When will i ever serve on a jury?

I stopped into the courthouse today to pick up some papers for my friend, and noticed the jury duty room. It reminded me that i have still yet to ever serve on a jury. So while i was there, i decided to storm into the Jury Duty office and demand to know why i haven't been chosen yet. They ran my drivers license and confirmed all my info is current, that i have been registered since 2004 and that my odds for a random summons looks good. I complained that wasn't good enough and that i knew people within the last 11 years that have been chosen several times already. I requested if she could perhaps place an asterisk by my name to choose me faster, but she said she didn't have the power to do that. She then attempts to dissuade my determination by stating the compensation was only $15 per day; and thats when i jumped out of my shoes-

"They pay you 𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 dollars a day?! ...that is AWWWESOME!"

The bewildered woman sitting one cubicle over watching this conversation all take place was completely speechless, it was worth it just for her face. They said their goodbye and I said seeyah soon.

Why Vandalism 1952

Never in my life have i ever heard a judge explain that the community, schools and churches share responsibility for these young men's action. The blame is not always solely on the parents for failing to love their boys- because no amount of love or preparation can ready them for the black-hearted ostracization their world would present them. They who were so desperate for acceptance that they at least found each other's company in their misery. These boys have clear signs of empathy, one who was more concerned with the rabbit's life than his own; and the others so desperate for affection that they would borrow their fathers car to convince girls to drive around with them.

In the end society judgement was unflinching in its routine outcasting. Incarceration was little different than the life sentence of isolation they already served.

Robot Apocalypse

Smoke detectors are resilient little objects. It’s the one device I need that has never done anything for me, except annoy. Your selfish will to survive is so great, that when running out of battery life, you abandon your smoke post and choose to shriek every few minutes until replaced. Now that I’ve reached my wits end and ripped you out of the ceiling, torn out your still beating battery heart; somehow you still chirp. Its conclusive, smoke detectors are the subtle beginnings of the Robot Apocalypse.