Gumshoe displays the glove for the court. It doesn’t look much like any baseball glove conceived of in our reality. It’s banana-yellow, and thanks to the unusually long glove fingers, it strongly resembles a bunch of bananas, or if you like, a Costco discount pack of yellow dildos. (Break off to use!) If it were a normal color, or had the masses of thick stitching that baseball gloves always have, it would barely be worth comment. But this is Anal Attorney, where every character has a color scheme-matching cell phone, and bigwigs decorate their offices with everything from gay cowboy paintings and golden naked man desks to uterus-shaped pottery and framed fuchsia dandy suits. Of course the glove has to stand out.

The judge is all, “It’s, uh…rather yellow, isn’t it?” leading Gumshoe to explain that yellow was Prince’s favorite color (of course). Maggey confirms that this, along with one other reason she’ll leave us in “suspense” about, is why she had to custom-order it. The judge figures the banana dildo glove is enough evidence to prove that Maggey and Prince were soulmates, which leaves the question of why Prince would spell her name wrong. Why indeed! Payne asks Gumshoe to testify a-fucking-gain, this time about the writing itself. So we’re on tesitimony #3 to examine a piece of evidence that is a self-evident forgery. If I were a Los Angeles taxpayer I would be livid at this shit.

“We first looked into the handwriting, sir,” Gumshoe tells the court. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t confirm that it was the victim’s handwriting.” Because it was written in giant letters in the sand with a finger, numbnuts. But continue. “Next, we checked the victim’s pointer finger. We found that there was sand trapped under the victim’s fingernail. There were also scratches on the skin that were caused by him writing on the ground. From this, we could confirm that the victim wrote this name with his right hand.” Truly insightful detective work, deciphering that the letters in the sand right under the victim’s outstretched right hand were in fact written by his right hand. This is why they pay Gumshoe Applebee’s busboy money.

Now, you might have thought that we were already at Peak Intelligence Insulting, what with expecting us to believe a dude who died instantly also was able to scratch out someone’s name near his head. But no. Pressing Gumshoe on any of these statements just lets him wax Ema-sodic about the power of scientific investigation, even when it fails to prove anything conclusive, as in the case of the handwriting. But everything Phoenix needs to take down this line of thinking is already in his possession. What’s that? The autopsy report indicating Prince was too dead to finger paint? The fact that, even if he was two-timing with Dick Gumshoe, Prince still very likely knew how to spell his girlfriend’s name? The ongoing reality that writing the killer’s name in one’s dying moments is a ridiculous trope that nobody would actually do? Nope! Those would be actual reasons, and we can’t have those.

It’s actually clear from the visuals what Phoenix should do, but Maggey spells it out for him anyway. “If Dustin really wrote that message with his right hand,” she asks, “do you think I would have gone through that much trouble to get him his present?” Even if Phoenix doesn’t get why, she’s drawing a clear line between the baseball glove and the last line of the testimony, so he throws the banana dildo bunch back in Gumshoe’s face.

“Detective Gumshoe. Take a look at this,” Phoenix deadpans. I see his instinctive desire to address people by their names when he has them cornered was not affected by the fire extinguisher. Phoenix asks Gumshoe to describe the special properties of this glove, and obviously the only thing he can come up with is that it’s hella yellow. I mean, it’s admittedly hard to focus on anything other than how yellow the thing is. Who the fuck would want a yellow baseball glove? Anyway. “There’s another reason why it’s special,” Phoenix says, as the Phoenix Wright: Legal Genius theme queues up. “It’s very simple. This glove is made for a left-handed person!”

OH, FUCK NO.

Everyone in the court is shocked, just shocked, at Phoenix’s deduction. And not in the way I am–they are stunned they all overlooked something this crucial and not at all irrelevant. Gumshoe actually screams. “There is only one conclusion that can be drawn!” Phoenix says to the judge. “A left-handed person could not have written a message with his right hand!”

Nope. Phoenix, this is simply untrue. Where to even start? Okay, how about with the idea that the glove being left-handed was a partial reason for needing to special order it? There are a fair number of left-handed baseball players, more by percentage than there are left-handed people. Arguably southpaws are at a premium in baseball because of the value of switch-hitting. So it’s not like nobody makes baseball gloves for right hands. Second, the fact that Prince played baseball as a lefty is not proof that he wrote with his right hand. Lots of people use different hands for different tasks (which Phoenix should know, since Edgeworth is an ambidextrous handy-provider). Yeah, Maggey might have specifically known he was left-handed, but maybe she could have just said that instead of waiting for Gumshoe to present the banana dildo glove in court.

But forget all that shit, because it doesn’t matter. What matters is, it’s absolutely possible–easy, even!–to write a name using the index finger of one’s non-dominant hand. FOR SCIENCE, I went out to my backyard and–sorry–tried my hand at it. I am extremely-left handed–I can’t even hold a pen in my right, let alone scribble anything with it–and I was easily able to scrawl out “Maggie” in the dirt. I mean, I didn’t replicate the “writing while dead as a doornail” part, but if these fuckers don’t care about that, why should I?

