It’s Time to Go Scorched Earth on the Dirty Trick Dems (posted 9/25/18)

Okay, I’ve had it!  At almost the same moment I finished and sent my latest column on the Kavanaugh smear to CO, another partisan leftist hack miraculously shows up with a decades-old recovered memory to try to reinforce the imploding Blasey-Ford story.   (I guess it’s like James Carville used to say: you drag a $100 bill through the Yale Women’s Studies Program and you never know what you’ll find.)

At first I just got even more blindingly furious, and stomped around Stately Simpson Manor with a Costco-sized bottle of scotch in my hand and murder in my heart.   But then I realized that it is time that we fight fire with fire.

After a very brief series of thoughts involving how one might find Dianne Feinstein’s house and set it on fire, I realized that I’d gotten a little off track.  So I sat down and I came up with a plan.  And although it goes against my modest nature to praise my own plan… it is quite likely the best plan since the Marshall Plan, and definitely much better than Plan 9 From Outer Space.

I call it, The Simpson Retroactive Last-Minute Supreme Court Nomination Scandal Plan™.   Here’s how it works.

If the Democrats can come up with 36-year-old tall tales about a SC nominee they don’t like, I say we go them one better.  Right now there are 4 leftist justices on the court, and I think we should re-open their nominations retroactively, because I’ve just discovered damaging allegations against one of them (so far) that deserve to be heard.

I know what you are thinking: who did Sotomayor harass this time?  Or, did Kagan really kill a man in Reno, just to watch him die?  But no.  They’ve only been on the court for less than a decade, and they’re not that old.  If the Democrats have taught us anything, it’s that the oldest charges are the most persuasive.  I mean, if 36-year-old charges are convincing, how much more convincing would charges from centuries ago be?

You know where I’m going with this: Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

Again, people with less ambitious plan-making abilities than mine might be deterred by the task of going back to investigate Ginsberg’s misspent youth.  But not me.  Just because she’s been on the court for decades, wreaking havoc on the constitution and making the Founders spin in their graves, I think that the #metoo movement has taught us all that it’s never too late to pursue charges of sexual misconduct.

So I’ve done a little digging into Ginsberg, and I’ve found a young man she went to high school with: Hammurabi.  You may know him best from his Code (Google it), but the kids in Mesopotamia High in the 18th century before Christ knew him as “that guy who Ruthie Bader traumatized at that party.”

Although he was reluctant at first, I got him to sit down with me for an interview.

Me: Hello Mr. Hammurabi.  Thank you for agreeing to share your story with me.

H (laughing): My dad was Mr. Hammurabi.  You can just call me Hamm.

Me:  Thank you.  Okay, I’d like to ask you about the incident with Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

H:  She was just Ruthie Bader back then.  I thought she was a friend of mine, but everything changed… that night.

Me: I understand.  Let’s get some details clear.  Can you tell me when this happened?

H: Well, that’s a little tricky.  You see, it was a long time ago, and the details are a little foggy.  But I’m pretty sure it was either 1815 or 1816 BC.

Me: You don’t even know what year it was?

H: Look, it’s not that easy.  I mean, it was in the BC times, so the year went backwards, which was pretty confusing.  Plus none of us knew when Christ was going to come, so a lot of the calendars were way off.  So I’m not sure I can nail down the exact year.  I remember that there was a drought that year, if that helps.

Me: It really doesn’t.  How about the location where the event happened?

Hamm: I’m a little fuzzy on that, too.  I know it was in one of my friend’s parents’ ziggurats.  And it was near a river.  I think the Tigris.

Me: You think?
Hamm (shrugging his shoulders):  It could have been the Euphrates.

Me: But it wasn’t the Nile?

Hamm:  Ummmmm…

Me: Great.  Were there any witnesses there?

Hamm: Yes.  Noah was there for at least a part of the night, I remember that.  He was a year behind me in school.  And also Tutankhamen.

Me: Tut was there?

Hamm:  Yes.  I remember, because Ruthie bothered him, too.

Me: Ooh, tell me about that, because it may help establish a pattern of behavior.

Hamm:  Well, he already got teased a lot.  Everyone kept calling him “the boy king,” and he hated that.  Ruthie picked up on that right away, and kept at him with suggestive remarks.

Me: Like what?
Hamm: I remember she was teasing him along the lines of, “How would you like it if I made you a MAN king?” That kind of thing.

