Vignette Two: SCOTUS Packs the Court, We Tear It Down - Yacht Week!
SCOTUS Packs the Court, We Tear It Down - Yacht Week!
Shooter
Here are a few things that the Joint Forces Council (the real folks in power) won’t tell us:
-Who killed JFK
-Who are the aliens among us? (More on that later)
-Who owns the only copy of Wu Tang’s Once Upon a Time in Shaolin
-What’s really going on with these UFO’s
-And finally who invented the Test that selects the President.
This last one really is the stick in my craw because first I wanna meet the guy/gal to shake their hand and second I want to sucker punch them in the dick/vag for putting me and my brother in this terrible job.
Don’t get me wrong, the perks are choice my friend, but the weight and responsibility are real. No wonder why our predecessors went ape shit. The amount of mental heavy lifting we do on a daily basis is almost unthinkable.
I’ll give you an example of our day. Chuck and I wake up at 6:30am and sludge our way over to the gym to do a menial “exercise” for 45 min. He half asses the elliptical while I spin away on a stationary bike. We flip through the cable news channels and talk about how crazy the anchors look in real life versus on screen. We eat breakfast, shower and are promptly shuffled over to the White House for our first meeting of the day.
Here we meet with our Chief of Staff, captain buzz kill himself, Toad Daily. Toad is called Toad because he looks like the cartoon toad from that meme when everybody said “Here come dat boi, OH SHIT!”. We once tried to get him to ride a unicycle and he cried so hard he nearly quit. Toad sucks, but he’s good at his job.
Toad croaks to Chuck and me our first classified briefing along with our assignments for the day which are divided up between Charlie and I. Usually I get the crap stuff like infrastructure, congressional meetings and cabinet confirmations while Chuck is assigned foreign affairs, national security and public appearances. Even though we are twins, Charlie has a radiance about him that always made him more likable and charming than me. Which is fine with me, less time in front of the damn camera for me, the better. The media can straight go fuck itself.
Next we both get briefed on National Intelligence from the Joint Chief of Staff. After that jovial meeting we get suited up and move out. No media is allowed in the White House anymore so we are able to move about the building without arousing suspicion. Everyone in the White House knows about us and have all signed a very detailed and scary document that swears them to secrecy. It ain’t your normal Stormy Daniels NDA either kids, this is the kind of zip-lip-slip that when broke sends you ass to Cuba in what use to be known as Guantanamo. It’s been renamed to Up State so when someone goes there our official statement is “they went Up State”.
Then after lunch we do some shaking hand, events like hosting the Super Bowl team for dinner (Tom Brady has been here so many times he has his own room here now. My guess is he is one of the aliens, which confirms he is a cheater. I knew it!).
In the afternoon right before we for adjourn for supper, we get one final briefing on the days actives, mostly an update on what the other brother did that day. It’s done in a way where we stick on these stupid diodes to our temples and we sync up to a small device that looks like an iPhone (hell it might be for all I goddamn know) and we actually just communicate through it without talking. Our eyes aren’t even open for most of it. What would take an hour to debrief now takes ten minutes and we have zero miscommunications about what transpired that day. Pretty slick…
Until it isn’t.
I also get all of Chuck’s disgusting little secrets as he gets mine. Keeps us honest I guess but fuck he does some gross shit. This one time we synced up and instantly I see in my minds eye a giant pair of saggy…
Charlie
One day we get a briefing from Toad that the Supreme Court is undergoing a full out revolt. The nine members, who all had to change their names according to the new amendment proposed and signed into law by our predecessor President Luke Adams - who was all sixes and sevens by the end of his run. The amendment makes every court member to take the name of a famous baseball player for long as they shall serve the court. Also they can’t be conflicting positions so no two catchers or two pitchers on the court. Thems the rules.
