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Books, Humor, Satire

ONE PERCENT SOLUTION . . . (one page per day) Page 98 of 252

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A satire of dysfunctional politics and economic disparity.  

Chapter IX: Day/Page 98 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . .  The wife lamely claimed that she had suffered a miscarriage, most likely brought on by her weakened condition and fragile mental state following the brutal assault by the unknown assailant, who, as yet, had still not been apprehended. When cross-examined as to why she failed to bring the fetal remains to the Conception Coroner’s Office so that a legal Certificate of Miscarriage could be issued by the Ministry of Blessed Events, as the new laws now demanded, she explained that the entire event was “too dreadful and emotionally painful,” and that she was “simply relieved that the horrific ordeal was finally and gratefully over.” Now she could focus on the long physical and emotional recovery process which still lay ahead, she said.

Her use of the words “simply relieved” and “gratefully over” did not sit well with the judge, who knew that all pregnancies were dispensed by the will of their god, not random conditions of nature, and so one should never be relieved or grateful when such a hallowed occurrence ended before it was divinely ordained to.

The husband, for his part, had a similarly-lame excuse, and pointed out to the court that although he was indeed a doctor, he was merely an ophthalmologist and therefore lacked the medical know-how to perform any kind surgery, much less one as delicate as an abortion.

The clever judge, however, was not to be fooled so easily. Facts were merely facts, which could be manipulated by anyone. He was smarter than that. He knew that what matters in a faith-based court is not what can be proved to be true, but rather what is believed to be true. Accordingly, what mattered to the judge was what he believed, and therefore knew to be true. And he knew and believed that this was not a genuine case of legitimate rape, where the female body automatically shuts down all those foreign feminine parts down there in the woman’s nether region to stop her from getting pregnant. If this were a legitimate rape case then she would not have gotten pregnant, which she obviously did, and so therefore it can’t be legitimate—Ipso facto.

The clever judge was certain of this, just as he was certain of god.

He knew that the ludicrous story about her being legitimately raped for days was unfounded. In the clever judge’s mind, the true story was that the wench had had a torrid illicit affair while the husband and her daughters were away—which explains why and how the trollop got pregnant. The cuckolded husband learned of the affair, justifiably beat the living shit out of her upon his return, thus putting her in the hospital, and later performed the murderous abortion after finding out she was divinely-blessed with her lover’s spawn.

The clever judge knew that the debauched harlot had enticed another to traipse through her marital garden and dip his wandering wick in her blooming scented flower. And nothing frightens a man like the judge, whose own wick so often wanders, as the thought of another man’s wick being tempted by a flower. And so, believing all men to be weak-willed like him, and unable to tame their untamable wick, he seeks instead to shame and wither the flower.

Knowing what he believed to be true, the clever judge   . . .


Available on Amazon , Barnes & NobleKobo, and Smashwords in Digital and Paperback versions. 

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James      All rights reserved


About Gregory James

After 20 years working and living overseas, I returned to the US and was disgusted by how partisan and polarized the country had become. Civility and compromise are now quaint things of the past, replaced by intolerance and the rule of extremes. So I gave up a lucrative career for staring at blank pages and searching for words, in the hope that words might help enact change. Stupid. . . . I know! But after 9 months of labor I birthed forth a book, entitled ONE PERCENT SOLUTION. Reminiscent of Vonnegut, with a dash of Saramago and Fforde, this humorous, satirical, often irreverent romp mocks the absurd we accept to be normal, ridicules the ridiculously low bar we set, and challenges all of us to demand more of ourselves by making light of what is sacred that shackles us.


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