It had been an unusually long, hard and acrimonious day at the Supreme Court. The Great Halls still reverberated with echoes of arguments brought on by the historical closeness of the presidential election of 2000. Opinions rendered, written and delivered, one
can only imagine (and even fantasize) about the lingering aftermath
of what was obviously a philosophically contentious debate…
“You bitch! How can you possibly agree with those federalist hypocrites?
States rights, my ass.” cries Justice Ginsburg. “Besides, don’t
you realize what they really think of us? Don’t you know they can
barely tolerate having us on the Court? How badly do you want to
retire, anyway?”
“Oh, shut up, you little pipsqueak. I’m the Queen Bitch of this
or any other Court, and I’ll do whatever I damn well please with
my ‘effing opinions,” Justice O’Connor shoots back indignantly.
“Fuck me,” exhales Justice Ginsburg to no one in particular. “When
that arrogant loon Rehnquist retires, do you realize we’ll be stuck
with that delusionally omnipotent, egotistical moralist Scalia as
Chief Justice. He’s going to be insufferable to deal with for decades,”
she says dejectedly.
“Hmm. I think he’s kind of cute and so strong, in a controlling,
Italian sort of way,” confesses O’Connor.
“Oh, lord. Where’s my Xanax, moans Ginsburg.
Loud noises are heard from outside Justice O’Connor’s office.
“What the hell?” asks Ginsburg.
“Is that hammering?” asks O’Connor.
Ginsburg goes to the door, with O’Connor following close behind.
They peer down the Great Hall in the direction of the noise.
All they can see is Justice Stevens directing construction that
is focused on his office doorway. Finally, he ducks underneath
the electrical wiring that is hanging across his threshold, taking
a remote control with him into his office sanctuary. Electronic
equipment packaging is seen close by, the labeling on the boxes
reading, “Don’t be caught off guard. Protect yourself from invaders
with Ramrod. The only office security system that is guaranteed
to keep unwanted interlopers out, while you remain securely in charge
and serenely safe inside.”
“I’ll be damned if those panty waste, puritanical, closet perv
nut jobs are going to usurp my authority. The Republicans
will get me out of this office when pigs fly! George W. can kiss
my judicial ass. I didn’t like his father and I’m not about to
give that twit of a son of his a chance…No way… They’ll have to
pry these robes out of my cold, dead hands,” rants Justice Stevens!
The door slams behind him. Lights flash around the door jam, first
in bright green, then a sound is heard as the door locks tightly
and the lights go out, leaving only the comforting sound of electrical
humming. A workman motions for the Justices to stand back. He
tosses his pencil at the door. Immediately alarms go off and the
door starts flashing, a voice warning, “Stand back! This is Ramrod.Â
If you move towards the entry of this room you will be stopped.”
“Is that Chuck Heston’s voice?” asks Justice O’Connor. “He is
so sexy.”
The workman smiles at O’Connor, packs up his equipment, then walks
down the hall and out of sight.
“Yum-my,” she gushes.
“Oh, please, Sandra. Get a grip on yourself,” admonishes Ginsburg.
Laughter is suddenly heard from the other end of the hall, as someone
begins moving towards them, but it’s too far away to see exactly
who it is. Immediately the female Justices notice that there isn’t
just one person, but seem to be two… No, three people moving towards
them. They aren’t walking directly down the hall, however. They
seem to be darting in and out of offices one at a time, zigzagging
back and forth across the Great Hall. As they approach the two
female Justices the laughter gets louder and louder and louder.
“What the…” Justice Ginsburg begins, but stops herself short of
finishing her sentence. She stands speechless.
O’Connor remains mute watching the approaching spectacle, then
slowly begins to smile until she can no longer contain herself,
breaking into a chortling cackle.
Ginsburg backs away cautiously, but the look in her eye gives away
that she knows what is about to happen.
