Oddly enough (1999)

I am the main suspect in an international terrorist plot that says that I put chow mien noodles in airport restrooms. The police have no reason to suspect me in the crimes, but they arrested me anyway. I gladly turned myself in, but they beat me like I was in a Turkish prison. The food wasn’t bad, but the daily anal rapes were too much to stand. I seemed to like it, but after a while I could no longer move my bowels in a timely manner. About that time I turned to the Black Panthers for help. My Aryan upbringing notwithstanding, they were the nicest group of militant African Americans the world has ever seen. They had my back; I could finally shower without my anal plug. Being a Black Panther alienated me from the Arab terrorist circles that I once ran with. One day I woke up in my cell. Lying next to me was the head of a pack of camel cigarettes. This scared me, so I told Big George, my Panther Protector. Using his connections in the mess hall, he poisoned all the Arabs with a compound made up of barium salts.
With all that trouble going on, I wasn’t able to concern myself with defending my rights at the trial. My once-solid alibi was shattered, as Jerome pleaded guilty to charges of failure to distribute cocaine to white Yuppies. Apparently he was selling crack to his own people, and the law in Alberta looks down on it. The judge told him that if he were selling to nerds and welders it would have been ok, but he drove his pimped-out Audi all around the ghettos of Edmonton. Anyway, he was in the hole, and I was too. I felt hopeless. The situation escalated when my cellmate tried to escape. He gave the plan’s credit to me, so I soon became the guard’s favorite punching bag. The warden gave me mercy, so he threw me into solitary confinement.
I sat there, in the hole. I thought that I shouldn’t be here, but as I flashback, I realize that I was finally getting what I deserved. All the petty crimes I though I got away with I was finally paying for: the shoplifting, the jaywalking, the parking tickets, and the political assignation of Muhat El-Hamein. It was all coming back to haunt me.
My trial date was fast approaching. I knew that I was not guilty, but the circumstantial evidence weighed heavily against me. My court-appointed lawyer was no help, so I had to go back and beg for help from an ex-girlfriend. (We had good times, but after she came out of the closet, it just didn’t work out.) I called the house that Lisa shared with her partner, Sally. Talking to Lisa, I gained new insight on lesbians and their pals. She said she would represent me, but sadly, she wouldn’t let me watch. The love interest finally made it into the story, but sadly it’s a challenge because of the dyke factor.
To make a long story short, I got free and married a lesbian. The Black Panthers are nice guys. Yes, and never trust an Arab.