Jury Duty heavily edited but not done.

Jury Duty.



…...



Stepping into the courthouse that morning, I thought of all the times I narrowly escaped being on the other side of jury duty. I mean, it sucks, but your other option is be the poor schmuck who's life hangs in the hands of strangers. It kind of humbled me for a second, then it made me wonder just what kind of shit someone has to do to actually end up here.

My DUI, DWAI, DUI (Drug), BUI (I stole a canoe), and my one count of horse rustling didn't get juries. I probably would have gotten a more lenient sentence if there had been one... After all, the canoe was to escape a group of what I was sure were rapacious rednecks in the woods but turned out to be a police squad sent to investigate an “unrelated” string of break-ins in the area.



As I approached the security check point, I recognized my old high school gym teacher. The one who was fired after getting drunk at a school hockey game.



“Mrs Claussen! How the hell are you?” I said, mainly because I knew she recognized me and this awkward conversation was inevitable.



“it's just Ms. Wollaru, now” she responded as though I was supposed to just know something like that.



“Very odd distinction to make..anyway, I'm here for jury duty, do you just look at my bag or what?”



Aiming her metal detector wand at my head like a pistol, she shouted “SIR, stay behind the line until I call you up.”



After she lowered her...”weapon” She waited about 45 unnecessarily bitchy seconds, then invited me to walk through her invasive radioactive tunnel of horror, as she subjected my bag to the same fate-Oh fuck...my bag.



Before I could turn around to warn the X-ray machine operator of its contents, I was tackled by the wand-wielding She-hulk as she bellowed for backup. Which was pretty pointless and made me wonder if she was too drunk to see straight again, because they were already tearing my bag open and pulling out handfuls of knives.



“Be careful!” I shouted as my old gym teacher took out years of disgruntlement on my collar bone.

“Why? Is it wired?!” she shouted. I think she was trying to sound like Jack Bauer...well, the woman was always a little off.



“No, it's my job!”

“So you're a hired assassin? How many people have you killed?!” she screamed.

“Jesus Christ, do you do anything but watch cable? I sell knives door to door, I carry the bag everywhere and it didn't even dawn on me until I was through the machine!” I explained, hoping that the absurdity of the story would prove its truth.



After explaining this to a number of officers and one Judge who “Just had to see the dipshit who tried to smuggle 60 knives into a courthouse” (and possibly because they felt sorry for me, or were just impressed by my metal work on the knives they were confiscating from me, or were just impressed by how well I can take a stun gun shot to the neck) they pointed me in the direction of the waiting room where I would meet my fellow would-be jurors.



“Honestly, I just think you're too dumb to be a danger to anyone but yourself.” One officer told me as I walked towards the open door down the hallway, my combat boots making a very loud thud every time I stepped.​



Before I entered the room, I turned around to face the security guards who were still trying to figure out what exactly to do with all sixty of the dulled knives they now had in their possession,



“Oh by the way! Steel-toed boots!” I shouted, pointing at my toes.

“Twenty bucks says I can make a weapon out of them in less than two hours.”



I saw one of them reach for his stun gun, which he had probably saved for just such an occasion, and I hurried into the room and shut the door.



Looking around the room, I saw a scene resembling a DMV waiting room. Scowls, angry grunts from people compulsively looking at their watches, clerks reading the latest issue of Useless Government Employee Monthly, and an overwhelming sense of dread in the air. No one wanted to get picked to sit on a Jury. Jury duty is like college, long lectures about shit you don't care about and a final at the end. Only here they can fine you and arrest you if you ditch class or show up on shrooms.



After about six hours of waiting around, and then being sent to various courtrooms, the attorneys began interviewing the jurors, making sure there were no biases against their client or anything like that. So I figured, “I'll just be biased against everything and I'll be out of here by happy hour.”

My name was called, and I walked up to the lawyer with a slight snarl to indicate my bias against both lawyers, juries, guilty people, inocent people, polished wood tables, and trying my best to fake a heroin tick. Unfortunately all this did was cause me to spaz into some underling spilling her coffee.



“Good morning, Mr. “ I cut her off before she could say my name.

“Don't say it, someone might be listening!” I added brightly, trying to sound as crazy as possible.

“Uhm... right, do you, or does anybody you know, have any relation to the defendant or the plaintiff in this case?” she asked, looking something like if Anne Coulter and Elizebeth Bathory had a rosemary's baby kind of situation going on and they gave her a degree in law. The problem she was about to find out about was that I think Anne Coulter's a bitch, Bathory was a serial killer and rosemary's baby wasn't scary in the least, she had nothing on me...



