O.K., here's the situation. You're toolin' down the road in the middle of nowhere, enjoying the scenery, singing along to your favorite country songs and not paying attention to how fast you're going. The music is so loud that you don't hear the siren at first - not until the police car gets right up on your rear bumper. You look up at the mirror then down at your speedometer and say "Uh Oh. I'm in trouble." The officer pulls you over, gets out of his car, puts on his Smokey hat, pushes the sun glasses up on his nose, adjusts his holster in case he has to make a quick draw, and saunters up to your car with ticket book in hand. He looks just like the troopers in all the bad movies you've ever seen. [John Goodman comes to mind here.]
He tells you in his southern drawl "Step outta the car." You ask "Don't you need to see my license and registration?" to which he replies "We don't do things that way around here." After patting you down he says "You were going 90 in a 55 zone. I'm gonna have to take you in." You know with all the tickets you've ignored over the years you'll lose your license on this one, so you take a chance and say "Isn't there some kind arrangement you and I can come up with here?" hoping you can buy him off for a couple hundred dollars. He gives you a stern look and says "Now you're really in trouble. Turn around and so I can cuff you."
He puts you in the back seat of his squad car, slams the door, gets in the front, turns his lights and siren on, and speeds away at 90 mph. Things don't seem quite right to you, especially when you realize that the car had no city, county, or state markings on the door. So you ask him where he's taking you and he says "You don't need to know that." After a half hour of winding through cypress trees, swamps, and gators he pulls into a small town that looks like it's a hundred years old -- or two, or three. He stops in front of an old court house, pulls you out of the car, and takes you to a cell in the basement. "How long will I be in here?" He says "Well, the Judge should be around in a few days."
You look around the cell and see something out of all the bad movies you've ever seen -- again. Scratches on the wall to keep track of how long others have been here -- some of them with several months of marks. There's a window with bars, but no glass. You notice how warm it is in here and look around for an air conditioning vent, but there are none. Two days later a deputy comes down to handcuff you and take you up to see the Judge.
You see a big stack of papers in front of the Judge. He looks down at you from his high perch. "Son, you have quite a stack of violations here -- speeding, failure to stop at a stop sign -- you have 63 of those -- 11 too fast through a school zone tickets, 2 for leaving the scene of an accident, 12 for parking in front of fire hydrants, 146 parking meter expiration offenses... I could go on for another half hour - but you get the picture."
"But your honor, I never got caught for most of those. How can they be on my record?"
"We have a record of everything up here, son."
"But how can that be? Even computers can't have a record of things I didn't get caught at?"
The Judge says "This is a special court, son. We know everything. So, now that you know we have a record of everything, how do you plead?" You're confused -- this is moving too fast.
"Wait a minute, here! Don't I get a lawyer?"
"Oh, I almost forgot about that part. Bailiff, call in the Lawyer." A tall man in a white, double-breasted suit and straw plantation-style hat comes in and sits down beside you. Now things are looking up. You lean over and ask Him "Can you get these charges dismissed?" He says "No, that's not my job here. Just wait." The judge repeats "How do you plead." You look at your Lawyer and He just shrugs. You really have no other choice, since they've got the goods on you.