The nine members are:
Chief Justice - Derek Jeter (SS)
Associate Justice:
Ichiro Suzuki (RF)
Cecil Fielder (1B) -
Nolan Ryan (P)
Mike Piazza (C) -
Manny Rameriez (LF) -
Ken Griffey Jr (CF)
Rod Carew (2B) -
Wade Boggs (3B)
Toad lets us know that the majority of the court members are are fed up with Captain Jeter and want him out of power and are willing to install a new Chief Justice through means of packing the court. This means they will add more judges to the Supreme Court which currently sits at nine. There is no rule in the Constitution saying there needs to be X amount of justices therefor in theory there could be 100 justices if so desired. The current number proposed, Toad informs us, is nine more judges, making a grand total of 18 and greatly diminishing the power of Fureur Jeter. This would mean nine more senate approval hearings which could last up to nine years. Nine more names to be chosen from decades of ball players. Nine more egotistical assholes ruling on the most important cases in our country.
Packing the court was a nuclear option that every new president is presented when they find the court to be leaning either too far right or too far left, depending on what party they affiliate with. Since my brother and I have no party affiliation, much like most things about this job, we don’t five a flying fuck. The best we can muster is the novel idea of ‘hey how about we have a fair and balanced court that doesn’t rule on cases based on their political allegiances’ but we were laughed at so hard you’d think we were Kevin Hart and Dwayne The Rock/ President of City State Los Angeles, Johnson (more on this sculpted monster later).
“I don’t have to explain this to you but a public announcement of packing the court would be a literal nightmare for Congress, the Supreme Court and the American people.” Toad croaks out of the side of his mouth.
Toad starts to pace around the Oval Office, muttering things like “What are we going to do?” “I’m going to lose my job over this.” And a gem of a question “how will I tell mother if I do lose my job?”.
Shooter and I look at each other and its in these moments our EP/telepothy/mind reading works in tandem.
We had been previous discussing our next vacation and how we would execute it with our joint staff before sticky Toad interrupted us with this fun briefing. We had thought of many new ideas but Shooter and I began reminiscing on a vacation that we took together in college with some of our buddies.
OMG this is it.
We both turn to Toad and smile.
Shooter pipes up. “Toady. We have the solution to all your problems my reptile friend.”
Toad sees us smiling at him and knows what’s next. Poor Toad even squeaks out a tiny gasp.
Toad turns around and runs towards the door closest to him that leads out of the Oval Office. Before he can take two hops, Shooter whistles a command and the sentinel body guard grabs the slimy reptile by the scuff of his bulbous neck and lifts him off the ground.
Shooter jumps up to his feet and hurdles the stripped couch that separates him and Toad/Secret Service.
Shooter lifts up Toads tie, flings it over his shoulder and starts to unbutton his starched white shirt. Toad squirms the best he can but the giant agent has him in a Full Nelson, leading his tiny frog legs to dangle about six inches off the floor. I walk about quickly to slam all the doors into the Oval shut so no outsiders can see this part.
Shooter has Toads shirt open, exposing his scaleley white belly. The smell of his flatulence is permeating the office as his little legs kick from side-to-side.
I run back over to my chair to grab my phone off of the couch to record this always hilarious moment.
“Alright Toad, you know the drill by now.” Shooter says taking out a small device that resembles a Juul Vape Pen.
“Come on guys, please. This shit got old in college.” Toad says trying to act cool.
“Hey Toad, do you remember spring break, Senior year?” I ask.
Toad’s eyes get huge and he immediately tries to shake his head in the negative but his massive neck being squeezed by the Secret Service won’t allow it. So he just shakes his eyes back and forth no instead.
“You have no idea how fucked I would be if that happened.” Toad cries out.
“Its happening Toad.” I say moving to his right now, fully surrounding the suspended wriggling body.
“Jeter would maybe go for it but no chance they all go in.” He cries again.
“Oh I beg to differ. I have a very convincing Power Point that I show, explains the whole trip from soup to nuts. In fact it’s gotten more economical.” Shooter says with a smile.
