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Ernie's House of Whoopass! January 29, 2016
January 29, 2016

Jury Duty Part XIII: A Head Hangs In Defeat.

This being the second jury I've served on, I'm somewhat familiar with what's going to happen over the next few minutes. The calling to order, the asking about a verdict, the confirming we had, the passing of the ballot, the acknowledgement of the judge, and the clerk's reading. All of this takes, about, eh, let's say three minutes. So during that time, during those one hundred and eighty seconds, we the six members of the jury know exactly how things are going to turn out, yet everyone else in the courtroom is on pins and fucking needles. The anticipation. The suspense. It's intoxifying.

So to say there was a feeling of electricity in the air as we filed back into the courtroom would be an understatement. El Jefe calls the courtroom to order, and everyone is standing including Chris Penn's parents who are now sitting in the back. Which by the way, Chris Penn's mother's hair has the exact same triangular shape as Alice from the Dilbert cartoon. Either our of a sense of duty of sheer repetition, we all find the same seats in the jury box we have been occupying all afternoon. Only this time I have my pad with me, instead of it laying face down in my chair. "Lady and Gentlemen of the jury," El Jefe engages the running joke about our jury only having one female, "have you reached a verdict in this case?" "We have your Honor," Skinny Tanned Bald Dude confirms. El Jefe instructs the bailiff to retrieve the jury ballot form from Skinny Tanned Bald Dude and bring it to him. The bailiff does and El Jefe opens the folded piece of paper and with the straightest of poker faces, looks it over. "Let the record reflect the jury form is complete and accurate," he says, leaning to his left to hand the ballot form to the Court Clerk who is part of the way out of her chair to reach him. Really Old Court Reporter clacks away at his stenotype for a few seconds and then pauses, ready for the Court Reporter to read the verdict.

Before she can do so, I steal a glance around the room and just savor the deliciousness of it all. Peter Griffin and Chris Penn have stopped their facade of adolescent bantering and are now sitting quite solemnly, handed folded in front of them. Unpronounceablename's eyes are fixated on the white piece of paper as it dances from El Jefe's hands to the Court Clerk's outstretched fingers. Dr Taub has slid forward in his chair, elbows propped up on the desk, a long yellow pencil bridging his two hands. Chris Penn's father and Alice are holding hands and whispering back and forth. John Goodman is sitting across the aisle from them, on our side of the courtroom, wringing his hands. Hell, even A Little Overweight But Still Cute Divorced Chick and Black Dude With A Beard are both sittig bolt upright, and they already know that fucking verdict is. Absolutely delicious, I tell you. I swear to God, this was my face right then.

Once the Court Clerk has the ballot securely in her hands, she unfolds it and pulls her microphone close to her mouth without ever looking up at it. She reads the entire ballot in a slow, monotone voice, with absolutely no pauses for effect. "In the matter of the State of Florida versus Chris Penn in the sole count of burglary of a conveyance we the jury for the defendant guilty in the sole count of aggravated battery with a deadly weapon we the jury find the defendant guilty." I have to say, it was almost anti-climatic. I mean in your head you see this playing out with a little dramatic pause, "we find the defendant ... ... wait for it... ... wait for it... ... ... guilty." But not this lady. But I suppose this is probably good practice when you get into the more serious felonies.

While not quite capturing the pomp and circumstance of the OJ Simpson trial, the announcing of our verdicts has a clear and measurable effect on some of the courtroom's occupants. As Really Old Court Reporter 's fingers dance across his magic machine to record the reading of the verdict, El Jefe and Peter Griffin really don't seem to give a fuck either way. The former for the obvious reason he doesn't have anything invested in the outcome, and the latter because I think he knew all along he had a losing case; this was just an opportunity to yell "HEY! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY TRUCK!?" during a trial with complete impunity. Unpronounceablename turns to Dr Taub and they give each other very subdued high-fives; too showy and they'll be seen as unprofessional of course, but you can tell they were pleased with the verdict. Again though, this wasn't the fucking OJ Simpson trial so while you two put on an effective prosecution, kindly remember the guy you convicted was kind enough to commit all of his crimes on fucking camera, so don't get too high on your horse. Chris Penn's father and Alice continue to hold hands, but obviously unpleased with our verdict, Alice starts to shake her head from side to side, nearly hitting Chris Penn's father with her triangle shaped hairdo. John Goodman lets out two solid claps and then begins to fist pump in a way that would make both Pauly D and The Situation proud.

But Poor Chris Penn. Poor, poor, Chris Penn. Imagine if you will, performing three acts at the same time: I want you to sigh, I want you to close your eyes, and I want you to lower your head, all at the same time. Once you've done that, know that you have reacted the exact same way Chris Penn did when a post high-five Unpronounceablename stood up and announced to the courtroom, "Your Honor, under the State of Florida's habitual offender rules, we ask that Chris Penn be immediately remanded into custody until sentencing, including a fresh set of fingerprints." "It is so ordered," El Jefe replies.