Me: All right, let’s get to the details of your story.  What did Ginsberg say or do that made you uncomfortable?

Hamm:  She was just aggressive about being interested in me.  A small group of us were standing around in one part of the room, wishing that beer had been invented, when she came over and asked if we wanted to play strip poker.

Me: What did you say?

Hamm: I reminded her that poker hadn’t been invented yet, and one of the guys pointed out that playing cards hadn’t been invented yet.  But she wouldn’t take the hint.  She asked us to play spin the bottle, but that went nowhere.

Me: Because bottles hadn’t been invented yet?

Hamm:  Exactly.  I thought that that had ended it, but about 10 minutes later, I had to go to the Little Pharoah’s room, and when I came out, she was right there.   She was all over me right away, and before I knew it, she had me pinned against the wall, and was tugging my tunic upward.

Me: Yikes!

Hamm (nodding):  I know.  I didn’t know what to do.  All I kept thinking was, “Man, I wish we’d invented pants and zippers and belts!  Or even a good, locking codpiece!”

Me: What happened next?

Hamm: I wrestled with her for a minute, but when I’d forced her hands off of my tunic, she started kissing me.  I kept saying, “No,” but she wouldn’t listen.  Finally I was able to get away from her.  I ran to the courtyard and called for a chariot to take me home.  I mean, I just cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Chariot,” and eventually one showed up.

Me:  That sounds traumatic.  What did you do when you got home?

Hamm: Well, I felt so dirty.  I wanted to take a shower, but we hadn’t invented showers, or indoor plumbing yet.  So I went to the river with a reed basket, and just kept ladling water over my head until I could stop shaking.

Me: I’m so sorry.  I don’t suppose you have any physical evidence, do you?

Hamm: Well, I’ve got the notes that the police took when I reported it.  (Hamm pulls out two stone tablets covered with hieroglyphics.)

Me:  Wow!  This is great, but I don’t read ancient pictograms.

Hamm (laughing): Oh come on, they’re basically just old school emojis.  Here, I’ll show you.  (He puts his finger on a tablet, and moves it across the symbols.)  Do you see this?

Me: It looks like – bird head, eyeball, woman facing right, sun, goat head, man facing right, cat head, man holding spear, walk like an Egyptian pose, palm tree.  Can you translate that?

Hamm (clears his throat): “Victim states that the Bader chick had her hands all over his person.  Aggressive kissing.  Very gropey.”

Me: That is some explosive stuff!  Hey, what does this section here mean?

Hamm: Oh, you mean “cat head, equal sign, cat head?”

Me:  Yes.

Hamm (his voice cracking): That’s “No means no.”  It’s what the policeman told me when I said that maybe I’d led her on.

Me: I have to tell you, your story sounds pretty convincing to me, but a lot of people have a specific image of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and I think they might have a hard time believing this.

Hamm: Look, I understand.  I mean, right now she has the posture of the letter “C,” and it’s often difficult to tell if she’s awake or asleep.  But this was a long time ago, and Ruthie was a wild girl.  She was very aggressive.

Me: Okay, thanks for your time.  I’m going to report this to the US Senate, and they’ll be in touch.  Do you have anything else you’d like to say?

Hamm: Oh yes, I almost forgot.  One of my cousins left town right after this party happened.  He and a bunch of friends decided to head north because they’d heard that there was a lan0d bridge open to a continent in the northern hemisphere.  They planned to cross that, then split into different tribes, domesticate some horses, invent some arrowheads and tomahawks, and pretty much have the run of the place.

Me: Why are you telling me this?

Hamm: When my cousin heard where you were from and that I was going to be talking with you, he said to tell you that some crazy white lady in New England is pretending to be his great, great, great-grandaughter.  And that she’s absolutely full of it.  He also asked me to give you this.   (He handed me a small piece of stone with pictograms on it.)

Me: It looks like: standing lion, moon, triangle, bird feet, woman facing left, sheaves of wheat.  What does that mean?

Hamm: #wemustneverstopmockingher

And, scene.

All right, people.  Call your senators.  The day after Kavanaugh gets his vote, I want you to demand that they implement the Simpson Retroactive Last-Minute Supreme Court Nomination Scandal Plan™, and schedule some hearings to begin the process of having Ruth Bader Ginsberg removed from the court.

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