R v James Inkerton (aka Jimmy the Inkster)

Per Justice Upbottom.

The notorious serial killer James Inkerton is today sentenced to thirty-three consecutive life sentences for his heinous crimes. It is often a very difficult thing for us to comprehend how anyone could be capable of commiting acts of vile depravity the likes for which Mr. Inkerton has now been convicted. However, if one looks at the tumultuous adolescence the prisoner endured on account of his most unnatural and unfortunate affliction, then perhaps one may begin to understand how this monster came to be.

Despite growing up in what was (apparently) a single parent household, young James Inkerton had a relatively stable and happy childhood. It was only when he reached puberty that he came to the traumatic realisation that he was not normal. You see, while the other boys his age were joyously flaunting their silky swathes of vanilla creme de man, James discovered, much to his horror, that his organ played a different tune: an inky one. For he had what doctors are now able to diagnose as nigris ejaculatitis, an exceedingly rare semen disorder which causes the sufferer to squirt repulsive jets of viscious black ink at the climactic point of sexual arousal.

Obviously a very embarrassing condition for anyone to suffer, it was particularly the case for James who was at boarding school at the time. At least a couple of times a week he would wake from his usual wet dream of being aboard Los Pescados Cópula, balls deep in the conical stomach of a cuttlefish, only to find his white bedsheets permanently stained with his shady nut. There were only so many times that he could blame this on a 'leaky pen', so he would deliberately assume other ridiculous traits to take the boys' attention away from his far more horrible shortcoming. One of the things he would do was inexplicably point to everyday objects (like a jar of honey) and loudly identify that object in a childish high-pitch voice. For sure he was ruthlessly mocked by his classmates for these idiosyncracies but in their enthusiasm they managed to overlook the soiled bundles of shame that he would take to the dirty linen basket every laundry day.

But if he had managed to conceal his dark secret from the boys, he was less far less successful with the opposite sex. Indeed his early efforts at courtship were all together unpleasant affairs. It became an agonising ritual: panicky foreplay between white, all-revealing bedsheets; brief and unspectacular intercourse; guilt and shame as the hideous seed is spent in the unknowing receptacle; an anxious wait as she squats on the toilet to drain; shrieks of horror for the murky quim now turning the porcelain black. These unpleasant encounters drew him, understandably, to the less-discerning bossom of women with down-syndrome (a path famously well-trodden by Chis Laine). But their guardians soon observed the greasy splatterings running down the girls' hammy thighs and young James was chased out of town by an angry mob and beaten.

Rejected by the world, he became bitter and full of hatred, particularly for womankind for being so cruel about his freakish spooge. And so it was that Jimmy the Inkster was born, the evil killer whose list of crimes so far stand at thirty-three counts of rape and murder (all of his victims were of course women except for one Harrod Sack, his chief tormentor at boarding school). For months the Inkster eluded the police and the country lived under a cloud of inky terror. Fortunately, he eventually became complacent and was discovered by a rabbi named Levi Gillheimer near the scene of his last crime, his hands covered in ink.

It may be worth at this moment reflecting upon the masterful way in which Crown Prosecutor Peppas QC managed to secure the guilty verdict. The prosecution case initially suffered a major blow when expert evidence failed to prove a DNA link between the inky fluids discovered in the various orifi of the deceased (including Sack) by forensic investigators and that of the prisoner. With his case seemingly in tatters, Peppas QC created a stir in the courtroom when he then summonsed the prisoner's mother as a witness. But as soon as Mrs Inkerton entered the witness box, defense counsel objected, citing the well-established rule of evidence that a mother may not testify against her son, which of course I was bound to uphold.

However, Peppas QC then made a most curious application. He asked permission to place a small prawn in the proximity of Mrs Inkerton's snatch. (Upon reviewing the authorities, I could find no principle of law that would prevent this.) He then approached the witness and, removing a squirming crustacean from his pocket, he reached up her dress and placed it on the cusp of her vulva. The court looked confusedly at the bearded-axe wound of the spread-legged witness but nothing much happened at first. Then, all of a sudden, a slimy tentacle tentatively emerged from out her gaping gash, followed soon by the rest of the squid to which it belonged. It quickly seized the prawn and scurried back to its vaginal lair. It was observed that Mrs Inkerton was groaning orgasmically as the phallic tube of the creature re-entered her - in fact, her pleasure was so apparent that it was clear that this squid was none other than Mr. Inkerton Senior, thus solving the mystery of Jimmy's parentage and the cause of his diseased jism.

Now the sight of his dear mother and father in coitus was clearly a very arousing image for the prisoner in the dock. I would just say that I regard this as a perfectly natural reaction for a healthy young man. But for the prisoner, with his most peculiar infimity, it proved to be a fatal one. For it had caused him to thoroughly blotch the front part of his pantaloons with his revolting blackness for all the court to see, thus revealing himself as the dreaded Inkster. And so with another brilliant piece of courtcraft, Peppas QC has again managed to achieve justice for the community.

Bravo Mr. Peppas!