Everybody here is fucking stupid.

After seeing all the actual valid reasons Prince couldn’t have written that name, the judge is all too receptive to this breathtakingly nonsensical one. “When you think about it that way, then yes, it is not possible that this name was written by the victim himself,” the judge says. Gumshoe is cautiously optimistic, and Payne is full-on von Karma screaming at his bench. “Mr. Payne,” the judge says, as the prosecutor flop sweats worse than Phoenix. “The evidence the prosecution has presented has failed to prove the defendant’s guilt. In fact, I believe you have proven her to be innocent!” Whoa, let’s not go nuts here, Your Honor. It’s not like she has any kind of alibi or that someone else misspelling her name makes her not guilty. But the judge is nonetheless ready to issue his verdict, and even compliments Phoenix on being halfway competent and only taking his dick out three different times during today’s proceedings. “See, you got complimented by the judge again! You’re really good!” Maggey chirps. “And that’s why you can’t give up being a lawyer, sir!” Hmm. And what could Maggey mean by this? We’ll see a bit down the road. Let’s just say for now that it has to do with the reason he got into law in the first place. (*loud sucking sound*)

But just as the judge is about to declare Maggey not guilty, Payne objects in his high-pitched frog scream. I mean, obviously. These trials don’t end with someone being found not guilty and the case left unsolved! We have to find the real killer, who is never Phoenix’s client! No spoilers! Payne knows the format, and announces accordingly that he is not done with his case. “We would like to call our next witness to the stand!” He goes on, looking way too satisfied with himself, that this person witnessed “The moment the victim was pushed to his death! What’s more, he saw the very face of the culprit!” This is all somehow a surprise to the judge, who calls for a recess so he can return to his chambers and recover from the shock of something that happens in every case he’s ever presided over.

A black screen later, in the lobby, Maggey is sputtering at Phoenix, “A-Amnesia!?” Oh, so he decided to tell the one person totally powerless to do anything about this mess. Don’t bother letting the judge know or anything, Phoenix! Of course Maggey also deserved to know this happened to her attorney, and demands to know why Phoenix didn’t mention it earlier. Phoenix declines to give her an answer, since obviously he doesn’t have one, but Maggey has moved right into troubleshooting his busted brain. “I heard you can fix something like this with a really strong shock to your system!” she says. Yeah, that’s a nice thought, but Edgeworth and his lucky pair of nipple clamps are nowhere to be found. “Come on, lower your head a little! A Maggey Kick should be all you need!” Be honest, Maggey–you just feel like kicking him in the head right now. It’s cool. I’m on your side.

Shockingly, Phoenix passes on a second opportunity at a concussion. “Come on!… Ah, I’m sorry,” Maggey replies. I would like to request she give herself a Maggey Kick for that punctuation. “Whenever I see someone in trouble, I have a hard time leaving them alone…” she goes on. “I tend to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong and try to tackle everyone’s problems.” So the haircut isn’t coincidental–Maggey might actually be Yuna. Which makes Prince Tightass, and that probably means Gumshoe is Wakka. I’m fine with all of this.

For the nonce, since Phoenix’s problem is not going anywhere, he decides to use this time to work on Maggey’s problems instead. “For now, do you think you can fill me in on a few things?” he asks. Maggey is happy to help, and is about to start with her own name until Phoenix insists he’s heard her name enough for seven lifetimes. Instead, he suggests they start on himself. “So, my name is ‘Phoenix Wright’?” he wonders. “What a weird name.” Did the writers just want to get every piece of meta-commentary about Phoenix out of their systems in this case? To help jog his memory, Maggey hands Phoenix his own business card. Wow, Phoenix has business cards now! Yes, he probably prints them himself, on the cheapest card stock Staples has to offer, but still! “I got this from you,” Maggey gushes, dewy-eyed again. “It’s my most prized possession!” Yeah, she’s definitely a magpie. Her bed at home might just be a nest of business cards and shredded police documents. “You can borrow it for now,” she adds, “but please give it back, OK!?” Caw! Caw! Phoenix takes a look at it and notes a number handwritten on the back, which it turns out is his cell number. But why would Phoenix need to know his own phone number right now? I’m sure it won’t end up being relevant.

Next, Phoenix wants to know more about the case. Maggey can’t think of what to tell him (really, nothing?) but offhandedly mentions “that cell phone,” and Phoenix jumps on it. “Yeah!” Maggey remembers. “Your eyes lit up when we talked about it at the Detention Center, sir!” This more or less leads Maggey to give Phoenix her own narrative of that evening, which you’d think she would have thought to do anyway.

