Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia has been found dead in a West Texas hotel room. No word yet on whether sex workers or meth were found at the scene.
NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT.
As Loyal Readers™ are well aware, my All Time Number 1 Bucket List Item—as long as I can remember even having such a thing as a “bucket list”—is personally mooning Antonin Scalia. And now? Now I shall never achieve my American dream! (Unless someone can get me into the funeral??? Hit me up on my cell.)
Too soon? Oh, sorry. NO I AM SOOOOOO NOT SORRY.
Yes, yes, I know: in the eyes of certain people all of this unseemly gloating over this motherfucker’s death makes me a terrible, terrible person. All I can say to that is: you have no fucking idea. Just wait until Dick Cheney dies (if he EVER dies, which at this point is a real coin toss).
Palace flags are at half mast, in mourning for my crushed dreams, my thwarted aspirations, the unceremonious (though hopefully wickedly scandalous) end to my life’s one great longing.
Conservatives (whom I’m repeatedly told I must treat with respect) have accused liberals—and also Barack Obama and/or Hillary Clinton—of murdering Justice Scalia.