If I ever murder my girlfriend, no court in the land will convict me.

The scene. David and the she-David are enjoying a romantic home-cooked meal.
Me: Munch chomp chomp guzzle slurp chomp guzzle.
Her: Are you enjoying the apple pie?
Me: Buurp.
Her: David!
Me: In many cultures, loud belching is considered high praise to the cook.
Her: Well not in this one.
Me: Suit yourself. Yes, the pie is delicious. Did you make it yourself?
Her: I did.
Me: Not from a shop or anything like that?
Her: No! I made it myself from apples and pastry and stuff.
Me: It's very nice. Did you get the apples off the tree in the garden?
Her: No, I found them in the road.
Me:What?!
Her: I was cycling home the other night and i saw them lying in a lay-by so I helped myself.
Me: A lay-by?
Her: Yes.
Me: Let me get this straight. You made this apple pie from roadkill?
Her: I wouldn't call it that.
Me: Did any of these apples have tyremarks over them?
Her: Some of them were a bit bruised.
Me: But the could have had anything on them! I've seen people doing unspeakable things in the street!
Her: Well, you've eaten it now and you're not dead. Would you like some more?
Me:No. Thank you, but I think I'm full.