On an average day in middle America, The Honorable Judge Joseph A. Wapner took the bench and once again presided over the People's Court. He knew the plaintiff had been sworn, and he had read his complaint. Doug Llewelyn loitered in the passageway, stolidly whispering the play-by-play for the viewing audience. Rusty the Bailiff stood by with stiff yet puppylike devotion, Sir Lancelot to the Judge's surpassingly-fair Guinevere. Wasting no time, the Honorable Judge scowled at the courtroom and began hearing the case.

The plaintiff sniveled and whined. Among the many grievous, demeaning transgressions visited upon his person by the defendant, he had been referred to as 'numbnuts'.

"Numbnuts?" the Honorable Judge proclaimed in his familiar übercranky, kids-nowadays manner. "NUMBnuts?!?" His eyebrows lurched together like two grey caterpillars in a deadly head-on collision. The defendant shifted uncomfortably, attempting to keep a straight face. Incisive and relentless in his pursuit of justice, Judge Wapner demanded an explanation. What, exactly, did he mean by 'numbnuts'?

The man stammered and perspired, cringing in the recognition of the power held by the man who could not only exact restitution of less than $1,000, but also humiliate him on daytime television. Finally, he managed a weak reply. 'Numbnuts' was merely a joke. An expression of familiarity and affection amongst friends. Nothing more.

The Honorable Judge tilted his head with a slightly bemused expression on his face. The defendant mistook this look for beneficence and relaxed, but such was not the case. The small claim against him had already been decided, and reparations would be due.

"Rusty," the Honorable Judge Joseph A. Wapner intoned, turning slightly in the steadfast bailiff's direction, "would you call me 'numbnuts'?"

A hush of expectation spread over the courtroom in the mere microseconds it took Rusty to reply.

"No, sir. I will not."

I hear your doubt, I hear a lot of things and your doubt is the loudest. 'The People's Court' was hardly scandalous by today's standards, but in 1982 it was the most awe-inspiring thing to hit the screens. Jerry Springer and Rikki Lake walked down a primrose lined path to get where they are, but that path was hacked out of the dense puritanical jungle of the American psyche by a gavel wielding sauce-pot called JuJo.

Within the confines of the censors broad stroke, 'TPC' was still able to titillate. They hinted broadly at the in-bred heritage of the defendants, you just KNEW that the witness for the plaintiff was a scorned lover, and, frankly, Steve has nothing on Rusty. If I remember correctly, the white-trash, accusatory finger point got it's start in front of the Honorable Judge Joseph A Wapner.

We look back at 'The People's Court' and we giggle now. We use words like 'quaint' and 'simple' to describe it. Some might even view it as wholesome. One night alone with the 'The People's Court: Too Hot For TV' trilogy including 'Plaintiffs Gone Wild' and 'Bailiffs Bare ALL' will teach you more than you need to know about the origins of trashy, compelling reality tv.

'ok, rusty. i'm going to need to see you in chambers.'

those are the words rusty didn't want to hear. ever. he knew what that meant. wapner had an itch that he needed scratched.

'rusty! now!'

sigh. the thing that no one knew about wapner is that he didn't wear pants under that robe. if it's one thing that rusty hated, it was when wapner rode him like a pony. rusty knew that this wasn't part of the bailiff code, but what does one do when one is in the presence of such greatness? get down on all fours, i guess. play pony. try to take it like a man and not cry in court.

it was hard to think about protecting this man when rusty was in such emotional agony. wapner didn't even like sex, just pony. seeing a man with a gun crawling around what he liked to call his 'corral' and occasionally stamping his hand to count, that's what really did it. wapner had taken rusty in when rusty was recovering from a pain killer addiction. he cleaned him up, gave him a place to stay over the garage, a gun and a job. in return, rusty would be a pony. a pony bailiff.

he wasn't sure how much longer this arrangement would last and while time to time he'd thought of killing the judge, he couldn't bring himself to do it. it wasn't like he couldn't just walk out the door and shed his pony-skin the same way he'd shed his junkie-skin before. throw down his weapon, put on his civilian clothes and find something new in life. something with less fame and less degradation. there had to be options for a handsome yet gentle man such as himself. he'd do it, today was the day.

'RUSTY!'

'sigh. bridle or bareback, your honor?'