“You’re a Cold Man, von Karma”
Sung to the tune of
“You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch”
From “How the Grinch Stole Christmas”
When Gregory Edgeworth was a child, while most of his peers wanted to be firefighters, cowboys, or astronauts, he wanted to be a detective. On most nights, after finishing his homework and brushing his teeth, Gregory would hop into bed and lull himself to sleep by reading about the adventures of Herlock Sholmes. Though as Gregory grew older, while he still admired the Great Detective’s use of logic and deduction to solve crimes, he began to gravitate towards another character that appeared in only a few of the books: a Japanese defense attorney by the name of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, an honorable man who fought for the innocent and justice. However, while the courtroom feats of Naruhodo were held in high regard by Gregory’s parents, they- especially his mother- insisted that he continue their family’s proud legacy by becoming a great prosecutor like his paternal and maternal great-grandfathers on his mother’s side, the legendary Barok van Zieks and Kazuma Asogi. So suffice to say, when Gregory insisted that he wanted to become a defense attorney upon finishing law school and passing the Bar, there was a little bad blood in the family, to say the least, prompting him to move from New York City to Los Angeles without a penny to his name, where he built new his law firm from the ground up.
But despite Gregory’s career’s rocky start, he never gave up on his dream of using logic and reason to help those in need. In fact, Gregory’s desire to be a champion of justice grew even stronger over the years as he began to represent clients who were without a doubt guilty of the crimes that they were being accused of, but were just looking for an attorney who would ensure that they’d receive a fair trial. However, while Gregory always tried to see the good in people and give everyone the benefit of the doubt, he was no fool. Gregory knew that there were plenty of evil people out there who were beyond redemption, individuals with hearts so clouded with darkness and hatred that they only saw others as stepping stones and committed illicit acts without an ounce of remorse if it meant getting what they wanted. And while Gregory encountered many people like this over the course of his career, none were as bad as Prosecutor Manfred von Karma.
Coming from a family of esteemed prosecutors himself, Gregory understood that it was a prosecutor’s duty to fight for the defendant’s guilt, much like it was his to fight for their innocence. But Manfred wasn’t like other prosecutors- he was much worse. Manfred was a demented perfectionist who didn’t view defendants as human beings, but rather as points in a sick game that he was determined to win through every dubious, underhanded method in the book: forging evidence, omitting vital information, and strongarming the judge to the point of tears, to name a few. But worse than that, Manfred was as stubborn as he was competitive. Over the course of the year that they’ve been going at it in court for the case of Jeff Master, even though Gregory had on countless occasions proven that the police department didn’t have the victim’s body, which had been moved and hidden by some unknown party around the time the crime had been brought to the police’s attention, let alone a solid case against his client, Manfred would keep fighting back with his clearly forged autopsy report that had been ‘updated’ countless times throughout the year to fit his twisted narrative. Hopefully, if Miles ever followed in his footsteps and became a defense attorney, he wouldn’t have to deal with the frustration of having an autopsy report receive 12 updates over the course of a week, with several of them happening only minutes apart from each other.
So when Gregory’s old courtroom rival, Byrne Faraday, called him up out of the blue on December 21st and suggested that they have a guy’s night out at the Wonder Bar, he accepted. Sure, Gregory wasn’t a big fan of going out on the town- especially to bars- but after having to deal with nonstop von Karma-related hell over the course of this year, he needed to shake things up by spending time with someone who wasn’t a megalomaniacal prosecutor. Fortunately, Raymond was available to babysit Miles for the night.
Though while Gregory was in relatively good spirits- especially after Byrne revealed that one of the reasons why he wanted to do this outing in the first place was to tell his rival and friend in person that his wife had recently given birth to their firstborn child- he still couldn’t rid himself of the anxieties that were swirling through his head (how much longer the case would go on for, what underhanded tricks would von Karma use in their next courtroom bout, etc.). And it didn’t help that Byrne was trying to lighten the mood by wanting to play round after round of Would You Rather… with him, in which one of the choices always had something to do with Manfred.
“C’mon, Greg, just one more and I promise I’ll stop.” Byrne grinned as he took a sip from the glass of scotch in front of him.
“Fine…” Gregory let out an exasperated sigh as he focused on the glass of water he was drinking, using his hands to slide it from side to side to distract himself. “What are my choices?”
“Would you rather clean Grossberg’s toilet after he had lunch at Taco King or have lunch with von Karma?”
“Like you have to ask? The former, hands down. As gross as that toxic waste dump of a toilet would be, as long as I had heavy-duty gloves on my hands and a clothespin on my nose, I could power through and get it done relatively quickly. But if my time in court with von Karma is of any indication, the latter would be drawn out and he’d spend the entire time boasting about himself and insulting me.” Gregory explained matter-of-factly with his hand extended outwards.
