The verdict: Guilty by reason of faking insanity.
The sentence: Spiritual death by humiliation and degradation.
(Ironically, it wasn't exactly a speedy trial.)
(Also, was I supposed to keep quiet because everyone else involved was ashamed of their behavior? That is asking a bit much...)
So anyway, I'm wondering if it wouldn't have been better had my sheepish, inarticulate, and only tentatively righteously indignant accusers just put a dunce cap on my head, placed me naked and backwards on the back of a donkey, herded me past distracted and baffled onlookers down Eddy Street, until I reached where today's American iteration of Savonarola and the weepers whined at me for a few hours about my culpability regarding their disgusting sins. It definitely would have driven the point, if there was any, home.
And then I could go back to being a scheming, gold-digging hussy on the make for her next unintelligent psychopathic victim.
Yay San Francisco!
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