The Practice
Liar's Poker

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Ragdoll: F | Grade It Now!
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Who says lawyers are all liars?

A phone announcing Some Pain rings in Hunky DA's office. He answers it and says, "Speaking," because anyone having his card and then calling his number might not assume it's really him on the phone or anything. A terrible grating noise masquerading as music trumps up. The camera pans around his lovely head to look at his lovely face while he's speaking on the phone. "When?" Tuesday night at four? "Oh God." Yes, I can't wait to see you either. "Yeah, okay." I'll see you then, babycakes.

Kenny, Master DA, says, "How?" Hunky DA spits, "Heart attack." Pause. "She was just in my office. It happened on the drive home. She's D.O.A." Damn. And this was the only witness? Yes. She's due to testify next. Kenny asks if there was any recorded testimony. No. Alan shakes his pretty little head. The case is weak. No gun. No prints. And there's no way he can sell what little evidence he actually has. Damn, without an eyewitness the judge will knock him out with a Rule 25 before it even gets to a jury. Alan purses his pretty little lips. Kenny: "Any chance she'll put the defendant up?" Nope, Lindsay's too smart. Alan thinks they're dead. And then a big wheel of fire comes barreling into the room, wiping out the Master DA, but not before Alan can mutter, "Hey. They've killed Kenny." Wait, Master DA has a thought -- an evil thought by the looks of it -- and says, "Does Dole know the witness is dead?" No, Alan says, she doesn't. The Melody Of Their Madness rises as Master DA says, "There's still time, plead it out." Bong. "Excuse me?" Bam. "You heard me." Bong. "I think I have to tell her." Bam. "No you don't." Blah it's not exculpatory evidence, blah she doesn't need to know anything about this, blah plead it out and plead it out quickly. Alan rubs his pretty little hand over his pretty little face. Oh, don't you just love it when he's torn between right and wrong?

The Conference Room Where They Pretend To Divorce Pain. Jimmy "Big Trouble In Little Lottery" Berluti wants to make the proceedings amicable. Mrs. Bookie takes offense. The ex-couple bickers. Mrs. Bookie's lawyer says things are simple: the ticket was purchased before the divorce, the money was won before the divorce, and the lottery winnings are marital property. Except if the ticket was bought with segregated funds. Mrs. Bookie's lawyer wants to know if Mr. Bookie kept any kind of financial records indicating that it was, in fact, segregated. He claims he kept it "in cash." Mrs. Bookie claims her husband doesn't even lie well. Jimmy: "Anger isn't going to help us here." Mrs. Bookie: "Anger is all he left me with. He divorced me because he won the lottery." Ah, Spanky screams, that's not true, the marriage was dead, they were no longer intimate and they didn't communicate. More bickering. More name-calling. Then Mrs. Bookie orders her lawyer to play the tape. He doesn't think it's a good idea. Jimmy says, "What tape?" The lawyer explains that it shows events from July 14, just before Spanky won the lottery. Jimmy: "What is this?" The lawyer says it pretty much speaks for itself. He puts the tape in the VCR in the corner of the office. Mrs. Bookie snarks, "Don't you think I kept records of certain things, Sid?" Wow, sounds like they had a lovely marriage. Many faces look aghast as the tape actually plays. The lawyer does a bit of a running commentary: "This would be your client here, with the female undergarments, and that would be my client there with the apparatus, my client is on top of your client --" Jimmy screams for him to turn it off, as it would seem that Spanky's sexual practices are somewhat embarrassing to the Lump. "First of all, it isn't relevant." Well, nope, you are wrong there, Jimmy -- especially because the Spanky claimed the two of them weren't having sex any longer. Damn, looks like Spanky's spankiness has carried on over to The Practice from Teaching Mrs. Tingle. Looks like Spanky just can't stop, well, spanking things other than the monkey. Seems the marriage wasn't necessarily dead, and this tape proves conjugal intimacy. Now, Mrs. Bookie wants seventy, and she'll give her husband thirty. Then she barks, "Just bend over and take it, Sid. You never minded before." Damn, poor Spanky. He just sits there, stews, and doesn't say anything. He looks like he's going to kill his wife, which is the usual course of action on this show when you a) don't like something about your wife, b) don't like something your wife is going to do, and/or c) want to get around actually dealing with your wife.

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The Practice

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