The Practice
What Child Is This?

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Ragdoll: F | 1 USERS: A+
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Humbert Humbert is humbled

Previously, on The Practice: Ellenor has oodles of trouble with her unborn baby -- an infection of the amniotic fluid, appendicitis, strange pains, and eclampsia. Kate Littlefield hires Bobby and his merry band of lawyers to defend her husband, who has been charged with the murder of her daughter. Mr. "Lolita" Littlefield claims he and his stepdaughter Fiona had a predicable "father/daughter" relationship. Only they were sleeping together. Bobby accuses Kate of murdering her own daughter. Jimmy accuses Raymond's other mistress of murdering Kate's daughter. Then, Jenny, the other sister, defends her mother from the accusations of murdering Fiona. Finally, the DA's office plays its trump card: they found a trace of Raymond's semen on the body. Bobby screams at Littlefield. He clings to his innocence.

The Holding Cell Of Imminent Pain. Bobby enters the cell with a purposeful stride and a nasty look on his face. He slams his body down on an unsuspecting chair. Jimmy waddles in behind his leader; he's holding a red folder that he promptly hands off to Rod like it's a baton in the Totally Useless Legal Olympics. Bobby pushes the folder toward Raymond, who stares blankly ahead: "Our own DNA tests came back. It's your semen." Raymond takes a deep breath and states that the tests have to be wrong: "Is there any margin for error here?" Nope. The odds are seventeen million to one. Bobby snarks, "Going into a murder trial. Bad odds." Jimmy shifts his weight but doesn't sit down. Raymond emphasizes the fact that he hadn't slept with his stepdaughter for at least a week. How long does semen last? Is Raymond really this dumb? He claims his "troubled" daughter was on the swim team, in chlorine all the time, how could semen last through all those chemicals? Bobby repeats, "You hadn't slept with her for more than a week?" No. "And she'd been swimming all week?" Yes. The Emperor pauses for a moment to rub the creases on his brow. The defendant wants to know if the police planted the semen. Because the police not only store semen of many different varieties in their Semen Vaults, but they know exactly how/when/where a murder's going to be committed so they can plant the demon seeds on the unsuspecting victim. The police did all that work just to frame Raymond. Bobby doesn't buy the desperate measures. The Lump pipes up, "Let's assume for a second that it could have been planted." Yes. He is seriously talking about someone planting SEMEN. And he's not referring to the movie version of Scott Turow's Presumed Innocent. Oh wait, DEK's just ripping the idea off of Scott Turow. Right. The whole "use your imagination" part of scriptwriting flies out the window the minute DEK sits down with pen in hand: "Contrived. Contrived. Contrived." That's what runs through his head. Any. Way. Jimmy wants to know who had access. That's right. They are actually entertaining the idea that someone might have planted semen on the body. The Lump takes a seat in front of Raymond and carries on with his train of thought: "Prior to the death of Fiona. When was the last time you had sex with your wife?" Raymond rolls his tongue around in his mouth. He's thinking. A day. Maybe two, or even three at the most. The Framing Symphony in F Minor shoots out from under the stainless-steel table in the holding cell. Bobby pinches his cheeks with his teeth: "Is it possible your wife planted your semen on Fiona?" Raymond squints: "Are you asking me if it's possible Kate killed Fiona? Her own daughter?" That's exactly what he's asking. Whomp. Whomp.

Having to wear pink and only pink for the rest of my life would be less painful then enduring these credits. And I look terrible in pink.

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The Practice

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