Old Soviet joke:
Two prisoners are talking in the cattle-wagon headed to Siberia.
Prisoner 1: What’s your sentence?
Prisoner 2: Twenty-five years.
Prisoner 1: What did you do to get twenty-five years?
Prisoner 2: Nothing!
Prisoner 1: You’re lying! You expect me to believe that? Everybody knows: For nothing, the sentence is only ten years.
They’re wrapping up jury selection at New Brunswick. The great engine of the law rumbles on; to what purpose, in this case, I’m damned if I know.
The best explanation I can come up with for this sick farce is that our nation is now so infested with lawyers, the authorities feel they have to find something for them all to do or else they’ll be breaking windows and overturning garbage bins; so every inharmonious incident, at every level, must be litigated to death.