The Republicans may well get their guy on the Supreme Court. I don’t doubt it for a second, actually, and today’s hearing probably didn’t change the calculus one little bit. Kavanaugh fed the base all the bullshit indignation he could muster, and between his tear-filled histrionics and the shouty, overwrought, completely over the top monologue by everybody’s favourite Southern Belle Lindsey Graham, they likely did enough to convince the rubes that the good Judge was the real victim here, and truth and justice were with them. The pundits are all reporting that Trump loved it.
I don’t know who was the most disgusting. Wait, yes I do. Graham. Oh, that Lindsey Graham. What a turd. What a bullshit artist. He almost literally ranted and raved about what an unethical screw job the evil Democrats were putting down on poor little Brett, this after Ms. Blasey Ford gave testimony so compellingly, obviously truthful that sensitive souls all over America were choking back the sobs. Yeah, but trust your creepy uncle Lindsey, it’s all a big smear, why, it’s a conspiracy, and so, so, wrong that a good, fine fellow like Kavanaugh should have his life ruined this way, poor guy, boy, if he came looking for fairness he was in the wrong town at the wrong time, it’s just so god-awfully heart-breakingly cruel:
Sure, Lindsey. Mr. Righteous Defender of Truth, Justice, and the American Way, huh? Hang on, though, aren’t you the guy who swore up and down you’d never support a clown like Trump? That was you, wasn’t it? I guess you gotta offer a dance or two to the one you hope is gonna bring ya, and these days, it’s Donald who hands out the goodies, but still, I mean Jesus, Lindsey. If I’d been there during this obvious sucking-up audition for the plum, soon to be available role of Next Attorney General, I’d have been tempted to cut him off by yelling Thank-you, that’ll do, we’ll be in touch with your agent. Spineless hypocrite.
Kavanaugh rather spoiled the pity party by being an arrogant, belligerent dick throughout, snorting and snuffling and exquisitely full of bottomless self-pity. This is one privileged little prick who isn’t used to being called on his crap, and actually seemed on the edge of losing his shit a couple of times. It was so very easy to imagine how he might fly off the handle if he had a couple of drinks in him, how he might start pushing women around if they weren’t putting out, or were maybe taking too long to lose consciousness after swallowing that stuff he slipped in the punch. This was pure rage at being called to account for all his appalling, crappy, outright criminal behaviour. He was positively quivering with entitled anger. Imagine, an elite boy like him having to sit there and listen to this! Did they not understand? Could they not see he’d been issued a hall pass for such stuff? Was he not white? Did he not go to Yale? If you cut him, did he not bleed legal tender? How dare they? Oh, woe is him. Oh, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. He was damned near blubbering at one point, all red-faced and runny-nosed.
Well boo-frigging-hoo, you pig-eyed, tantrum-throwing loaf of cookie dough.
All those phosphorescent white male Republican senior citizens sat there, stone-faced and unmoved while the woman recounted her assault, and let their hired female gun pose the questions to Blasey Ford, but boy, did they suddenly find their voices when it was Brett’s turn. Well, they had to step in, because their hired gun started asking him the same sort of probing factual questions she’d posed to the woman – forgetting her assigned role, she zeroed in on a calendar entry which, for some reason, Kavanaugh had preserved since 1982, and looky here, he’d pencilled in a house party/beer-fest of the very sort alleged and with the very pals his accuser had named, on a July weekend just as his accuser had described, and wasn’t that an odd coincidence if no such thing had occurred? They fired her on the spot and took over, changing the topic away from substance to focus on process, and oh, were they outraged. Outraged! This was unfair! The accusations were so old! He was in high school when it happened! Why was this only coming out now? Anything but the apparent veracity of the witness. Graham wasn’t the only one crying foul and apologizing to sad, put-upon Brett, no, damn near all of them gave a speech full of Official Republican Talking Points, standing tall for their nominee.
For his part, Kavanaugh spouted hyper-partisan conspiracy theories about Hillary Clinton’s revenge, and dirty liberal money buying his enemies, while he amply displayed at every turn a sour, bullying temperament utterly unsuited for the bench.
This charade was fact-finding in the same way that professional wrestling is sport. It served its purpose, though, they ticked the box, they let the woman speak- OK? She had her chance, OK? – so now they can get on with this and vote their boy into his lifetime position as arbiter of all truth, just as God intended. They’re all just so insufferably pleased with themselves. They think they did great today. They think they nailed it. They’ve got the votes, I’m sure, but if they really think they gulled anyone outside of their incestuous little Fox News bubble, they’re as dense and deluded as they look. They must know they’ll burn for this come November. Well, wait, scratch that, maybe some of them will. More so down in the House than up in the Senate, where the swine somehow manage to hang around until they have to wheel them in and out on gurneys.
Of course, once they secure their stacked Supreme Court, even those few who get swept out of their seats can pack up their offices while humming a happy tune, having done their whole duty, and go join lobbying firms and right-wing think tanks or some such shit. After this they’ll all have a lot of markers to call in.
I swear to God, if even one woman casts a vote for any Republican in November, I’m going to go up like an H-bomb, and I hope nasty, icky little bits of bone and tissue land with disgusting little splats in all of their dinners.
This one goes out to all y’all nice Catholic boys from Georgetown Prep, here’s remembering Beach Week, ’82, and the guys in the 100 Keg Club.