I got called for jury duty once. Because I figured it was part of my civic duty, I got the letter, showed up on time, and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. It wasn't until around 4:30pm on the second day of sitting that my number was called, and by then I'd finished two books and developed one hell of an ass cramp.I showed up the next day to begin jury selection with some of the stupidest potential jurors in the entire city. One girl dressed entirely in denim, was cockeyed, and had a plastic wig that kept falling off. She got out because she claimed that "aint nobody but God can be judgin' other peoples." Well done, ma'am. Well done.
I got out because I grew up in St. Louis City and people have tried to steal my car and break into my house a staggering number of times. It wasn't hard. When the defense attorney asked questions about the types of crimes perpetrated against me or my family members, I simply raised my hand. No thanks, Juror Number 26, thanks for fulfilling your duty and have a nice day. Sorry for your troubles and, apparently, your ill fortune when it comes to getting robbed.
I was paid a whopping $28 dollars for three days of sitting around and reading in the vicinity of a cockeye. I knew it was a gyp at the time, and I wish I'd had the balls to write what Erik Slye wrote to his local judicial board.
A better visual and the whole story is after the jump, but Erik the Dog Ball Wrinkle Counter's notarized letter to the state of Montana reads:"Apparently you morons didn't understand me the first time. I CANNOT take time off from work. I'm not putting my family's wellbeing at stake to participate in this crap. I don't believe in our "justice system" and I don't want to have a goddamn thing to do with it. Jury duty is a complete waste of time. I would rather count the wrinkles on my dog's balls than sit on a jury. Get it through your thick skulls. Leave me the F--CK alone."
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