Hos long must this trial continue?

Over the last few days, the prosecution’s star witness, Jen McCabe, has been demolished, despite the best efforts of the second-generation hack judge, Beverly Prescott Cannone, to stop the bleeding.

If this trial were a phone call, it would be a butt dial — something that should never have been made. You know, like the seven butt dials that Jen McCabe made to the murder victim, John O’Keefe, right before or immediately after he became a murder victim.

Seven butt dials! And those are just in addition to all the butt dials made less 2 hours later by the two McAlbert cops back and forth on the cell phones they both decided to destroy just before they were ordered by the court not to destroy them.

Oddly, the “butt dials” from Jen to John O’Keefe were discovered only on O’Keefe’s phone. Somehow they’d disappeared from McCabe’s phone before she turned it over to the police. Hmmmmm….

If this trial were a prize fight, and there was a real ref in the ring, it would already be over. And then somebody would be passing the hat to take up a collection for cab fare to send Jen McCabe back home, along with her magical butt-dialing, call-deleting cell phone.

This whole trial is nefarious, to use one of the words of the day first introduced into the record by Jen McCabe herself, who returned to the courthouse yesterday wearing her little cross for the first time since Tuesday.

Too late, Jen.

Nefarious made its first appearance when defense attorney Alan Jackson asked Jen about yet another previously undisclosed phone call she made to her sister, Coco at 5:07 a.m., an hour before John O’Keefe’s body was found outside 34 Fairview Street that snowy morning.

Jackson asked Jen why in her grand jury testimony she’d never bothered to mention the phone call to the death house.

“There’s nothing nefarious,” she harrumphed. “I remembered who I called. I didn’t go back and look at phone records.”

Alan Jackson looked perplexed about her abrupt dropping of the other n-word.

“I didn’t say it was nefarious,” he said. “Why would you use the word ‘nefarious’?”

“Because,” she said, “there’s nothing about me calling my sister that is nefarious and I feel like you’re insinuating that it might be and it’s not.”

Jackson saw his opportunity and he took it.

“Do you use that word because it sounds nefarious?”

“No,” she said, “I just used the word ‘cause I think that’s the way you’re trying to portray it.”

“Do you use the word because you think that’s how it’s coming across — nefarious?”

“Uh, no, not that at all.”

The moral of the story: When you’re denying that your statements are nefarious, you’re sounding more than somewhat nefarious. You’re losing.

It sounds as nefarious as saying, when confronted with holes in her earlier testimony, Jen answers, as she did several times yesterday:

“To be honest, I had completely forgotten.”

Maybe she also forgot her own name when the FBI first approached her and asked her to identify herself. Her first answer to the G-men was “I’m Nicole.”

At the end of her testimony, though, Jen McCabe again forgot — about all the lies she’d already admitted to the jury that she’d told the FBI.

“I helped clear up some misconceptions,” she bragged, “that they had been told.”

Sure, Nicole, er Jen, sure you did.

So much reasonable doubt is piling up that you wonder if a lot of it isn’t going over the jurors’ heads, it’s coming in so fast.

How about the group chats among the McAlberts? Consider Jen’s husband Matt McCabe, obviously overcome with grief for his dead pal, whom he calls “the guy” in the chats, as in “Tell them the guy never went into the house.”

Again, that would be the death house, 34 Fairview.

Then Matt McCabe muses to the family about whether Karen Read will cop to lesser charges that will make everything go away.

Before they all must testify. Under oath.

“If she pleads out,” Matt says, “it will end. If she fights it it will be an episode.”

Welcome to the episode. A very nefarious episode.

At another point, in the McAlbert group chat, Jen asks sister Coco: “Any update?”

To which Coco, the cop’s wife, the owner of the death house at 34 Fairview, replies:

“Will get more info tomorrow. Don’t want to text about it.”

Don’t want to text about it? That doesn’t sound at all suspicious, does it?

Defense attorney Jackson kept asking McCabe about her earlier testimony to multiple state and federal grand juries. She would feign forgetfulness, ask Jackson for “the pa-pah.” She would then appear to study the transcript and then look up.

“The pa-pah says I did it. I don’t remem-bah it.”

Jackson would hand her another transcript.

“I see what I — I read sorry I saw what I just read I don’t remember my exact words of every testimony but I did read that yes.”

We haven’t even heard from Michael Proctor, the crooked state cop. Or Brian Albert, Coco’s husband, the sinister Dark cone head ex-Boston cop. There’s so much more coming from all these despicable drunkards. They don’t seem to read much and they certainly never came across this quote from Mark Twain:

“If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.”

Jen McCabe spent the months between the trials working on her tooth decay. But not nearly so much work with another much more profound flaw — truth decay.

Hos long until somebody stops this fight?