In a shocking display of judicial irony, District Attorney Sam Grumble of Less-Than-Magnificent County held a press conference today to voice his concerns over the allegedly unending cycle of appeals that seem to stretch on longer than the average lifespan of a tortoise. “Justice delayed is justice denied,” Grumble lamented, adjusting his tie—a tie adorned with tiny gavel patterns that he insisted was a fashion statement, not a cry for help. The press conference, which was attended by only three reporters and an indifferent stray cat, showcased Grumble's palpable frustration with the local court system. “It’s like trying to zipline across a canyon while holding an umbrella,” Grumble explained, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “You know you’ll get across eventually, but you have to keep dodging the gusty winds of bureaucracy!” Grumble's ire was directed particularly at the “indefinable” appeals process, which has recently hit a new low—or high, depending on how one measures judicial efficiency. Reports indicate that the average case in Less-Than-Magnificent County now takes longer to resolve than a celebrity rehab stint. “We’re now following the new motto: ‘Why settle for a decisive trial when you can offer a lifetime of legal confusion?’” he quipped, as he swiped at an errant fly that buzzed indecisively around his head, perhaps a symbol of the justice system itself. One local defendant, who became a self-proclaimed expert in the appeals process after his case dragged on for almost twelve years, offered his insights. “I decided to pursue my PhD in Law while waiting,” said Bob “The Eternal Defendant” Jenkins, gesturing towards a large stack of books next to him. “That way, at least I can get something done while I wait for my day in court. But hey, I plan to appeal to the Supreme Court in 2040, so who knows? Maybe I’ll win a Nobel Prize by then.” In an unexpected twist, Grumble also chimed in on the notion of restorative justice, suggesting that inviting defendants and victims to a friendly game of Monopoly might speed things up. “I mean, who doesn’t love passing ‘Go’ and collecting $200? Plus, we could throw in some complimentary snacks, and suddenly you’ve got a community bonding exercise!” While Grumble’s plea for reform was aimed at revitalizing a system that has become more tedious than reading tax code in a foreign language, it seems to have only dragged the county deeper into a quagmire of red tape. In fact, the number of cases currently waiting in the appeals pipeline has reached unprecedented levels, akin to plotting a course through an overstuffed closet. “Let’s face it; we specialize in delaying justice,” he concluded with a weary resignation that suggested his own heart was on the line now. “Maybe we should just rename our courthouse to ‘The House of Endless Remorse’ and call it a day.” As the press conference wrapped up, Grumble attempted to rally spirits. “If anyone has any picnic ideas for the next hearing, I’m in. Because if we’re going to be stuck in like this, we might as well have a potluck, right?” The cat, uninterested in bureaucracy and clearly more focused on achieving its own personal objectives, promptly ignored him and left. As of press time, Grumble was last seen looking for a gavel-shaped piñata to kick off his proposed festivities, while Jenkins eagerly began crafting his law review article—tentatively titled “The Joy of Waiting: How I Spent My 20s in Perpetual Limbo.”