If the universe is trying to tell me something, couldn't it have done it in a different way than sending me yet another jury duty notice?
For the record, this is the seventh time I've been called to jury duty. The last time I had this joy was just in September. We all sat through hours of jury selection on 100 year old wooden chairs before the defendant decided that his peers were more than likely going to hand his butt to him after deliberation, so they came to an agreement. We were all sent home with the thanks of the court and the hint of hemorrhoids.
Not finishing jury selection and moving on to the trial is like coitus interruptus.
Is that the message? If you get started you oughta damn well let everyone finish?
Because, I'm perfectly satisfied with how much civic duty I've accomplished thus far. I've showered, put on my flannel pants and now I'm ready for a nap. I'm not interested in the foreplay of driving another 120 miles to the Elko County courthouse and the cuddling of driving it back at the end of the day.
The court clerk does not accept, "Not tonight dear, I have a headache." as an excuse.
There are perks to all this, which thankfully is not in all the sexual comparisons I've made, but that if the trial doesn't get taken off calendar and I have to appear, I should have racked up enough juror points to be out of the pool for at least five years.
Another perk? My town doesn't have a Kentucky Fried Chicken and Elko does.
Oooh, it's been too long since I've had some of the Colonel's fine vittles. Universe is giving me a reason to drive home a bucket of finger lickin' good.
Coitus interruptus turns into lingendo pullus. Nice.
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