Jerry Garguilo

Justice Gargiulo is an embarrassment to the bench, a walking caricature of incompetence so profound it’s almost performance art—if only he had the energy to perform. This is a man who seems to regard his position on the Supreme Court not as a solemn duty, but as an inconvenient nap interruption. Lazy, listless, and supremely uninterested, he stumbles into every preliminary conference, discovery hearing, and oral argument with the bewildered air of someone who’s just been handed a case file for the first time—because, apparently, he has. Preparation is a foreign concept to Gargiulo; the man couldn’t refresh his memory on a case if you stapled the briefs to his forehead. He’s perpetually mystified by the status of the proceedings, as if the courtroom is some impenetrable labyrinth and he’s lost the map. Don’t expect him to read the briefs—those meticulously crafted arguments might as well be kindling for all the attention he pays them. Instead, he offloads his feather-light workload onto discovery referees, a cadre of overpaid proxies who charge litigants absurd fees for the privilege of prolonging the agony. These referees churn out decisions so useless they barely qualify as rough drafts, ensuring discovery drags on for years while they milk the case dry. And Gargiulo? He’s too busy perfecting his impression of a drowsy sloth to supervise them. Every time he slumps onto the bench, eyelids drooping, you can practically hear the snores brewing. It’s a wonder he doesn’t bring a pillow. Worse still, this judicial disaster can’t even keep track of his own words. He forgets his statements, mangles his own rulings, and enforces discovery orders with all the gusto of a coma patient. If, by some miracle, you wrest a ruling from him that actually demands something of your opponent, don’t hold your breath—Gargiulo’s follow-through is as reliable as a broken clock. He is, without exaggeration, the most disorganized, disengaged, and utterly deplorable judge I’ve ever had the m