Don’t Worry Foxy Knoxy, Help Is On The Way

Yes, the rumors are true: International sex symbol Amanda “Foxy Knoxy” Knox is waist deep in legal trouble again, after Italy’s highest criminal court overturned her acquittal and ordered her to once more stand trial on those preposterous, trumped-up murder charges.

Given that Knox is an attractive, young woman with a reputation for nymphomania, I’m understandably concerned about her. So I contacted my longtime criminal defense attorney Buzz Goldenrod to see what kind of assistance we could send her way.

“Yello,” Buzz said upon answering the phone. “Talk to me.”

“Buzz? Oz.”



“What did you do this time, you fat bastard? Another dead hooker in the pool? Maybe abusing the staff again?”

“Of course not. Besides, all charges were dropped in both of those incidents. Ipso facto, I was and continue to be innocent.”

Buzz didn’t speak for a moment. I could hear faint sniffing sounds in the background.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Not what — whom. Specifically, Amanda Knox. I wanted to see if there was anything we could do for her, legally speaking.”

“Foxy Knoxy? Oh Christ. Don’t tell me you’re mixed up with that business.”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping to be. Or at least mixed up in her business, if you know what I mean.”



“Nothing. OK, so — wait, hold on.”

There was another brief period of general silence punctuated by those mysterious sniffing sounds.

“Are you—?” I started.

Buzz snorted loudly and coughed. “Am I what?” he said.

“Doing cocaine?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure? Because it really sounds like—”

“Hey, if you’ve never accidentally killed a hooker then I’ve never done cocaine. Especially not at work. Ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HA!

“Good lord, man.”

Ha HA ha ha!

“Get a grip!”

“Sorry,” he said, followed by another snort. “Ha. OK, where were we?”

“Foxy Knoxy.”

“Right, Foxy Knoxy. Foxy Knoxy Foxy Knoxy Foxy Knoxy Foxy Knoxy Foxy Knoxy. Huh, easier than I thought it would be to say that five times fast. Anyhow, what is it you propose we do for her?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Well, here’s the thing. She’s being tried in Italian court. I’m an American lawyer. Even if I was licensed to practice law over there, I wouldn’t know what to do. Hell, for all I know they try people by seeing how much spaghetti they can eat or some shit.”

“So, nothing?”

“Nada. Zilch. Zippo. The big — hold on.” More silence peppered by the odd sniff. “OK, where were we?”

“I believe you were about to say ‘the big goose egg.'”

“Exactly. That, and bupkis.”

“Come on, surely there’s something.”

Buzz sighed rather obnoxiously. “OK,” he said. “Let me check one more thing.” The sniffing continued for a short time before I heard a piercing scream.

“Sainted Mother of Nixon!” I said. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he said. “At least I hope it’s nothing. Look, I think I need to go see a doctor. There’s a, whoa. Yeah. There is a lot of blood over here.”

“But what about Amanda?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Maybe see if the Emporium has any girls who look like her? Either way, I have to go.”

Buzz abruptly ended the call, leaving me no closer to helping Amanda than I was before I contacted him. But don’t worry, Foxy Knoxy — I will find some way to assist you. Right after I take my attorney’s advice and recruit the services of a call girl who resembles you. If nothing else, it should allow me to gain perspective. Toodle-oo.

Categories: Culture, Dating, Drugs, Legal

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