"WAIT NOW, WHAT IS THIS?" I thought? My brain hasn't even had the opportunity to process the phrase "habitual offender" before the two deputies -- which for the entire duration had been all but dozing off to sleep for the entire duration of the trial -- spring from their seats and all but fucking goose step to the defendants's table. They seemed to grow a foot fucking taller than that had been earlier as each of them stood behind, and on either side of, Chris Penn's chair. "Sir stand up please," the DVD INPUT 1 rendered blue one announced, as he hooked a hand under Chris Penn's left armpit. Now I'd like to tell you that Chris Penn stood up of his own accord -- he had leaned forward to push the chair out from behind him. But I'm pretty fucking sure both DVD INPUT 1 Deputy and Almost Snoozing Deputy hoisted him right the fuck up to feet in one smooth -- and seemingly well rehearsed -- motion. For all the lackadaisical shit I had given these two guys at the beginning of the trial, let me tell you, someone flicked the ALL MUTHAFUCKIN BUSINESS button on these two guys. It was like when the shadow creatures came to drag Carl off to hell in Ghost. Chris Penn wisely offered no resistance. Behind us, Alice gasped.

And just when I thought shit could not get any more real, the calm passive Deputy who two fucking seconds ago was manning the door at the rear of the courtroom, silently slips into view like a fucking Dementor, pushing a small cart with an ink pad and paper towels on top. They were going to fingerprint that motherfucker right then and there. El Jefe was speaking into his microphone, something about jury service and thanking us or some shit, but I'll be honest I was only paying cursory paying attention. Instead my eyes were fixated on the dance that was unfolding on the far side of the courtroom from me. As Chris Penn "walked" to the fingerprinting cart -- and I use that phrase loosely because if I were to guess he was only putting about half of his weight on his feet since he was being "helped" across the floor by DVD INPUT 1 Deputy and Almost Snoozing Deputy -- Dementor Deputy had already popped open the ink pad and was preparing some paper towels at the time of Chris Penn's timely arrival. El Jefe continued to talk, but I didn't hear him, other than those magical words, "The jury is free to go and we thank you for your service."

That of course snapped me out of my trance, and I sprang to my feet along with my fellow five other jurors. The bailiff asks us to leave out notepads on our seats, and assures us they will be completely destroyed without anyone ever having read our notes. True or false? I dunno, all I know is I'm getting the fuck out of Dodge! I let the first row flow out, and then took my place behind them, running my hand along the long brass bannister that ran along the top of the jury box wall. "So long, old friend," I thought. We file out single file -- Fat Accountant Dude behind me and Retired Engineer Dude behind me -- and just before I am able to step through the doorway to the jury access hallway, cast a final glance over towards Chris Penn. I will never forget the look on his face, as he is loosening his tie, with DVD INPUT 1 Deputy standing behind him, shaking out a a large folded orange jumpsuit. It was a look of uncomfortable familiarity. "Immediately remanded into custody," I remember Unpronounceablename saying. Florida don't play.

On Monday: Final Thoughts With Jerry Springer

In the background of that shot, you can see the entrance to the movie theater at the West Edmonton Mall. Zack

The model's name is Lexa and she's from the Czech Republic. This shoot was done at the Edmonton Mall, and that particular shot is outside of the Scotiabank Theatre. Cameron

Regarding the shooting of Oregon rancher Lavoy Finicum: remember we're still within the first few days of it happening, so rather than choose which conflisting initial report you want to believe -- he was surrendering with his hands up or he was reaching into his waistband for a gun -- why don't we just sit on our hands for a few days and see what shakes loose, shall we?

Are you ready for the sport of the future? The Drone Racing League is where all the hottest competitive drone racers compete to be called the best of the best. Appropriately for the sport of the future, the DRL's races take place in abandoned malls and sports stadiums, which we're sure to have an almost limitless supply of in Oakland.

In most fantasy football leagues, owners compete for money and maybe some stupid trophy. But then there are those leagues out there that like to make things a little more interesting; some dude named Daniel finished last in his particular league, so the playoff teams determined that he had to remake Selena Gomez's, “Good For You” video. Good news: Selena Gomez's video plays alongside his. Bad news: there's a shower scene. But again, let's circle back to the good news: Selena Gomez's video plays alongside his.

FRIDAY FLICK: Well, he sure as hell wasn't one to complain. Woke with a smile, seemed like he could keep it there all day. Kind of a man that'd say 'good morning' and mean it, whether it was or not. Tell you the truth, Lord, if there was two gentler souls in this world, I never seen 'em. Seems like old Tig wouldn't even kill birds in the end. Well, you got yourself a good man and a good dog, and I'm inclined to agree with Boss here about holding a grudge against you for it. I guess that means Amen.


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