In league with Satan

It’s the title of my short story. I’m really bored so critique it and tell me what you think. It is not fully completed, so take that into consideration. Also It may be hard to read at times because fonts do not transfer over from Word. Please take that into consideration.

“How does the defendant plead?”
“Not guilty your honor, on the basis that this court is a sham”
“Mr. Rykowski, I’ll find you in cotem—“
“Sir, my client is suffering from delusions right now. He is a sick man and needs help”.
“Shut up you slight bastard! I didn’t ask for your help. Well at least not in a correct state of mind. You should know better than to come to the aid of a man in an alcoholic rage!”
The truth was that I had been drinking the night I called for an attorney. It was a foolish mistake. I knew better than to hire some slick as hell fucker straight out of law school. He didn’t know the charges. To be fair I didn’t either. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him represent me. He was born and raised in a high class suburbanite area. Martinis and wine were probably his drink of choice. In fact, I’d be sure to assume that he was probably a closet S&M type. Just like the rest of the middle-upper and upper class America. He’s probably too damn organized in his life. He writes down everything he’s going to do for the day. From waking up and taking a morning piss, to when he will ejaculate and finish off having sex with his legal aid. Yes, I knew better than to trust this man, but a momentary lapse of judgment while drinking Jim Beam helped foster this most undesirable of all situations.
“Your Honor, may I have a moment with Mr. R-y-e-c-o-w-s-k-i?”
“If you promise to keep your client in order.”
“Yes, I’ll do tha-“
“Mr. Vega, keep your client in order or I’ll have him removed!”
“Yes, yes your honor”
He whispered something in my ear.
“Just what the hell are you thinking?!? You can’t scream this sort of thing out in the middle of a court room! Do you know what you’re on trial for?”
“No I don’t. I remember you telling me something on the phone before, but I wasn’t paying attention”.
“Yes, I was too busy watching the news. Do you realize how many soldiers are getting killed? Think about it. These young kids are just walking in the middle of the god damn desert and then some crazy Arab fucker blows them up! They’re planning on seeing their wives and girlfriends later, but then in a split second a fucking bomb goes off and all their parts are flying everywhere. A shower of flesh and bone comes down and what’s left of his body is picked up by his army buddy. His army buddy gets scarred for life and begins a life of drug addiction when he comes back. Couple that with his post-traumatic stress disorder and we have another vagrant on our hands robbing liquor stores and raping young virgins. Then the president will declare a national drug problem when all these fuckers start creeping up. It’ll be like Reagan all over again!”
He looked at me with dead eyes. Had I said something completely alien and downright insane to him? What was so odd about what I had said? I couldn’t really think of a reason why it would be construed as such.
“What in God’s name are you talking about!? Did you even read the criminal complaint before? Do you EVEN remember what you did?”
“My good man, I feel you are not in a position to judge me. I’m sure you are a fine and upstanding citizen, but that gives you no right to judge my actions, whatever those may have been. I can assure you that what I did, though I may not remember, was within the spirit of the constitution. The founding fathers would have approved and even lauded me. I’m that sure of myself.”
“I’m going to tell you the charge. You’re charged with arson. You burned down the local newspaper office.”
The judge looked at us with stern eyes. If I had not dealt with his type before, I would have probably cowered right there. I looked at the judge, in his eyes. I immediately took notice of his five incredibly large boils placed equal distances apart on his face. If I had a marker, which I did not, I would have gone over and done a dot to dot on his face. I would have drawn out the pentagram that lay on that evil visage. I would have won the trial right then and there. I would have gone to the United States Supreme Court. I would have made my case that there was no way for me to win the trial and that the judge was obviously in league with Satan. Therefore under the current presidential administration, he would have to be stripped of his job and at worst, publicly hanged and shortly afterward his body would be drawn and quartered in order to force more Satanists into hiding.
“I don’t feel well, Vega, sir. So I am inclined to say that I cannot proceed with this trial today. Tell the fascist up there that I am leaving the court. He can set up another date to proceed with this farce. I need time to collect my thoughts if I am to properly represent myself at this trial”.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. You want to represent yourself? I advise you against that”.