“Aint that right little brother?” “Affordable for all. It’s one of kind Toad. He’s a natural salesmen. Give him ten minutes and a plate of hot cookies and he’ll have that entire degenerate court floating and drinking off the cost of Croatia by next week.” I say with a smile, taking the Juul device from Shooter.
“It’s the only way Toad. This isn’t just for us or for the best of our great country, but its crucial we get this court packing bullshit shut down for the sake of democracy. It’s all of our patriotic duty to get these spoiled judges drunk, laid and drained of all inhibition. Expel all of their endorphins then, Shooter brokers the deal and wham bam Cheese and Spam, we end the trip eating some bomb ass Greek food. How’s that stroke ya down below huh Toady?” I ask.
Before he can answer I put the Juul device on his belly button and press the small button to activate the electricity. Toads eyes bulge so far out of his head you can see nearly the entire circumference. His red tongue sticks straight out of his mouth while vibrating up in down in such a slow fashion it bothers they eyes but in fact it’s actually moving at super sonic speed. Kind of how you see helicopter blades on TV, they look like the are moving so slow! I wonder why that is?
As I let off the button, the jowls of his three chins bloats up to such a large balloon shaped size, you actually can see each individual weird bumpy hair follicles exposed from both the epidermis and dermis.
As his jowls retract back to normal a monster like belch comes out of Toad that shakes the oil painting handing on the wall hind him. Shooter and I giggle like gossipy middle school girls.
In a quiet and subdued voice Shooter starts the famous college chant. “Yacht week…Yacht Week…Yacht Week…” getting louder with each refrain. I join in and soon we are shouting. I move the tiny cattle prod closer to Toad again and as the chanting crescendos I stick it on his belly but I don’t activate it. Toad yells out in anticipation and essential signs on the dotted line. “YACHT WEEK!!!” Toad yells.
Shooter
Ok lets go over what exactly constitutes a yacht week. If your desire is to travel across the globe to an exotic and mystic sea, say somewhere like Croatia or Greece, and say you want to travel around that area in style and class like on a yacht, and say you want to bring twelve of your closest friends and say you want to pay a skipper to do all of this for you while also providing you decadent meals, endless booze, eight balls of coke and hand fulls of Benzos, Qualoodes and Percasets, well people look no further than the infamous and under appreciated Yacht Week.
Charlie
The best part is you don’t just sail with your merry band of misfits. Yacht Week also includes eleven other boats sailing in tandem with you, and the best part is this is all extremely affordable. Therefor you’re not getting these elite shitbags with whom you have nothing in common with, well sometimes you get a rich bitch, but most of those cretens have their own yacht. Yacht week is home for college students, burned out professionals, burned out athletes, burned out actors/actresses, post rehab addicts, sketchy Europeans, incorrigible Canadians and above all, the very best group to ever embark on this nautical excursion, the mid-life crisis dudes.
These guys are epic. They are newly divorced. They are stuck in their mid level job. Their passion for life is dwindling so they need some new spark plugs to spark the ol engine. They are near retirees doing some soul searching, mostly they are hiding from their wives and kids. Some are cops who have been sent here to “clear their minds”, some are businessmen trying to wash away the white collar sins they’ve committed. Some are college professors who simply “can’t” anymore. All kinds of kinds are welcomed on Yacht Week.
You may ask what about older women? Oh the Cougars you say? Well yes, they are here too, just in smaller packs and they are not to be trifled with. Cougars at Yacht week are not here to have fun or fraternize with younger guys. They are here to hunt. They are looking for a 195lb male who makes over $500k a year and can still get a hard dick on demand. Preferably one with not too much of a drug problem but still likes to party. The cougars stalk the boats, waiting to find this perfect and easy pray. Once they do, you never see that guy again. He’s been bitten open at the jugular and dragged up a tree somewhere in the forest. See you on the mid life crisis boat in fifteen years bro.
