I Drank the Wrong Mosquito Repellent and Went on a Rampage in Court

Whenever I'm wronged, I can switch from a pushover to an outlaw.

After my roommates found out, they started asking if I was thirsty before they even argued with me.

Then came the final of the college's mock trial competition, and the scheduled defendant suddenly came down with gastroenteritis.

As the only substitute who had memorized the case file, I was shoved into the defendant's chair by my counselor.

My legs went so weak I nearly bowed my head to the judge.

Across from me was a legal studies prodigy who'd won four consecutive titles. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, waiting for me to cave in right there in court.

I was so nervous I called the honorable judge "Grandpa Judge."

Hoping to lose with some dignity, I pulled out a bottle of medicated oil, intending to sting out a couple of tears and win some sympathy.

But my hand slipped, the bottle went straight into my mouth, and I took a good-sized sip.

The next second, it felt like the Criminal Code had electrified my brain.

Twenty minutes later, the prodigy asked me in a trembling voice:

"Junior, are you saying... every single person here is guilty?"