“And just what case is that?”

She stopped for a second, thinking about what I had said.

“The case that you're a potential juror for, are you not familiar with the case?”

“Listen, let me tell you a story. I moved into my apartment three years ago, the mailbox is like half a mile away, and because of a recent DUI I can't drive with any alcohol in my system, so my car's basically useless.

One day, I muster up the courage to go down to the mailbox, and I find that my mailman has a vendetta against me for never picking up my mail. He was just burning my mail and then stuffing more in. I let it go until I found a scorched cat skull covered in runes.. Anyway, when I confronted him about it the next day, he threw some kind of homemade spear at me and shouted something to the effect of I don't deserve mail, it's a privilege, and that he would be back one day to finish the job. So no, I didn't get it if you mailed it to me.”



no... no we didn't mail the case file to a potential juror... you should have been given a folder? She said



Folder? Hmm... nope, don't remember anything like that, to be honest I half way expected this to be my trial that you guys were just springing on me with this whole jury duty thing.



“Wonderful, I have no further questions at this time.” she said almost too joyfully.



Wiley bitch outfoxed me... she doesn't want anyone to know dick about this case! I'd be outraged if I knew what the case was about and whether or not it merited outrage. Oh well, I could still be a nightmare to the defense. Me and lady McLawyer were now officially enemies. I wondered if it would be possible to smuggle a homemade spear stolen from a deranged mailman into the building... Failing that, I'd buddy up to the prosecution, give them some real dirt, hell, I'll give them fake dirt if it means Miniskirt McFuckupmyweek gets a taste of her own medicine.



The prosecutor's office stunk of fear, lies, and empty threats, with the distinct hint of sulfur. Or maybe it was too much cheap cologne mixed with cognac and sulfur. Either way, I hated this guy from the second I smelled his lair, and it sickened me that I had to team up with someone so repulsive just to get back at that bitch lawyer who made me serve on Jury duty and miss fucking shark week. I approached the prosecutor's desk, took a deep breath, choked back a heave, and said in my most shady voice,



“how do we take care of Titsie Defenderstein?”



“I'm sorry, who?”



“that bitch in her mid thirties out there who has a vendetta against everyone and everything”



“you just described every woman who works for the justice department, be more specific, actually, don't I don't care, shut up.”



His face was obscured by smoke from a swisher sweet cigar, and he pointed to a photograph of a man apparently deceased from some kind of gas poisoning, the eyes were all wrong, red like he coughed until his absolute last breath, blood trailed out from the sides and I decided that I was moving the fuck to Canada if I ever got out of this building.



“Uhm... is this part of the case?” I asked.



“Everytime I look at this photograph, it makes me laugh. He he he he... how did their eyes get so red? Mustard gas and tabasco! Hahahah.”



“Oh for fucks sake....not you, fucking goddamnit anyone but you.”



“That's not very nice, perhaps I should hold you in contempt?” he moved the hair from his face, revealing a stupid goatee and the kind of face you just want to throw shit at...



“Chad Kroeger.... god....damnit! Also, you're a prosecutor, you can't hold people in contempt, dipshit.”



with that, I punched him in the stomach as hard as I could. You'd be surprised how bad punching hurts your hand...



“what the hell was that for?” he asked.

“the songs Rockstar, Photograph, and a third song that I reserve the right to bitch about later” I said, matter of factly. I had made a vow that if I ever met Chad Kroeger, I would punch him for those reasons.



After recovering from what I can only assume is a common problem for him, he got back to business



“You're here to report for jury duty?”



“Uhm...yeah...is this the right room? Did I pass out in the waiting room? Am I dead? Please tell me you don't rule hell...”



“No, not yet.”



“Soooo, yeah, the bitchy lawyer lady told me to come to the prosecutor's office, but this smells more like the sanitation office, I'm sorry to bother you.”



“No, you're in the right room, what do you have planned for this week?”



“What?”



“The next seven days, do you have big plans or a trip during that time?”



“and why, Chad Kroeger, would I ever tell you my whereabouts after sucker punching you in your office? Use your head”



“because I can make your whereabouts be a holding cell for 24 hours without cause if I wanted to”



beaten by Chad Kroeger, this is a new low...



