I hope you’re wearing your tux or ball gown today, dear reader, for you have found your lucky self at a World Premiere!  Today, I’m thrilled to unveil a brand new word to the world.  Ladies and gentlemen…behold!  I give you juridiculous (adj).  This term, coined by yrs. truly, is an adjective used to describe decisions, rulings, or verdicts so absurd, farcical, or patently nonsensical that they defy logic, reason, and the basic tenets of justice.  These rulings often arise from the political weaponization of the law, grotesque incompetence, or a toxic cocktail of both.  The word captures the Kafkaesque comedy of errors that unfolds when the judicial system becomes a theater of the absurd.
A portmanteau of juridical (from the Latin juridicus, meaning “of or relating to judicial proceedings”) and ridiculous (from the Latin ridiculus, meaning “laughable, absurd”).  Together, they form a linguistic Molotov cocktail hurled at the crumbling edifice of legal sanity.

It started, as these things often do, with a parking ticket.  Not just any parking ticket, but one issued for the crime of “parking with intent to loiter.”  Let that sink in, dear reader.  The car wasn’t double-parked, wasn’t blocking a hydrant, wasn’t even idling.  It was just there, existing in a metered space, minding its own goddamn business.  But apparently, in the eyes of the law – or at least the bloodshot eyes of Officer McCheese of the FCPD (not his real name…I’ve had enough trouble with this badge-carrying ballbag already, so I’m not going to dox him here), who looked like he’d been mainlining Red Bull and rage since 1997 – this was an act of premeditated vehicular loitering.
So there I was, standing in front of Judge Phatphuck (also not his real name), a man whose face resembled a half-melted candle and whose judicial robe looked like it had been tailored by a blind mortician.  He peered down at me over his bifocals, the kind of glasses that scream, I’m about to ruin your day for sport.
“How do you plead to the charge of parking with intent to loiter?” he asked, his voice dripping with the kind of smugness that only comes from a lifetime of never being punched in the face.
“Your Honor,” I sad, “with all due disrespect, this charge is – how do I put this delicately? – batshit crazy.”
Phatphuck’s jowls quivered.  “Watch your language in my courtroom!”
“Watch your courtroom in my language,” I shot back, because sometimes you have to go down swinging.
The prosecutor, a woman who look like she’d been raised by a pack of sentient spreadsheets, stood up and began reciting some obscure municipal code about “intentional misuse of public space.”  She spoke with the kind of monotone that could make a TED Talk on time travel sound like a eulogy for a goldfish.
“Your Honor,” I interrupted sexily, “this is juridiculous.”
The courtroom fell silent.  Even the stenographer stopped typing, her fingers hovering over the keys like she was trying to decide whether to record my outburst or just quit her job and join a commune.
“Excuse me?” Phatphuck said, his voice rising an octave.
“Juridiculous,” I repeated.  “Adjective.  Describing a judicial decision so absurd, so laughably detached from reality, that it makes Kafka look like a realist.  Example: this entire bullshit proceeding.”
Phatphuck’s face turned the color of a boiled lobster.  “One more outburst like that, and I’ll hold you in contempt.
“Hold this in contempt, jackass.  I’ve been swimming in contempt since the moment I walked in here.  You think I’m scared of a little extra?”
Ultimately, I was fined $500, sentenced to 20 hours of community service, and banned from parking within 500 feet of a courthouse for the next year.  But you know what, dear reader?  It was worth it.  Because somewhere out there, in the vast and chaotic universe of human language, juridiculous now exists.
And if that’s not justice, I don’t know what is. 

N.P.: “In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company – Metal Version” – Leo