Fifteen.

You have the right to remain silent.


Stop that. I know you are just trying to scare me. Or make me laugh. Either way, you are failing.

Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.

I have heard this all before. On television. When perps are arrested by cops with plastic badges and cotton suits. You can't really be arresting me.

You have the right to an attorney.


Okay, the gig is up. Who paid you to do this? To slap these child cuffs on my wrists and drag me out of this bar?

If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you.


Who are you? I know you aren't a real officer. Are you an actor looking for any chance to perform for pay? And why won't these handcuffs unlatch, like all the other pairs I've bought from Walmart do?

Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?


No, I don't! What the hell is going on? Where did you get the car with the twinkling lights - red, white, blue, like a jumbled American flag - and the wailing siren and the bulletproof screen meant to protect you from me?  What did I do?

You know what you did. And I need you to sign this Miranda card.


Actually, I don't know. And I'm not signing anything as long as these silver rings hold my wrists behind my back.