Shooter
It took some work but six weeks later we got the whole damn fam on two boats in the dazzling Adriatic Sea. We landed in private jets in Venice Italy and set sail for the quiet bay of Split for some rest and relaxation…and partying.
Now recall, these Justices average 62 years old, some are well into their 80’s but thanks to the miracle of science, there are a few chemical compounds that aren’t technically sanctioned in the U of S of A that can make a 70 year old feel 40. Lord knows what the hell these lab rats had to do to feel forty again but shit I could see it worked. All I know is there are two on call doctors on board, one to administer the cocktails and the other to make sure the first doctor doesn’t fuck it up.
Not a soul in the world knows we are here. The official cover story is the court is on recess and half of the team went to Nova Scotia for a fishing trip while the other half went to Sri Lanka to serve as judges for a rice and curry festival.
What the USSC was really doing would blow Charlie Sheen’s hair back. I wish I could get into the detail but to be honest they are pretty spotty for me as well. Shoot I had that doctor shoot me up one night and by the grace of god go I, nothing could bring me down. I felt I could fly I swear to Christ. Drinking ten cocktails felt as if I had only two. Doing ten lines of Gary’s Glitter equaled maybe one and a half. That shot broke my governor and drained my brain of all fears and worries.
Good thing it had the same effect on those old bag of bones judges as well. When we left DC, they were still adamant on adding nine more justices. It was up to Chuck and me to figure out why and more importantly to fucking shut it down. More Justices means more bueurocracy which means more time wasted which means nothing ever gets resolved. That my fellow Americans is bad for business. It’s bad for the country and it’s bad for the court. It makes us look weak and diminishes the power of each judge. Why would someone want less power? Isn’t that why they got into law in the first place? I fucking hate politics.
Charlie
Day 1: I have brunch with Captain Jeter. Immediately the asshole takes out his phone to take a video of the insanity happening around us.
“Hey MTV put that shit away, this isn’t Viva La Bam.” I yell at him. He sheepishly sticks his phone back into his fanny pack.
“Alright old man, let’s get down to brass balls. Shooter and I think this packing the court idea is utter bullshit.”
“Who’s Shooter?” He asks sounding like every confused grandfather that ever existed.
Shooter
Side note: These old birds don’t know about me and Charlie splitting the job in two, so the cover was I was the body double (common on adventures outside the country like this) and Charlie was Mac Wallace. The joy was they are so old and so hopped up on drugs they didn’t notice or frankly give a fuck. They just wanted to party.
Charlie
“They all stink! I can’t be around them anymore.” Jeter yells at me.
“So adding nine more will make the other eight less annoying? How about you just fucking quit and save us all the headache?” I reply.
“I’ve been the captain of this team since the 90’s buster, I’m not leaving. The privilege is mine till the day I meet my maker.” He says.
“I was afraid you would say that.”
Shooter
Day two:
Ichiro shit his pants after an all night bender.
Nolan Ryan took acid then ate all of the shrimp on board and went into anaphylactic shock.
Wade Boggs and Ken Griffey Jr. had a threesome with a nice Harvard guy named Jeff. Things got weird when he recognized Boggs and Jr and thats when Jeff got a one way plane ticket to beautiful Guantanamo. Tough luck Ivy League.
Mike Piazza and Cecil Fielder had an all night cry fest fueled by an alternating mixture of Albanian cocaine and Italian beer. Charlie was in on this one and somewhere around 4am he turned to me to give me a thumbs up.
I walked over with my iPad and opened up the signature document. The document was a pinky swear strong statement saying they would vote agains packing the court. Piazza and Fielder did a pretty lame blood brothers hand shake thing by slicing their hands open with a pizza cutter and held each other for twenty minutes after they signed their names on the digital line.
This was a zero sum campaign. No majority rule. This was a jury that needed consensus from every participant. We had a long way to go.
Two Down - Seven to Go.
