Trapped in the Courtroom

Well, after six long years, a burst appendix, a pregnant prosecutor, an injured judge, the rise and fall of Chappelle's Show (largely built upon the comedy inherent in the life of the defendant), and more legal motions than you can shake your pee-pee at, the R. Kelly child pornography trial is underway.

I point you to Slate's Josh Levin for a take on the proceedings that is both humorous and frightening. After hearing the details of the sex tape, I have two conflicting emotions:

1. Abject horror -- after all, this is, allegedly, a sex crime perpetrated against an underage girl by a thirty-something (at the time) man, which is the lowest of low. (Add to it the demoralizing nature of the acts committed on the tape, and it's even worse than just straight sex with a minor.)

2. Hilarity -- if you divorce yourself from thinking about the victim, you can really get to laughing at the idea of Mr. "I Believe I Can Fly" urinating on a woman's breasts and face in stops and starts. I mean, really? And if you start narrating the action to the tune of one of his songs, it gets even funnier. But don't just take my word for it:




I mean, "R. Kelly's Doo Doo Butter?" How can you not laugh?

And if that's not enough, let's remix it for ya:




Let's face it, whether he gets jail time or not, there's a new, courtroom-themed chapter of "Trapped in the Closet" somewhere in our future. Can't wait!