After a tired and unconvincing argument I was allowed to leave the courtroom. I walked home to my single bedroom apartment. I went to the stop-and-rob on the corner. I needed something to calm my nerves after the unpleasant court experience; three cases of Miller High Life, and the latest copy of Rolling Stone would work for a few days. But the hard stuff had to be procured elsewhere. The local campus fueling station would suffice. Two bottles of whisky, one Jim Beam the other Jack Daniels.
It was a Thursday and the college students were busy getting materials with which to get drunk and hopefully make the sex act with whatever girls were at the party. I thought back to two years ago, when I was the same way. Trying to meet new people and have a good time. There was never enough social lubricant for me though. In fact, I hated most of my college peers. They were idiots. Editor’s note: This is a fact not an opinion. There were people I could tolerate and even genuinely like at times. However, they were motivated in some way. I was never motivated. The only thing that motivated me was to not be hassled. In fact I studied my ass off at times. Absorbing every single little academic fact that would allow me an A in the course. Soon I realized that it really didn’t matter at one point. We were all moving towards the same end goal. A meaningless job in middle management or working off paying student loans after all the internships you applied to failed and you had to make due working at the Home Depot for the rest of your life.
I eventually ended up at home, with various detours to the city park and local library. It’s a miracle I had made it there. I’d been sampling the beers along the way to lighten the load in my duffle bag. When I got home I was barely able to even walk. I turned on the record player. I was sick of the idealistic bullshit I’d been listening to in my earlier years. I actually liked the content of the music. What I couldn’t stand was the incalculable amount of “those kids” listening to it and co-opting it. It’s a god damn fashion statement now!
If your child ever begins to listen to underground music or something hit them! Snap them out of it. They won’t progress to the post-post-punk phase like I did. They’ll be stuck in it eating up all the excess bullshit that MTV and Madison Avenue sell them. Your children will falter like the hippies and straight-edge kids before them.
The vinyl hit with all its scratches and I could hear them all. Each little mark in the record I was perfectly in tune with. Every little wedge and imperfection gained over the years of constant use and disregard for the record sleeve.
And so it begins – that some things last forever
This spirit endure- the courage that failed them never
So let valor erase – the lies that sought
To deceive them
FUCK! FUCK! Why is this song so damn appropriate? Why the hell is it always appropriate?
And so for now – I see it very clearly
A soldier in time – knows what he hold dearly
STOP IT STOP IT! My fucking friend died over there! The other one barely got out.
And so it became – that time was not on their side.
And yet it remains – until we breathe our last breath
Like tears in the rain – there is no shame in your death
My alcoholic rage hit again at that time. I smashed nearly everything I thought had to do with the army: pictures of my friends whom I basically had lost. Everything from my childhood. The fucking skull strobe light Ben had given me for my eighteenth birthday. All of it was smashed.
I sat down in my chair wondering what the hell do now. Should I even go to court? I couldn’t evade the law. Well, I couldn’t conceivably do it, but I’m sure there was a way. Living in Mexico or Ireland or something. That would be the ticket. No, I had to do this. I’d have to make my case to the judge. There was no way I couldn’t. My hope would be that the trial would partially get out my message. If I had indeed burned down the newspaper office, it would send a message to the rest of the country. They needed to get off their asses and stop listening to these new media run by fascists and Nazi pricks. They’d have to listen to my case. Maybe the revolution would start right then and there. People would get off their couches and not vote for the idiots in office. They would run themselves and beat the bastards at their own game. They’d abolish the stupidity of the press and get rid of all the media moguls. Then it would start all over again. The loss of personal integrity in public officials and we’d be subjected to another 250 years of organized chaos.

It’s sort of bland. The last little screed about “the people” rising up and whatever is tergid. It’s such an old idea framed in an old way that if they aren’t your own thoughts, there’s really no point in having a character say them, I mean beside the fact that the idea is silly. I don’t see the potential for any kind of new order dormant inside “the people” at large. Even if you don’t like the Democratic party, the people can’t even properly decide between the lesser of two evils. They’re thick and ordinary, and the 80% who merely choose to follow the elite on one side or another.