Charlie
Day three:
I took Rameriez and Carew for a scooter ride through the town of Vis. This wasn’t hard since the two of them probably weighed 125lbs combined. They were the two oldest of the justices and they sure fucking looked it. This place is so freaking beautiful I about tipped the three of us over on the scooter probably seven times because I kept staring at the ocean or the skyline hills and mountains. I’ve never seen such magesty and beauty in my life.
We stopped at a small bistro to get some espresso and pastries. After lunch we noticed a small vineyard sprawled behind the bistro so we decided to take a walk through the grape and olive trees.
“What’s your thoughts on packing?” I ask the two old judges.
“We together went through this in the 80’s and honesty in my opinion we should have done it then.” Rameriez says.
“I wouldn’t agree with that. Those were different times. No one would have voted for packing, there was no time to even consider it. Clinton was still taming his one-eyed snake behind the Resolute Desk every chance he could get. It’s amazing how much he got done with all that whacking he did.” Carew whispers aloud.
“Quite the multitasker that one.” Rameriez recalls.
“Why now? Why pack now?” I ask.
“Because Jeter and the his henchmen Ryan and Ichiro know that you can’t stop it. Sure you have a veto vote but you can’t use it if Congress and the Supreme Court both back packing. You’ll look weak, isolated and destined to lose power. All things the new age President can’t be seen as.”
“I would veto. I wasn’t elected to this job therefor I could give a shit if I fucking lose it. My only job is to keep this country from devouring itself from the inside - out. A chickens egg can withstand huge amounts of pressure from outside forces. But if that chick puts just a smidge of pressure on the inside of that egg shell, it cracks immediately. We can’t have a cold civil war like in the early 2020’s. Packing the court could do that again. No matter what reason you give me, it will look political, party based and selfish.” I say buzzing from the three espressos I had.
“That may very well be true and if it were up to the two of us, we would happily retire and live out the remainder of our lives in solitude.” Rameriez says picking grapes and olives from passing trees.
“That would hurt the Court even more if we did that. New blood would just add to Jeter’s cabal of three. Giving him supreme power of the Supreme Court.” Carew says.
I figure this is as good a time as any to reach into my fanny pack and pull out three micro dose tablets of psilocybin. I hand one each to the two tiny judges.
“My goal.” I say before swallowing my tablet.
“Is to get a consensus to no packing from each court member. We need unity if we are to survive. Fuck, we shouldn’t be surviving! We should be god damn thriving for fucks sake. You two have seen it all man! Do you want to be in a Russia like depression? Do you want to be struggling like China in your retirement?” I say snapping off a switch from a nearby olive tree.
The two judges take two steps back. Scared of my outburst.
“Easy Mac. You can’t intimidate us. Obama and DT tried that shit and we kicked the shit out of both of them.” Carew says with a giggle.
“I wouldn’t hurt you old bags.” I say gesturing for them to swallow their mushroom tablets. I do a fake golf swing with the stick.
“I just don’t want to see the court fail after years of stellar output because one big headed limp dick at the top won’t place nice with others.” I say throwing the stick away now.
They both take the pill and I hand over my S.Pellegrino for them to flush it down with.
“If you can flip Ichiro and Ryan, then Jeter will have to follow suit. That’s your only hope.” Carew says getting closer to me.
“A switch in time that saves nine.” Rameriez says as if just remembering a crazy dream from the night before.
“I’m no Roosevelt.” I say feeling dejected. I know flipping Ichiro and Ryan will be nearly impossible.
“Roosevelt was a great President.” Ramerize says grabbing my hand.
“But he didn’t start out that way.” Carew says grabbing my other hand.
Feeling the effects of this newly chemically advanced instant mushroom compound gave me a sudden sense of euphoria and calm.
“It’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll” I say with determination. I wish I still had that stick.
“You’re god damn right.” Carew says with a denture smile.
“Now let’s go trip balls looking out on this beautiful sunset.” Ramerize says.
I queue up AC/DC on my cell and we fucking rock up and down the psychedelic highway til sunset.
