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."
