Jury Duty

Another short story. This one was inspired by that one time I was summoned by the court to be indicted for treason against the state and a traffic ticket.

We’d returned from our lunch break a week into the trial. “Your Honor, I request you declare a mistrial,” the prosecutor said.

“On what grounds?”

“Jurors 3, 7, and 8 have slept through half of the trial, and Juror 8 is clearly drunk after every lunch. He smells like Jack Daniels and I believe he is pissing himself as I speak.”

“I fucked your wife,” spit juror 8.

“I deny your request, counselor,” the judge’s words were followed by an uproar from the court. “Order! Order, motherfuckers!” He stood and threw a near-empty bottle of Jack Daniels across the room, showering the frenzied audience in shattered glass and drops of liquor. Juror 8 shed a tear and the crowd sat. “Continue your cross examination, counselor.”

He rose from beneath his desk and cleared his throat, “Your Honor, may we at least wake the sleeping jurors?”

“Objection!” cried the defense attorney, waking jurors 3 and 7.

“Overruled. The prosecution will rouse Juror 8.”

He poked the muttering Juror, “no. No. No more. No more sausages! Stop!” The prosecutor’s next poke changed the setting of Juror 8’s dream who was now laughing, “Ha! Judge, you crazy bastard! I can’t! No more shots!” The prosecutor began shaking violently Juror 8 who was again sobbing and muttering more about sausages, dreaming apparently of being attacked by the walking Wienerschnitzel hot dog. The Juror woke with a swing, knocking the prosecutor out cold. “Most wanted motherfucker, take that!—oh shit.”

“The defense requests that the charges of public fornication and beastiality be dropped.”

“Request granted, goat fucker.”

Jesus Christ, what a piece of shit story. I'll make it up to you, I swear!