Shooter
Day Four and Five
The beach called Bol is by far the classiest beach I have ever been to. Granted I dont go to the beach much. Think opposite of the Jersey Shore. Think super models and Olympic athletes with too much time and money. I was extremely out of place here but the Supreme Team Six took to the small town like pig to shit.
Days four and five consisted of a laundry cycle of wake up, mimosa soaked brunch, cocaine races, drinking games, downers, long nap, dinner on the beach, Adderal, more coke, MDMA, outdoor nightclub, swingers games (don’t ask) and then ambient induced night terrors.
Nothing got done. Everyone got laid, drained of all endorphins and was left an empty husk of shit. Everyone was now on the same playing field now.
We instructed the two Doctor Feelgoods to no longer administer the super cocktails to the remaining judges who haven’t pledged to not pack the court. They will be hurting more from the super cocktail withdrawals than the massive hangovers. It was time for Chuck and I to get to work.
Chucky gets into a mode he likes to call Hoodie Melo based on the NBA superstars Carmelo Anthony. He once wore a hooded sweatshirt for a long stretch of time and went absolutely ape shit on the court during the summer Olympics.
Chuck has a special blue hoodie thats probably sixteen years old now. When you see him walk in with that fucking thing stretched over his dumb head you best watch your mouth cuz he’ll give ya a what for. It’s the only time I don’t like being around him. He scares me.
Charlie
HOODIE MELO!!!!
Shooter
Day Six: Natural Bay - the day we have been waiting for.
Charlie gets Nolan Ryan and Ichiro to go to a massage parlor with him while I take Boggs and Griffey Jr. to an S&M den.
I won’t go into the ugliness and depravity of what happened in those two dungeons but you can use your imagination. The only thing you should know is before we went the two doctors shot up Charlie and I with the super cocktail and gave those four idiots a mixture of sugar pills and clear saline.
Charlie and I were Usain Bolt and the judges were the poor Shriners kids from those commercials. They knew they were not feeling unstoppable so the doctors chalked it up to dehydration, the best advice any senior will take as gospel.
After those dominatrix and yankees had their way with the judges, we swapped. I took Ryan and Ichiro to a late lunch at a Mediterranean style restaurant that specialized in THC integrated cuisine.
We sat out on the patio with the perfect view of the harbor where our twelve boats are anchored in a perfect circle side by side, butt towards the inside of the circle.
“We aren’t flipping.” Ryan says sipping his THC laced Lemonade.
Oh yeah I didn’t tell them everything in here is infused, injected and molested by THC. The blue hairs should have studied foreign languages better.
“Listen young buck. Jeter won’t give up his seat and any threat to it will lead the second coming of gestapo like tyranny within out chambers. The only way to stop that other than putting a bullet between Jeter’s eyes, we add more justices to the court.” Ichiro explains.
“Plus we get nine more players in our softball league. We literally get a whole new team to play!” Ryan says slightly more slurred.
I set down my water bottle (yeah, my water bottle, no THC in this H2O).
“Are you pulling my god damn chain?” I ask. “Is this all happening just so you can have a second team to beat up in the Washington DC over 60 softball league?” I ask seriously.
Both look at each other and shrug in unison. The SCOTUS Co-Ed Sofball Team called the Enforcers (I know, eye roll) has dominated that league for seven years straight now. God knows they would love another team of peers to pound every week from spring to fall.
“Tap dancing Christ.” I mutter under my breath. “KONOBAR!” I scream out loud. The two old bats flinch when do this, the weed clearing having kicked in. Their eyes now bloodshot.
The extremely tan and blonde Amazonian Croatian waitress sashays over to our table.
I order a three course meal in a mixture of Russian, Serbian and Crotian tongue and shoo away the Amazon away. On the flight over I read up on speaking Croatian and found its similar to Russian for which I lived in for a year and half while ‘logging’ ‘forests’. That’s all I have to say about that for now.