“Well, it was my vacation, so I was actually going to leave town, until I got the summons, it's been planned for a year.” I said, half-expecting it to work.



“Oh good, then it won't cut into your work, report at 8:00 am tomorrow.” he said as he pushed me out of his door and closed it.



Fuckin....seriously? I said to no one in particular outside his door.



God damn I hate lawyers... now I'm a juror for a trial that I have no clue about on my vacation/shark week and Chad Kroeger is staring at me through a crack in his door... this week is going to blow.





Now that I realized neither lawyer was going to be of any use to me in getting revenge on the other, I decided to sit back, watch, and wait for my time, when I'd do...something. I was not spending my week on jury duty listening to some couple argue over money. No sir.



My first day there, I was directed to an uncomfortable seat and given a notepad and yet another look of “Don't show up reeking of malt liquor and weed again.”



I took a note; Bailiff = dick.



After god knows how long, the judge came in, and the goddamn trial started.



(Turns out the stenographer was hot for me so she let me have a copy of the court transcript, which is good because without it, the events that transpired would be quite hard to believe. Shut up, I know I got them illegally, fuck off.)



I'll be inserting notes taken at certain points of the trial in an attempt to bring you into my mindset as the events unfolded.





Judge: Good morning ladies and gentlemen. My name is Judge Jett, this is my courtroom, and if I see you look at me wrong I can throw you right the hell out or worse, get it?



Judge reminds me of my middle school principal, automatic dislike, will disagree at any given opportunity.



Judge: Has the prosecution prepared an opening statement? Or did I wake up at the ass crack of dawn to see you two dipshits in your pretty clothes?



Changed mind about judge, like him, note: don't piss him off, that robe could be concealing Mr. Universe...

Chad: We have, Your Honor, and may I say, your horns are incredibly shiny today.



Come to mention it, the judge did appear to have what looked like two goat like horns on his head...I should really stop drinking. Note: give AA sponsor TV back so he'll talk to you again.



Judge: Thank you for noticing, now shut the fuck up and tell these poor saps your bullshit story, Kroeger, I am in absolutely no mood for your shit today.



Horns or not, this judge rocks. I'm going to invite him out to beers after this.



Chad: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you've all read the case file, you understand that Mrs. Whitaker was manufacturing drugs that caused intense hallucinations resulting in the deaths of three of her “patients” which she failed to report to the police, instead leaving them near hospitals to be discovered. The defense claims that it's a coincidence that the patients who died owed the defendant for several treatments and deny that she was in the city when the victims passed away. Maybe it was money, or maybe killing is just her “favorite damn disease”...but she killed them.



Where the fuck is this case file people keep talking about?



Judge:Watch your language, bitch.



Did he just mention one of his songs in his opening statement?.... God I hate this guy... Note: Kill Chad Kroeger after trial.



Chad: The prosecution would like to call its first witness, Mrs. Whitaker.

[Mrs. Whitaker takes the stand and is sworn in]



Chad: Mrs. Whitaker, did you know that my band, Nickelback, is the second best selling foreign band behind the Beatles?



Mrs. W: No... no I wasn't aware of that



Chad: I see, then you probably also aren't aware that I've sold twenty million albums to date.



W: N...no?



Chad: Then is it true that you've been living under a rock for the past several decades, while real medicine was being manufactured, leading you to think that your herbs and hocus pocus would do better than doctors who go to school for the shit?



W: What I provide is an alterni...



Chad: What you provide is a breeding ground for ignorance and sodomy!



W: Sodomy? I run a homeopathic health practice...



Chad: So you admit it!



W: That I own an establishment called “Mrs. Whitakers Homeopathic Remedies”? Sure...



I'm still not entirely sure what this case is even about... witches? Is this a witch trial? At least all the other jurors look as confused as I am...



Judge: Chad, you're being a jackass, where are you heading with this?



Chad: Not rightly sure...I just really wanted her to admit something...



I'm speechless.... what fresh hell have I stumbled into?



Judge: because of “Rockstar” here, I'm calling for a recess until tomorrow morning and if you don't like it, Chad, well then I guess that's “too bad.”



Glad for the break but...two Nickelback puns? TWO?



I headed home after being warned not to speak of the details of the case to anyone, as if I knew any details. All I knew was that the judge had horns and the DA was Chad Fucking Kroeger. Also, now Chad knows I hate him because it turns out you don't get to keep your notes...Oh well.