“At least you only have to deal with von Karma in the courtroom.” Byrne chuckled before taking another sip of his drink. “Imagine working out of the same building as him, where in addition to the flack and showboating that you defense attorneys deal with, you get to hear him complain about the pettiest of things. For instance, von Karma blasts everyone at the Prosecutor’s Office with group emails on a weekly basis about how wearing your prosecutor’s badge on your lapel is “unfashionable” and “a disgrace to the office”. Look, if the guy wants to keep his badge in his pocket, more power to him- just don’t force it on everyone else. That’s why when the missus and I were taking the picture of Kay that I was planning on showing everyone at the hospital, I made it a point to pin my prosecutor’s badge to the lapel of her little onesie.” At this point, the prosecutor was laughing so intensely that he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath. “You should have seen how red von Karma’s face when he saw my baby girl wearing my badge! Hell, even though it’s been a month, he still makes it a point to rant and rave to me about how Kay looked like a disgraceful, unfashionable mess in that photo!”
“You think that’s bad? When we were in court yesterday, instead of debating Master’s innocence- the reason why we were having a trial in the first place- we spent the entire time going back and forth about the existence of Santa; all because a bailiff made a wisecrack about von Karma’s fanatical belief in Santa under his breath. And then there was the CD… Dear God, the CD…” Gregory sighed in exasperation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Apparently, von Karma felt that I and everyone else in that courtroom hadn’t suffered enough, because right when the court was about to be adjourned for the day, he yelled ‘Hold it!’ and proceeded to play an awful song from this CD that he was trying to sell to us for $20.”
“Not Perfect Christmas!” Byrne slammed his palm on the table, nearly spilling his drink. “And here I thought that he was limiting that tire fire to the Prosecutor’s Office!”
“Oh, that CD was perfect alright…. Perfectly awful.” Gregory wryly remarked with crossed arms. “That CD was the worst thing that I ever had the misfortune of hearing: there was no melody, von Karma was just yelling out the words without even trying to sing, and the lyrics were strangely lewd. I mean, what else am I supposed to think when I hear ‘oh, yum, yum, yum is my candy cane, which I give to the kids as they lick it all day’?”
“No worries, Greg. I got the same vibe when von Karma made me listen to a song in which one of the lines was ‘Santa give me your hohoho, splash me with your Christmas joy all nice and slow’.”
“Now I’m by no means an artist. Heck, I had to call in Raymond to help Miles learn how to fold an origami swan after I wasted an hour trying to do so myself and only had a notebook’s worth of torn paper to show for it. But even someone as artistically challenged as myself could come up with a better song on the spot.”
“Well, in that case, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?” Byrne remarked, pointing his thumb towards the stage at the front of the bar, where a giant of a man who was close to seven feet in height- his arms akin to tree trunks stuffed with boulders and a hulking frame that was causing his red polo shirt, which had a prosecutor’s badge proudly pinned to the lapel, to tear a bit- was belting out the lyrics to This is How We Roll by Florida Georgia.
“I don’t know, Byrne…” Gregory responded with a tone of hesitation as he pulled the brim of his fedora over his eyes. “You know that I’m not much of a performer.”
“Aw, c’mon, Greg. Live a little!” Byrne exclaimed as he slapped his friend’s shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Hmm, let’s see…” Gregory stated with his hand extended outwards. “I could get booed off the state, have trash thrown at me, and/or have an angry jerk jump onstage and try to fight me.”
“I.e. a regular day in court for you.”
“Look, it’s one thing when I take abuse from the gallery and witnesses for the sake of defending my client, but it’s a horse of a different color when I subject myself to that kind of abuse during my free time.”
“Yeah, this is how we ROOOOOOOOOLL!!! YEAH!” The hulking prosecutor roared before spiking the mic into the stage, creating a hole in the spot that it struck. “God bless!”
“T-Thank you, Mr. Newman….” A short, stocky man with a thinning greyish-brown head of hair and a matching thick mustache- his attire consisting of a sweat-soaked white dress shirt, black dress pants held up by a pair of matching suspenders, and a pair of brown loafers- nervously stated as he walked onstage and put a replacement microphone on the stand. “Are there any-any volunteers to go next? Now don’t be shy! C-‘Cause here at the Wonder Bar, anyone can shine like a star!”
“Don’t even think about it, Byrne!” Gregory hissed under his breath as he glared at the prosecutor, whose face had morphed into a mischievous grin.
“Don’t worry, Greg, I won’t force you onstage.”