“It was on the day of the crime, just before 6 PM…” Maggey narrates. “I picked up a lost cell phone while on a walk with Dustin.” The goddamn Bach ringtone from the beginning of the case begins to play as, in a black-and-white still, Dustin and Maggey (in an adorable sleeveless Blue Badger hoodie I want to buy immediately) gape at the cell phone in her hand. (Maggey also has THE GLOVE in a bag tucked under her arm, and here it resembles a bundle of churros. I might just be hungry.) Maggey says the phone started ringing in her hand, so she answered it. “Oh, thank you!” the person on the other end says. “I’ve been searching for my phone.” Maggey agrees to meet this person at 6 p.m. to get their phone back to them and gives them her name. “Dustin and I waited for the person to show up…” she says, out of the flashback, “but they never did.” Oh, I’m sure they didn’t. The owner of that cell phone is surely an irrelevant nobody whom we won’t even meet.

Phoenix wonders what happened to this phone, and obviously, Maggey says Phoenix himself has it. “Is it that phone in my pocket…?” he blue-fonts. Maggey does not definitively say it is the same phone she found, leaving us in suspense (ha) for now. The two of them wonder aloud if the phone is important to the case, but they’re interrupted by someone off-screen screaming, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! YOU WERE HERE ALL ALONG!!” Uh oh, I think Edgeworth might be pissed that Phoenix forgot their anniversary. He’s been waiting at their favorite brunch place for hours.

Sadly, no. It’s Maya Fey, though she too might be pissed Phoenix forgot their anniversary. (FRIEND-iversary.) I mean, I hope they don’t celebrate that, because it’s also the anniversary of Mia’s murder. Whatever. Maya appears, huffing and puffing in Phoenix’s face. “You’re so mean!!” she shouts. “I called you a million times but you wouldn’t pick up! And when I went to check in the courtroom, everyone had already left…” Phoenix ignores what she’s actually saying, since thinking about it for five seconds might clue him in that he is not currently in possession of his own cell phone, and it’s too early for him to have that “revelation.” Instead, he thinks, “Ack! Now who in the heck is this? Let me guess. I’m supposed to know this girl too…” Even amnesiac Phoenix thinks he’s having to keep track of too many women, where “too many” is “two.”

Maggey and Maya greet each other, and somehow the first words out of Maggey’s mouth are not, “Mr. Wright lost his memory!” What is with everybody on this? I would be bowling over Maya to tell her this in Maggey’s shoes. Maggey tells Maya, re: the trial, “Is there a word for ‘worse than abysmal’…?” This feels harsh to me–yes, Phoenix has brain damage, and yes, the trial is not yet over, but Maggey was almost declared not guilty already, so at least the judge is willing to believe she’s not a murderer. Phoenix has had way worse courtroom sessions than this, and I don’t just mean that time Edgeworth had the flu and made Phoenix do all the work.

“Oh?” Maya asks. “And what if I said that everything will be fine?” See, Maya has conveniently been absent this whole time gathering evidence for the trial. Nice time management, Wright and Co. Legal Team. Maybe have all the evidence gathered before going into court next time. But Maya now has “the ultra-decisive super-important evidence,” and hands Phoenix a piece of paper. Phoenix examines it and finds, “It has about 20 people’s names and phone numbers written on it.” Ooh, names on a list! Whenever Phoenix acquires something that came out of a printer, it’s pay dirt.

Maya goes on, still oblivious to Phoenix’s ignorance, “It was kind of tough, but I managed to find out some dirt! It looks like these guys are up to no good.” To Phoenix’s Shioning, she elaborates, “There’s a group of con artists the police are currently investigating. I think these guys are members of that group.” It turns out, as Maya is shocked to have to explain, that these are the numbers from the phone Maggey found, and Phoenix asked Maya to look into them. Again, on the morning of the trial. Just so we don’t forget that pre-head trauma Phoenix was still a disorganized mess. “You’re awfully forgetful these days, Nick,” Maya says. “I hope I never get to be a forgetful old prune like you!” How dare she! Phoenix doesn’t have a single wrinkle!

Only now does it occur to Maggey to let Maya know what’s happened to Phoenix, but before she can get the words out, the bailiff calls for Phoenix and Maggey to return to the courtroom. “Oh, oops!” Maya says. “Guess you have to get going! We can talk about you being old later, Nick!” They can also talk about Maya being fired! Old. He’s not 30! He’s got at least five more years to live!

Back to the courtroom “action.” Payne feels the need to tell the court, re: his surely innocent witness, “He has a tendency to rub people the wrong way, you see, so I ask that the court might be a little lenient on…” The judge cuts him off, because he doesn’t tolerate the coddling of witnesses in his courtroom, unless they’re incredibly powerful men he’s sleeping with. Not even judging, Your Honor. So Payne sighs and says, “…The prosecution calls its next witness; a drifter who was taking a walk in the park on the day of the murder!” Well, with a lead-in like that, now I’m sure he’s an innocent little lamb.