I'm Having a Hard Time Understanding Why This Jury Is Not Considering Trial by Combat

Did we learn nothing from Carl’s grisly demise? Nothing at all?

Could we all shut up about Carl, already? He’s dead, yes, but the end of his life is something that is certain. We require no vote or majority rule to determine whether Carl, aka dimwitted Juror #2, has breathed his last, pathetic breath. He is no more. Deceased. Fin. Unlike this trial, of course, which I fear may drag on forever if we continue to adopt Carl’s fruitless, traditional way of deliberating the innocence or guilt of the defendant.

Coincidentally, it is in Carl’s violent demise at the tip of a sharpened No. 2 pencil that I see a new beginning for this jury. And if you’d just stop clawing at the tables and chairs I’ve used to blockade the doors and windows and listen to me, I think you’ll find that ol’ “Mr. Arterial Spray” over there will serve as a shining, gushing example of why resolving this criminal case with a trial by combat is the best resolution for all involved.

It’s not just me who saw an exit strategy in the fading light of Carl’s teary eyes, right? It’s not just me who knew the wordless cry for his mother—that’s correct, Judy, his obliterated trachea made speech all but impossible—was a subtle deathbed hat tip to focus on what the judge didn’t say in the jury deliberation instructions? I mean, we know the judge didn’t say anything about not having the wiry defendant fight the lithe prosecutor to the death, did he? Nope, he just read off some scripted remarks about due process and reasonable doubt and blah blah blah—for fuck’s sake let’s give those murderous bastards some dull, rusted swords already!

As I think we’ve all come to realize since last night’s aptly chosen Gladiator movie screening, Russell Crowe’s stoic-yet-tortured take on Roman blood sport proved a warrior’s death—a clean death—would be preferable to the alternative. Really, folks, which would you prefer? A quick slash to the carotid, a spray of crimson and the truest definition of “speedy trial”; or a continuation of the monotonous, protracted and perpetually Chili’s-catered sequester we’ve endured these past three months?

Well, yes, Carol, I suppose that’s true. With my suggested course of action there is the potential for dismemberment and a slow, agonizing end as the victim’s entire blood supply empties onto the courtroom floor, but that’s the case with anything in life isn’t it? As we sit trapped in this tiny taupe room with only the barest of necessities, the same could be said of an aggressive paper cut or untreated hangnail—did that incompetent bailiff look like he had an ounce of first aid training to you? Ultimately, Carol, your objection is noted, but if we’re being fair, we must accept that in this life or the next there are no guarantees save death, taxes and the promise that trials are better off when a fierce mace to the head punctuates their conclusion.

Now, Roy, calm yourself. Put down the red emergency phone and sit. I cut the line hours ago and besides, I’m not suggesting you and I spar to an untimely end using the ceremonial halberds I smuggled in here from their perch in the lobby. We’re just spectators! What I’m suggesting is the defendant do so as part of a trial by combat to prove or disprove his innocence under the watchful eyes of long forgotten gods. It must be said, Roy: your indecisiveness has no place here. Justice is blind, not bipolar.

So, if we could all just cool it and—Julie, sweetie, what have you got there? Did you fashion shanks out of the plastic evidence binders? You did? Brilliant! Pass them out to everyone! Oh, there aren’t enough for me? That’s fine, I’ll manage. And Roy, it seems as though you’ve combined a steak knife from lunch and an umbrella into a rudimentary spear. Stupendous effort! We’ll use these handcrafted weapons to convince the judge that a trial by combat is the way this ordeal must end.

Come at me! That’s the spirit! We’ll practice now so we can better demonstrate our plan. Who has a weapon for me? Anyone? Ouch! That hurts! This is just practice! Why the hell are you stabbing me in the—