The soldier has been called to jury duty and hopes to be picked.

“Someone on my blog said they want sheep on juries, no wolves.”

“I’m a sheep! I’m a sheep, P!” the soldier said, shrilly. “Oh, why don’t they ever pick me? Whyyyy? I’ve been called up 10 times at least but I never get picked.”

He went on to list an impressive number of states to which he’s been called but not picked to serve.

“I am going to tell the, you want justice, then you pick me. You want justice, I’ll give it to you. Why don’t they pick me? Why? I would not be intimidated. You know, the mafia says we’ll kill ya? I’ll say, good! I haven’t been fire fight in 10-15 years. I can’t wait! Who you bringin’? Bruno? Yeah, I haven’t had me a life or death conflict for quite some time and I’d be more than happy…”

I laughed.

“P, I will do whatever to get on that thing. Why won’t they let me join the posse? You know how they have trouble getting people to join the posse? Well if I lived in the west, I would join the posse. I would go right over to Wyatt Earp and say, I’m joinin’ the posse and I’m bringing my hunting dog, Dora. ‘Cept we’ll need to pull a wagon for her to ride in because she won’t walk more than five feet.”

I roared.

“Yeah, hell. I sure hope they let me on that thing. I will get tested and certified, deputized, whatever it takes but the bastards send me home, they do it every time.”