I sat down at my computer to check the news I had missed during the retard circus that was my day when my speakers started blaring “Rockstar” by Nickelback as loud as they could. (3rd on my list of least favorite things to happen to me.)



I muted my speakers and turned around to see none other than Chad goddamn Kroeger in my living room with the milk from my fridge. He looked deep into my eyes and poured the last of my milk into my last unchipped glass, never breaking eye contact. Then, still staring at me, he hurled my glass against the wall, getting milk all over my couch and my favorite poster.



“What the fuck, Chad?” I yelled, but when I turned to face my long-haired nemesis, he was gone.



I checked the door and my chain was still intact, no windows were unlocked and that meant only one thing...



Chad Kroeger made a deal with the devil, who is posing as a judge at a trial about a woman who owns a health food store, sodomy/ignorance factory, or whatever. I can say, without a doubt, that this will only end badly and I'll get arrested if I try to bail... got to love our legal system.







The next morning was pretty much the same, bailiff was a dick, sat down, looked for ugly people in the crowd to make fun of, etc., but then I noticed Chad's suit. He had gone from traditional grey with ugly tie to bright red and seemed to be carrying a Halloween pitchfork... come to think of it, it wasn't a red business suit, the crazy bastard was wearing a Halloween devil costume to court...I began to think that I was on a reality show, “How Long Can You Go Without Hitting Chad Kroeger or Something”, but as he oddly pointed out in his inteview with Mrs. W., he does have a lot of money. So probably best not to clock him on the off chance of winning a prize.... but just barely.



Defense opening statement:

ladies and gentlemen, yesterday I witnessed the stupidest thing I've ever seen in a courtroom. Chad Kroeger isn't even a lawyer, he just watches a lot of law dramas because it takes about ten minutes to write a Nickelback song, for Christ's sake, he didn't even know he had a part in choosing the jury, no one on that panel has understood a single event that has transpired here, and now I hear that Mr. Kroeger broke everyone's drinking glasses and poured out their milk? The man should be locked away. He labeled a health clinic as a den of sodomy yesterday, why has this gone on for so long? How the hell do I prove innocence when there aren't any actual charges filed?



[defense attorney turned to face the judge, who immediately stabbed her with a glass knife in the abdomen]



Judge (belatedly addressing the question that was on everyone's minds up until he stabbed a woman in front of us, presumably with a piece of someone's now ruined milk glass): How the hell do you think that talentless moron became so famous? He requested fame, and I wished pain on the masses, so I manipulated the charts to carry Chad's awful music everywhere music is played. Every time a Nickelback song comes on, a part of the brain sends a pain signal that feels much like a tension headache. Prolonged exposure to Nickelback will cause the body to ignore the pain, allowing severe damage to occur without the person even knowing it. But with mp3 players and itunes, the process isn't going fast enough! We need pain... [assailant twists blade, breaking the tip off] any kind will do, we didn't want it to be this way...



Note: I totally could have told everyone this, and did, frequently, before my friends stopped letting me drink malt liquor near record stores and middle schools.



[juror number 5 reprimanded for shouting “I told you you could get a god damn glass knife in here, and where were the stun guns then? No wonder my stereo got stolen!”]





For the record, I was number five, and yes, I was pissed they didn't listen to me about that shit, and that they didn't stun gun the judge, so sue me. Anyway, shit was getting real weird and all I had was a group of strangers in a cage guarded by a bailiff who was a noted dickhead. Also, I was really starting to think that the judge just may be satan or a demon or something.



“Ok, Clark, time to let us out now.”



“Sorry, not till the judge bangs the gavel.” he said, like a total dick.



“The judge just grew a scorpion tail, is there any way around the whole gavel thing?” I asked, sure that I was going to die due to this man's devotion to his duty and utter lack of common sense any minute.



He just stared forward, pretending like he didn't hear me; classic cop move, or at least British guard move.. I looked to my fellow jurors, who were long gone, having been smart enough to hop the waist-high fence instead of arguing with a security guard during the end of the world...



“See you in hell, Henry, hope you die real painfully.” I said as I stumbled over the barrier. While on the floor, I noticed that in the chaos, someone had dropped their iPhone and I instinctively grabbed it. I looked through the apps for anything to help (I was desperate), and I considered calling 911, but wasn't I there? Whatever, I ran toward the exit as my comrades had done earlier, and while doing so drew the attention of the judge, who looked a whole lot like a demon at this point: pale skin, black eyes, that tail, the horns, the aura of evil... so, yeah, I was pretty much fucked.



