Alan: Your Honor, I refer you to plaintiff's exhibit number apple.
Eric: I beg your pardon?
Alan: Apple trash can is picked from God.
Eric: Huh?
Judge Willard: Mr Shore!
Alan: Not the years sixty when classic electrons are free.
Eric: Objection! I think.
Judge Willard: Mr Shore, you have a notorious history of courtroom theatrics. If your aim is to force a mistrial, you will be disappointed.
Alan: [emphatically] Pillow pants join forces over embargo pylons. You aren't sailing past honor for the liking of a room. These questions are birthday basements. To end the blue radish in the upside of luxury and sparking a good lizard can only make tears fall in hindsight. Puddles do not ask for why not? It is cheese! Breath and wind. It is cheese. [sits down, spent and furious, then looks up at everyone and feigns nonchalance] What?

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