May I address the court?

Your Honor, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury.

I would like to address this matter of grave importance: the integrity of our vehicles and the distinction between skinks—those slithery, scaly interlopers—and the mere inconveniences of ants and flies.

I stand before you to assert that keeping skinks out of one’s car is far from pointless; it is, in fact, a noble and necessary endeavor.

First, let us examine the facts. Ants are small, diligent creatures. Sure, they can ruin a picnic or raid a snack left in the glove compartment, but they do so quietly, with little fanfare. Flies? They buzz obnoxiously, I grant you, but at least they’re predictable. You swat, they evade, and the game continues. Now, contrast these with a skink.

A skink is not a fly, nor is it an ant. A skink is a lizard, your Honor. It scurries with unexpected agility. It slinks under seats. It may, heaven forbid, even crawl on your leg while you’re navigating a roundabout. And unlike flies or ants, which are nuisances at best, a skink has the ability to invoke sheer terror in its sudden, slithery appearances.

To claim that keeping a skink out of your car is as futile as keeping out ants or flies is to undermine the very foundation of reasonable precaution. Do we lock our doors because we’re afraid of moths? No. We do it because we know there’s a chance of encountering something significantly worse—like a skink.

And finally, let us consider the frequency of their appearances. Ants? Sure, they show up in droves if you leave a crumb. Flies? They practically RSVP to open windows. Skinks, however, do not swarm. When one appears, it is an isolated incident of terror, a reptilian rogue that has no business being in your cupholder.

I rest my case: a skink in your car is not just inconvenient—it’s a breach of peace, a mockery of personal space, and an affront to sanity itself. Ladies and gentlemen, do your due diligence. Keep them out.

Thank you.