David Dobkin

Let me tell you something, okay? I put a roof over your head, money in your pocket, clothes on your back… food in your mouth! Who paid for that college education? I never showed up to kiss your ass, but your mother? She's a house wife! Why couldn't you swallow your God damned pride and just come home to her? You tell me why!

Is that all you wanted, Henry, was a kind word? An 'atta boy? Then to use your words, you should have *come* the *fuck* home! We all waited, *quietly*, but you never came. Okay? And I was the one she'd blame, because you wouldn't come home. Me. Now, was I tough on you? Yes. How'd you turn out, Henry? Waiting tables? A bum?

You were high, you rolled a car with your brother in it! He had a major league career ahead of him, a 90 mile-an-hour fast ball, and he runs a turnip shop! You crippled him, you stole his future, and you call *me* an ass hole?

Oooh, "I was 13, I was 17." You were headed down the wrong path! I did what I thought was right.

I looked at him and saw you. Same willful disobedience... same recklessness. I looked at him and saw my middle son.My little boy. My little boy. I watched him cry right there. I wanted to put my arms around him and tell him it didn't have to be like this. I wanted someone to help him... like I'd want someone to help my boy... if he lost his way. It was my chance to be... that someone. Is that so much to ask? Maybe so. Maybe so.

Intelligent people who will listen to instructions and follow the evidence.

Everyone wants Atticus Finch until there's a dead hooker in a bathtub. Note: Atticus Finch is the lawyer in "To Kill a Mockingbird."

You know, you'd invite people at the end of their parole back to court... You'd *recognize* those who did their time, turned their lives around, made something of themselves. Everyone in the court applauded, and you made sure they did! Tell them how *proud* you were... Proud of *fucking* strangers!

Did you know 90% of the country believes in ghosts? less than a third in evolution? 35% can correctly identify Homer Simpson's fictional town in which he resides, less than 1% knows the name Thurgood Marshall. But… when you put 12 Americans together in a jury and you ask for justice? Something just South of brilliance happens. Often as not, they get it right.

My father is a lot of unpleasant things, but murderer is not one of them.

I don't buy it. It can't be the first time someone's insulted you. It's your job. Why did you go easy on him the first time? Of all the judges in Indiana, the one with the tightest... You gave him 30 days. He threatened her, discharged a firearm at her residence.That's six months. A year. Easy. What was your reasoning? A hundred and 80 days, that's solid. Maybe he'd have cooled off. Maybe he doesn't kill Hope. Maybe we're not here. Of all the years you sat on that bench... all the people that stood before you, the leniency... the understanding, the free ride goes to Mark Blackwell? How do you explain that lapse in judgment?

Right now? I'm a summer breeze. Once I subpoena you, get you on the stand and extract the truth from your ass like tree sap THEN you'll realize in THAT moment, correct, I'm not a pleasant person.

Grandpa Schneider is kind of, you know, nice and affable. He'd maybe take you for ice cream, maybe read to you. Grandpa Palmer doesn't wanna do any of that. If you ask him to read, he might throw the book at you.

Possession of a controlled substance? Domestic violence? That's you. You all right, honey? What other random myriad of fucking misdemeanors is gonna come to light while you're drawing out in the slammer? Failure to appear? Bench warrants? Come on. And because I'm the only one that actually isn't driving with a suspended license, I'll be driving your gals home. So who lives closer? Uh, bad skin muffin-top, or Red Bull semen breath?

Crackpots. Those I can persuade to swallow their own tongue. Anyone who's seen a Sasquatch. Moon-landing deniers. Those are our people.