Alan: There's a problem with your theory, Jerry. As feasible as it sounds now, you and I both know when you actually get up to give your closing you're Hands Espenson. Chewing on a silly wooden cigarrette isn't going to distract you from the reality that you have very little trial experience, that you're scared to death just to be in the room and that as able as you may be to fool others or even yourself, I know what you are. And knowing that I know, feeling my stare upon you, that you'll be utterly reduced to an ineffective, mumbling, inarticulate man with Asperger's because that's what you are, Jerry.
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Tuesday
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Wednesday
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Thursday
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