As I fume in my ancient wood seat, the two justices are giggling and staring at things too long while sweating profusely in the hot spring afternoon sun.
No words are spoken for about fifteen minutes. I rack my stupid brain for a way to squash this idea of packing the court.
I see them both watching a Butterly. Then a heavy hand perches on my shoulder. It’s Jeter.
“Caught ya in the act.” The old voice says over slight laughter.
“What act would that be Chief Justice?” I ask. He pulls up a chair and sits in it backwards like a lame gym teacher in a 90’s after school special, trying to talk some sense into me.
“Oh I guess there are a number of egregious acts going on at this moment. Let’s start with you essentially dosing Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb over there!” He screams at me.
At this the other two justices notice Jeter now and act as if their Dad just got home unexpectedly from work to catch them jerking off to their Mom’s latest issue of Martha Stewards ‘Living’.
“That’s debatable.” I say holding up the cocktail menu. “Every items clearly shows how many milligrams of THC is in each meal and drink.” I say.
“In Croation, for which these two buffoons do not speak or read.” Jeter quips.
“Yeah well… noted.” I say flubbing my retort.
“The next heinous act can nearly be classified as treason.” He says scrolling those old eyebrows at me. Finally the fulcrum of this entire trip has come to bear. The hunted is aware of its hunters.
“Treason is a stretch. Mutiny on the Bounty seems more appropriate considering our main mode of transportation this trip.” I say sipping out of my water bottle.
“I am going to destroy you Wallace. You will be in Guantanamo by weeks end.”
“Let’s not get hyperbolic Captain. Sheeeet the bosses, if I even had a boss, would give me a strong talking to and a pat on the butt with a wooden spoon. Incarceration is a long way off from a spanking. I’ve been spanked before. I can take a spanking”. I say.
“I’m not stepping down.” He says.
“Then your entire bench is going to vote for nine more judges, nine more people wit the power to vote you out of power. Nine more people to diminish your voice if they should allow you to stay. Think of it as venture capital. The more your shares are diluted, the more Facebook fortune you’re missing out on. It’s time to cash out.”
“AAAHHHHHH” screams Ichiro and slams his hand down on the table with such force it spills all contents.
The butterfly lay squished like a placemat under the flat of his palm.
Ryan starts to cry hysterically. The Amazon waitress runs back over and holds the two of them in her toned arms as they both wail at the sight of the 2D butterfly. She looks at Jeter and me with a motherly disappointment, like we just showed our young siblings The Exorcist on VHS.
“You have two days to reconsider.” I say frustrated and over this stupid dinner.
“If you don’t step down, I’ll go nuclear asshole. You may be the highest Justice in the land.” I glance over at the two babies. Poor choice of words. “You may be the most powerful judge in the land But I am the goddamn Shogun, Daimyo and Emperor. I will use every ounce of my energy and substantial powers to drop your ass on the sidewalk like a dirty condom on prom night. Comprende kimosabi?”
He just looks up at me in anger and grips the edge of the rectangular table.
“Best be taking care of your mates Captain, they’re your fucking problem now.”
I walk behind his chair and in anger I kick the left rear leg of his ancient seat and it snaps like a Jesus wafer on Sunday. The old and feeble Jeter falls backwards with a umpf and just as the baby judges just stopped crying, they are now engulfed with insane laughter. Pointing at their fallen comrade like Lloyd Christmas and Harry Dunn when the mobster fell off his barstool after ingesting a burger dosed with atomic peppers.
They see me staring over Jeter and we make eye contact. I make a faint jabbing motion like an old school boxer and both flinch so incredibly fast I was actually impressed.
I was going to need a god damn miracle to pull this shit off with Jeter. I need a hero…
Charlie
HOODIE MELO!!!!
