Yea, yea, yea… call me out, just because I’m twenty lousy minutes late for court. I’m sorry that I kept the wheels of justice from getting greased just because some jerk in a Mercedes took the last parking spot and I had to try to park in the handicapped parking area. I tried explaining it to the meter maid, but she wrote me the damn ticket anyway. Like towing my car is really going to help me be on time, right? So, it’s really the city’s fault that I had to walk from the satellite parking area, causing me to be late.
Sometimes I get so disgusted by what I witness that I just want to crawl into a hole and shovel the dirt over myself. Sitting in the jury box this morning, I watched the expressions of the audience and the other jury members that I could see without becoming conspicuous, who listened to the lawyers and the testimony being offered. Suddenly, I wondered if I were the only one who wasn’t speculating as to what the judge wore underneath her robe.
Juror #4 definitely undressed her as he sat there, his gaze fixed and his cold black pupils beginning to dilate. I couldn’t see his crotch, but if I could, there’d be a tent where no tent should be under such circumstances, you can take that to the bank. I think the guy is either Italian or maybe Greek, and he’s got longshoreman’s hands, but manicured. Who knows, he might be a made guy for all I know, especially if he’s Italian. I considered asking him what he thought of the judge, when we take a break, but thought better of it. It’s best not to antagonize those guys.
Why would a woman want to be a judge, especially a fine-looking specimen like Judge Caruthers? Fortyish, but definitely assembled in a nice petite little package, she wore a purplish-brown (puce?) blouse that stuck out the top of her robe and screamed ‘respect me, you sumbitches!’ I like that, too… ballsy chicks are cool. I think she’s had Lasik because she doesn’t wear glasses, even when she picks up some papers and reads them… and that’s okay, too, because it shows that she doesn’t want to look like a dork in front of the assemblage, not that she’d necessarily look like a dork in glasses, but you know what I’m saying, right? After all, she’s a judge, not a second-shift assembler on the transmission line at General Motors, is she? The public scrutinizes her constantly, so her looks are important, especially to Juror #4, apparently… I may speak to him about it when we go to lunch, he’s embarrassing me a little. I’m not afraid of him, I’ll bet he isn’t such a bad ass without his heat, and I know he had to pass through a metal detector as he came to court. It’s not right for a juror to be removing the judge’s bra and panties while testimony is given (although I'm convinced the judge probably has a fine rack) even though the DA’s opening statement proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the bastard did the deed.
The defendant’s sister is hot, too, if you’re into the grunge look. It isn’t my thing, necessarily, but it works for her. Personally, I can take it or leave it, that’s all I’m saying, know what I mean? I can tell by the way she looks away when we make eye contact that she wants me. Have you ever noticed how pent-up sexual tension can do that? Some women try to make you think that they’re really not interested when really they are… I’ve had some actually cross the street as we waited at the bus stop, just to keep from taking all their clothes off and accosting me as we stood there. That really would have been embarrassing.
Oh, look, now the defense attorney is objecting. Yea, that’s right… stand up and make an ass of yourself in front of the entire courtroom. Uh-huh, sure… it calls for speculation on the part of the witness… sure it does, you weasel. What? Sustained? Oh, come on, Judge, we’ll be here all freaking day if you allow him to keep doing this… let’s just get on with it, okay?
I wish I had a mint. My stomach is a little upset from all the sausage I ate this morning. I really need to quit going to buffets, especially for breakfast. Eight or ten link sausages would have been plenty, but when they’re sitting there in the pan and I can have as many as I want, sometimes I just can’t help myself. Judges with cute puce shirts under their robes are like that, too, I guess, according to that lecher, Juror #4. I’d like to break wind, but the schoolmarm sitting next to me would probably have a heart attack if she heard it. She’s a prissy one, and ugly as a mud fence. I’ll bet she’s never farted in her entire life. Who would want to wake up next to her? If you open up the drawer of her bedside table, you’ll find Mister Sure To Please and a lifetime supply of AA batteries. Maybe he can defrost her enough to leave a little moisture on the sheets, who knows? Stranger things have happened, I’m sure…
Wait! What’s that? A continuance? Saints be praised! Now maybe I can make it to the bathroom before my bowels explode! Plus, it’ll give Mr. Wonderful, Juror #4, a chance to calm down a little, too. Honestly, some people just don’t know how to conduct themselves when given a position of responsibility. It's just despicable, and it makes me feel a little ashamed…
I wonder what they’ll be serving for lunch.