The darting threesome have made it down the Great Hall and are
finally face to face with their female colleagues. The three men
are buck naked, wearing nothing but a smile, each holding a bottle
of booze. Without hesitation, Justice Scalia walks directly over
to O’Connor and hands her his bottle of champagne. Rehnquist drifts
passed them and further down the hall, giggling as he goes. Justice
Thomas stands back against the Great Wall of the Great Hall leering
at the Italian and the Irish woman. Licking his lips, he begins
fondling himself. The Italian and Irish share a smile, a sip, then
Scalia dips O’Connor, planting a big wet one on her lips.
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, big guy,” oozes Thomas.
“Come on, come on, you guys! Let’s go. We’ve got to find Kennedy,”
Rehnquist states excitedly, barely able to contain himself.
“You coming?” asks Justice Scalia with a smile.
“Will you be patient? Will you let me give the orders?” queries
O’Connor.
“Oh, Justice. I’ve been waiting to hear those words from you for
so long,” admits Antonin, a quiver in his voice.
“It’s so fitting that this election would finally bring us…” but
O’Connor just couldn’t finish the thought.
“Oh, my god! I think I’m going to be sick,” grumbles Justice Ginsburg,
who abruptly turns and begins yelling at Justice Stevens through
his Ramrod door. “Let me in! Let me in! You’ve got to let me
in. Don’t leave me out here with these interloping hypocrites!”
A buzz is heard. Ginsburg walks through Stevens’ door, and we
catch a glimpse of the interior. They’re not alone. Justices Breyer
and Souter can be seen at a table passing a bottle of Johnny Walker
Black between them. Breyer is holding his head. The door closes
to Stevens’ office, the lights go green, then out, then the familiar
hum is heard.
“Are you ready?” asks Justice Scalia.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for eight years!” exclaims O’Connor.
Justice Rehnquist appears down the hall, poking his head from around
the corner of Justice Kennedy’s office.
“Come on, you guys. Kennedy’s got the VCR all hooked up. We can
watch the concession from down here!”
The naked Scalia and the cloaked O’Connor walk towards the randy
Rehnquist. Justice Thomas brings up the rear.
“This ought to be the last time those loser liberals spout off
about us. We’re gonna take this country by storm… one state at
a time,” Thomas croaks under his breath. “Who’s the smart one now,
mother—-?”
The Justices head off down the hall, slowly and deliberately, with
Scalia and Thomas’s backside in full view, and O’Connor now positioned
between the Italian and the Womanizer. A door is heard opening
behind them, but they don’t seem to notice anything but their own
euphoria.
Justices Ginsburg, Stevens, Souter and Brower poke their heads
out and watch the threesome walk away.
“Boy, would I love to be a fly on the wall in that room,” states
Souter.
“Not to worry,” says Brower. “Rehnquist had the whole building
wired for sight and sound. There’s nothing we do that he can’t
see or hear, and I’ve got the keys to the controls. He doesn’t
know jack about technology!”
“If the people only knew,” muses Ginsburg, as the Four Justices
retreat once again into their Ramrod safety. The door seals one
last time, as the lights go green, and the hum of electronic security
is heard throughout the hall.
Down in Justice Kennedy’s office a phone rings.
“Chief Justice, it’s for you. It’s the president, junior, that
is. He wants to thank you,” informs Kennedy with a smile.
The Justices stand back, Kennedy and O’Connor cloaked in their
regal costumes, with Scalia and Thomas posing proudly in their undress,
as they watch their naked Chief Justice amble over to take the phone
call they were all expecting.
“Finally,” exhales Rehnquist. “A little appreciation.”
“Fuckin’ A,” says Thomas.
The five Justices are left alone, but very much together. One
speaking to the president elect. Two enjoying pleasures denied
for so long, and another left to look at a tape showing George W.
Bush blowing verbal smoke up the judicial posteriors of Justices
Scalia and Thomas.
“You’re welcome, Mr. President,” clucks the naked Chief Justice
Rehnquist.
It is so ordered.
