Opinion: A Jury of My Peers Wouldn’t Be Dressed so Nice

Your Honor, take a look at this jury. When I arrived here for my trial, I was told the jury would be a selection of 12 of my peers. Surely one glance around this courtroom and it becomes painfully clear that this group does not represent me. First and foremost, why are they dressed so nice?

Come on! Where are the Chain wallets? The JNCOs? The mohawks? And not even a single Misfits tattoo? At this point I’ll settle for a jury of Juggalos! Which, fun fact, is the proper term when referencing them as a group.

Honestly, I was stoked when I heard that. I figured no district attorney could possibly round up a jury of twelve of my peers this far away from Maryland Deathfest and I’d be off the hook! But when a dozen normies walked in dressed like the cast of fucking Hamilton (my grammy made the whole family go see it), I was immediately disillusioned with the whole judicial process. I finally understand what Martin Luther King Jr. was singing about in all his songs.

And look, the head juror is wearing a charcoal grey thing with buttons and a collar. The fact that someone can be the “head” of anything without wearing a single Cannibal Corpse shirt makes no legal sense. Maybe in corrupt Russia, but not here.

Your Honor, I will conclude my closing arguments by once again saying “thank you” for the opportunity to represent myself and “fuck you” for not giving me a jury that does the same.