In the old days, if you wanted to be a martyr, you could count on finding a Roman soldier who would consent to crucify you, or a Coliseum event manager who would feed you to the lions. Fast forward fifteen hundred years, and despite the inevitable cultural decline, it was still possible to get yourself broken on the rack or burned alive. Now that was martyrdom.
But these days, the best you can hope for is a weekend in jail, while still collecting your $80,000 a year salary as a County clerk. Hunh. Next they’ll turn Purgatory into a theme park and give discounts on family night.