“Thank you.” The defense attorney bowed as he let out a sigh of relief.
“Yo, Chad! Greg wants to go next but is too weak to get onstage. Mind giving him a hand?” Byrne called out, prompting Gregory to shoot him a death glare.
“Sure thing, Bro-aday!” Chad exclaimed with a big, goofy grin on his face as he jumped offstage and confidently strode towards the table.
“Objection! I-“
But before Gregory could finish his sentence, Chad effortlessly hoisted him up and held him over his shoulder, much like one would carry a sack of potatoes.
“Shhh, it’s ok, little bro.” The hulking prosecutor said in the kind of calming tone that a parent uses with a scared child, complete with gently putting a finger to the defense attorney’s lips, as he strode over to the stage. “You may have baby legs, but that’s alright ‘cause you’re with me now, and I don’t put a bro down until it’s time to put a bro down… which is now.”
With the two men now on the stage, Chad gently put Gregory down in front of the microphone before strutting offstage and heading to a table towards the back of the bar.
“H-Hello, sir. I’m Ned Voss, the- the proprietor of the- the- the Wonder Bar, the- the place that we’re currently in.” Ned stammered as he gave Gregory the sweatiest handshake of his life, prompting the defense attorney to wipe his hand off on his pants as soon as it was released. “S-Sorry about the sweat. I… I don’t do well with crowds, but- but I’m trying to improve. So- so, what song do you want to sing?”
“I know that this may seem like a strange request, but would it be fine if I sang You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch?” Gregory asked, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face as he scratched the back of his neck.
“S-Sure thing, sir!” Ned nodded as he rushed over to a computer backstage and started the song. However, instead of singing along to the words on the monitor on the floor, Gregory decided to sing his own version of the classic Christmas song.
{Gregory}
You’re a cold man,
von Karma,
You make ice look like fire.
You’re as friendly as a mad bull,
and as tender as a briar,
von Karma!
You’re a haunted house with a…
Gate of barbwire!
You’re a psychopath,
von Karma,
Your soul’s as dark as night.
Your foul breath reeks of sulphur,
You make the Devil feel fright,
von Karma!
You dress like a vampire who…
Burns to ash when exposed to sunlight!
You’re a cruel man,
von Karma,
Your heart’s a dark, cavernous cave.
To the innocents you’re like the Grim Reaper digging their graves,
von Karma!
But if I had to pick between you two,
The Reaper would receive my rave!
You’re despicable,
von Karma,
You’re a cranky, janky shark.
You’re like an angry chihuahua,
With the shrillest of barks,
von Karma!
The three words that best describe you are as follows,
And I quote:
Stank, snark, stark!
You’re a criminal,
von Karma,
You’re a shame to the courtroom.
You do everything to hide the truth and let evil bloom,
von Karma!
Your record is a disgusting mess,
A foul, debauched collection of every sick trick, misdeed, and form of corruption one could imagine,
Engulfed in a dark cloud of gloom!
You disgust me,
von Karma,
With your grimy, slimy, grime.
You’re a dingy, dirty bell with an awful, ominous chime,
von Karma!
Your personality is utterly unpleasant,
And your CD’s a war crime!
Upon finishing the song, Gregory was greeted with a roar of applause from the crowd, prompting him to take a bow before walking offstage and returning to his table. Meanwhile, at Chad’s table, Blaise was laughing his head off.
“Y’know, Gant, I never thought that I’d say this, but I’m glad that you dragged us here tonight!” Blaise cackled as he repeatedly slammed his fist on the table.
“And to think that you were hemming and hawing all the way here about karaoke night only being fun for drunken, middle-aged moms who are desperately trying to look hip.” Gant grinned with a clap of his hands.
“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but for me, the fun’s gonna be lasting a lot longer, y’see?” Blaise smirked as he pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket. “Especially when I share this moment with everyone in the office on Monday.”
“I don’t know, Bro-beste…” Chad chimed in, his closed eyes directed down at the table. “I know that von Bro-ma isn’t the most popular guy at the Prosecutor’s Office- especially after he started blasting that gosh-awful CD nonstop in the breakroom- but isn’t humiliating him with that song going a bit too far? Heck, I have half a mind to go over to that string bean who sang that song and give him what for- especially since he’s the jerk who’s been giving von Bro-ma so much trouble in court this year.”
“Don’t worry, Chaddy. Manny’s a tough bird.” Gant said in a reassuring tone. “If anything, this’ll drive him to do even better in court.”
“Plus it’s funny as hell! But for now, let’s just enjoy the show and see if anyone can compete with that performance.” Blaise stated as he proceeded to play with his lighter.
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