The Government's Carbon Tax, explained graphically

In My Defence, by Judith Slade

NTFSD has brought you some exclusive content in the past. We broke the news that Hosni Mubarak had stepped down as President of Egypt, and spread to the world the edited texts of Charlie Sheen's diaries from rehab. Now, in another first for the site, accused 'hoon' Judith Slade, 82, sat down with us to discuss her recent traffic violations.
As she is currently housebound and unable to drive, we met at her house, a typical regional Victorian abode. Outside, her dog Aca runs freely through the yard, chasing a flock of galahs that are pecking through the lawn. The distant sound of his yapping floats in through the screen door.
Judith carries herself with the typical no-nonsense manner of country women her age, gruff and to the point.




Estoban Diecesiete: Good afternoon, Judith, and thanks for your time. Let's get right into it. You made headlines six months ago when you lost your licence, and found yourself again in the news after being booked for drink-driving over the weekend.
You've been branded a hoon by the Herald Sun, and it's readers have floated a number of reasons behind your behaviour; that you're an arrogant, unrepentant, irresponsible driver; that you don't understand the severity of your actions; or that you're batshit insane and need to be put down. You've got the stage now; what do you have to say to those people?

Judith Slade: Oh, bugger you lot. I didn't do any harm. It's quite cruel that they're treating me this way.

ED: When you were booked for drink driving, you seemed surprised that unlicenced drivers are expected to have zero blood alcohol. Didn't it occur to you that unlicenced drivers aren't actually meant to be driving at all?

JS: If they didn't want me to drive unlicenced, they shouldn't have taken my licence off me, should they?

ED: That... makes some kind of sense, I imagine. Now, when you originally lost your licence for speeding at 164km/h, you blamed the speed on your dog playfully jumping on your leg and forcing the accelerator-

JS: (interrupting) No. I didn't say that.

ED: Er... you did blame your dog for it...

JS: I never said 'playfully'.

ED: (pausing) What do you mean?

Judith swallows, seeming a little nervous. It's the first time I've seen her uneasy. She shifts in her chair and loosens her collar.

JS: I mean, he meant to make me speed.

ED: I don't understand. You mean your dog knowingly forced you to speed? Why would he do that?

JS: Well, I was seeing my secret lover that weekend, and we were driving behind his car at the time. Aca has been acting differently since I started seeing this man, and...

ED: Are you implying that your dog tried to commit vehicular manslaughter against your lover out of jealousy?

JS: Yes.

I pause, looking down at my notes. I originally saw this as an opportunity to make fun of an octegenarian; now, I had been given the wonderful gift of a crazy woman, too. Maybe there is a god.

ED: Okay, what about this weekend's incident: you were caught drink-driving to get a powersaw, which you said was for home renovations. What kind of home renovations does a drunk 82-year old need to do with a power saw, really?

JS: I wasn't caught driving; the police came to my door after I'd parked the car. They only know because somebody called them and told them.

ED: Do you know who that was?

She shoots a nervous glance out the window; I notice, almost subconsciously, that Aca's barking has stopped.

ED: Come on, you're not saying that the dog called the cops? Why would he dob you in?

JS: The papers never said that the police took the power saw.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. I lean in, a soft expression on my face, taking a sympathetic tone of voice.

ED: Judith, by 'home renovations' you actually mean 'executing your dog', don't you?

She nods at me slowly, a sadness older than myself lingering in her eyes. I can't believe that this 82 year old repeat hoon just confessed that she was going to brutally murder her dog. This is a comedy goldmine. I smugly allow myself to wet my pants, just a little bit.

ED: So, why such a brutal method of death for him? Why not just put him in a sack and throw him into a river somewhere?

JS: He's far too smart for that. I was planning on making it look like an accident; like I was cutting a sunroof into his kennel for him, but then slipped repeatedly and cut him into tiny pieces, and then burnt them in a church.

I scoff.

ED: Oh come on, you're really going over the top here now-

Judith is frozen, staring over my shoulder. Her lip starts to quiver, and I see tears forming in her eyes. Turning to see what she's looking at, I find myself facing Aca, who sits motionless at the window, save for the slow shaking of his head, like he's saying No, Judith, No.
You can see in his eyes that he is dead inside.

ED: Well, that's bizarre. Apart from trying to run your lover off the road, what else has Aca done?

Judith doesn't take her eyes off the dog as she whispers her answer to me, so quietly it barely makes a sound.

JS: 9/11.

ED: Well. That's about all I need for my article. I'll show myself out.

I gather my things and head for the door, chuckling to myself. Opening the door, I find Aca sitting silently on the doormat, looking at me with those dead eyes.

ED: Why, hello there, little fella. Did you want to come inside and play with your mummy?

He stands, slowly and deliberately, and walks into the house. I close the door behind me and get into my car, still giggling about the crazy woman. Neon Trees come on the radio, and I start singing along. With the sun beating down from a cloudless sky and a soft breeze rustling through the trees, I pull out of the driveway, leaving the sounds of crying and chainsaws behind me.