyer has hardly managed to present anything even remotely close to a logical argument.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Lenny yelled in a rage. “If you think I’m full of shit, then why don’t you have little baloney pony over there hold up his hand and do this!”

Lenny dramatically extended his thumb and forefinger in the shape of an “L.”   

He then added for good measure, “If the dick don’t fit: You must aquit!” 

Winetown insisted that the theory that a man’s penis could somehow be measured by the length between his thumb and forefinger was nothing more than a middleschool playground myth, but Judge Harker was growing bored, and wanted to get the trial over with.

“Why don’t you humor us one last time, Mr. Donovan?” Harker requested before emitting a yawn so massive that any surviving air from the earlier gasp was now certainly gone.

A bead of sweat dripped down from Donovan’s face as he slowly lifted a trembling hand for the jury to see. However, he only held up three of his fingers, excluding the thumb and pointer.

“Come on, boy,” demanded Harker. “Put out your thumb and forefinger so we can end this buffoonery.”

“Well, you see,” Donovan spoke in a barely audible whisper while looking down solemnly at the table… “They are extended.” 

Harker was aghast. “What sort of witchcraft is this? Mr. Donovan, did you lose your fingers in an accident?”

Before he could respond, Lenny sprinted to the prosecution’s table, pulling out a magnifying glass from his back pocket and examining Donovan’s hand close up.

“Nope!” Lenny roared with delight. “There there, all right! They’re just so small, you can’t see them! 

You could have heard a pin drop. The jury looked around at each other in disbelief, being completely thrown off by the unexpected turn of events; however, before Winetown could attempt to explain Donovan’s strange predicament, the tiny-fingered man decided to do so himself.

“Alright, fine!” Donovan screamed nervously. “I swapped out the dick!” 

Harker jerked to attention. “Mr. Donovan, did you, or did you not, have your… oh, forget being proper… penis…”

Lenny interrupted the Judge with a quick laugh.

“… I said, penis,” continued Harker, “bitten off by Ms. Bitlocker?” 

Winetown again attempted to interject, but Donovan was insistent that the truth finally come to light. 

“Yes,” he said. “She bit it off, but it was an accident, and she didn’t even know she did it. We were… messing around, and I think it got caught between her teeth or something because when she pulled away… well, you get the gist. I was too embarrassed to tell her what happened and was hoping that if I took her to court, I’d be able to afford reconstructive surgery, but I was embarrassed so I swapped out my dick from evidence with a fake one.” 

Now that he mentioned it, the penis in the baggie did look an awful lot like it was made of paper mache and hotglue by a crafty third-grader.

Judge Harker rubbed his forehead as if in great mental anguish before he spoke:

“Mr. Donovan, I hope you understand that whether or not Ms. Bitlocker sent Johnson to Gonzo Town is now irrelevant. You have just admitted wholeheartedly to having tampered with the evidence of the case, therefore, I am left with no other ruling than to declare this case a mistrial.”

And with the smack of his mighty gavel, Lenny ran to Bitlocker and embraced her passionately, having achieved what was in his mind a victory. From a technical standpoint, he may not have won the case, but he sure as Hell didn’t lose it either. At the end of the day, he upheld his famous record of being undefeated… but also unwon. Similarly to how Sasha Bitlocker bitting off her boyfriend’s penis was now legally irrelevent, so was the fact that every case Lenny’s ever been a part of has ended in a similar mistrial for similarly ludicrous reasons because all that matters to him is that he lives to lawyer another day. 

Do you require legal representation? Call the offices of Lenny Snorgenelli today at 111-111-COURT. Undefeated. Unwon. Averagely hung. Lenny in Law.