Ok, I was really, really fucked. My mailman had something to do with this, I'm sure of it.



He (the judge, not my obsessive-compulsive mailman) started talking to me about some blood god satan mumbo jumbo, but I was too busy remembering that I still had one ace in the hole. I had, sometime after Chad Kroeger broke into my house to be annoying, spent the night making good on my threat to turn my boots into weapons. For science, of course. Also because I've always thought that I could make a better boot knife than Will Smith in Wild Wild West, and this was my chance to prove it.



The visit from Chad didn't help the quality of my work that night, but I was sure they would work fine..



The judge started to move closer to me,



at least I hoped they worked fine...



“You've fought well, but it's time to bring him forth, we require your blood.” The judge informed me sanely and reasonably, almost as if he didn't have a giant tail and just shanked a lawyer in front of all of us.



Looks like mom was right all along, one day, either Chad Kroeger or a demon judge will be the end of you boy, and it will all be because you refuse to read things people hand you.



He moved closer, Kroeger off to the side, observing what was sure to be absolutely horrific to people who don't sell their soul to the devil to spread pain throughout the world.



A shot rang out, it was what's his name from before everything went bat shit, the bailiff, oh thank god.



Another shot, this one much closer to my head than I usually like bullets.



“Wait!” I said, stopping the incredibly slow-moving judge in his tracks.



Can you do something about quick draw mcdipshit up there? He's throwing off my mojo.



The judge looked at the security guard for a second, revealing his true demonic self and sending the deputy or bailiff or whatever running.



“any other final requests?” the judge asked sarcastically.



“just one” I said, ignoring his sarcasm because he was an asshole.



“If this doesn't work, I want my last words to be this: Fuck you, Chad Kroeger, Fuck you to death.”



“If what doesn't work?” do you have some grand escape plan to defeat me and Chad and save the world?”



With that, I jumped into the air, slamming my heels hard into the ground, and shooting two stupidly inaccurate steel darts that missed the judge, but lodged in Kroeger's neck. Which was weird, because my feet weren't pointed that way... were I a man of faith, i'd say God wanted Chad Kroeger dead more than anyone else that day. Anyway, I was back to being fucked and I was out of options.



I closed my eyes like the man I am, not wanting to witness my own death as the judge rushed (relatively, like I said, he was slow) past me to Chad who lay bleeding 180 degrees from where I aimed that dart. (I told you the damn shoes weren't accurate for shit.)



A black ooze poured out of his neck and began pool underneath the judge, who turned and looked at me as the darkness began to pulsate around him.



Now, I've seen Event Horizon about 200 times (and despite the horror of the current situation, I am thrilled to finally be able to reference that movie somewhat relevantly,) and I know pulsating black means nothing good. So I ran over to Chad and the judge, who I was pretty sure was going to kill me within the next three minutes. I grabbed by boot dagger out of Chad's neck and tackled the judgedemon out of the puddle, dropping my knife like a dipshit. I turned around to see the black ooze wasn't calming down despite the fact that the judge was no longer giving it power, I don't know why I assumed this was what was happening but I was damned disappointed to find out I was wrong.. My mood was not improved by the sudden realization that I probably could have made it to the door, just then, instead of tackling the hell-spawn that hadn't been paying attention to me in the first place,



As I was contemplating my imminent demise by an evil ooze that came from Chad Kroeger, the good judge kindly returned my boot knife that I had dropped, right into my left shoulder, which took the focus right off the ooze. Getting knifed, as I had learned prior to all of this shit, really takes your mind off of anything. Luckily, I happen to suck at working with metal, . Killing Chad was sheer luck (or a work of God); he probably got an unintentional edge, which will happen when you try to make sharp objects without any real knowledge of the process involved with sharp object making. Anyway, so the thing only got about an inch in. and it was by no means life threatening

Don't get me wrong, it hurt, but I could still use my arm, which I did, along with my other arm, both legs, and my head until I was quite sure that the judge was not going to bother me for a while. I thought of saying something cool but all I could muster was “ooouuuccchhhhh” as my knuckles, forehead and shins were quite bruised and in pain. But I still had that black shit on the floor to worry about, so I stared at it for a while, staring being really the only pain free action I could take, and also because when do you ever learn to deal with demonic sludge essence of Chad Kroeger anyway?