After we switched duos I took Boggs and Griffey Jr to go see an beachside performance of Hamlet: going us would be justices Carew and Fielder. It was your typical Hamlet production except for all the girls where boy and all the boys were reptiles, also everyone was naked. I gave everyone a healthy dose of MDMA and we all sat in the cool grass and watched a Japanese troupe perform the entire play in their native language, leaving all of us Americans to lose the plot. Half way through the play I dipped out to go check in on Shooter. He didn’t respond to any of my texts or calls so I assumed he was making progress.
As I was taking in the play with the waning sun in the background, justice Boggs strolls up to me like the Ghost of Yacht Week Past.
“How do you do Mr President?” Boggs says in a cordial tone.
“Very well Justice Boggs. How has the trip treated you so far?” I ask.
“It’s been a much needed retreat and one of the most unique experiences in my life.” Boggs says with a big smile. Everyword out of Boggs mouth appears expertly placed and lands with a sense of a life lived.
“Why unique?” I ask.
“I’ve never touched anything stronger than ibuprofen before this degenerate voyage. For the first time in my seventy five years on this planet I have smoked marjiuanna, dropped acid, invested Molly, snorted cocaine and shotgunned beers. I always wondered what it was like and thanks to you Mr. President, I now know and for that I am grateful. I always had a sense that I had a life full of experiences that I had missed out on; this holiday has given me short access to life behind the curtain.”
“That’s amazing and also terrifying.” I say thinking we could have been esessory to accidentally killing a Supreme Court Justice.
“The others have told me why we were brought to this slice of heaven and I will tell you now Mr. President, you have my full support on booting that pompous neerdowell Jeter out of power. To be honest, Jeter needed to step down a long time ago. The Chief’s softball play has dropped dramatically and is now a detriment to our team.”
What the fuck is with softball with his wack pack?
“With your approval do you think Griffey would bend the knee to Jeter? I ask.
“Griffey will go along to get along. Griffey has no alliances, just a strong sense of right and wrong. You won’t have to worry about Griffeys vote. Everyone wants Jeter out, we’ve just all been too busy and frankly too tired to organize to do so.” Boggs says calmly.
“Can I ask why you hate Jeter?” I ask.
“Nero fiddled while Rome burned” Boggs says sadly.
I nod in agreement. To what, I have no fucking clue. Boggs picks up on it immediately.
“Jeter intentionally started drama and problems for the Supreme Court. Problems only Jeter could fix and did nothing. All to prove the power that the Chief has, not caring at all about the ramifications on this great country. For that I can not tolerate. That to me is borderline treason and as a lawyer, I could argue the case that it is.”
“I am sure you could Justice Boggs.” I say with a smile.
There is a giant cocktail glass to our left near the bar. The kind that strippers and burlesque dances sit in with bubbly warm water covering the lower half of their bodies. Inside this glass though, there are no half naked girls but instead live lobsters. Soon the water inside the glass with skyrocket to a boiling 225 degrees F. The entire beach will be able to see a group massacre of these sea bugs in real time and eventually be able to walk up to the oversized glassware, point at one of the bugs and say ‘that one’ as their choice for their main course.
I think of our old Justices witnessing this on Molly and Acid and can’t help but laugh internally.
“Justice Boggs, can I ask you a question, or more accurately, can I ask for your help?” I ask staring at the big glass of still alive lobsters.
“I serve to please the office of the President of the United States.” Boggs says with an asian like half bow.
“I need some Kryptonite for Chief Justice Jeter. I need some real low down, depraved, illegal and incriminating dirt to hold over that big head if something should go sideways at the end of this trip.”
Boggs’ eyes grew larger and the light that I shine I can be seen.
“Oh I have a real humdinger for you but I’ll have to whisper it to you. Bend near and take off that hood over your head.” Boggs says quickly as he motions for me to move in close with the old hands of a crypt keeper.
I lean in and as it should be known to all by now, the fucking hoodie stays on.
Shooter
Day 7 - 8 : END GAME
Tours end is concluded in a small village called Split which is an ironic name considering the purposes of this family vacation.
From our count the total of Justices who want Jeter out is at best 6-3 and at worst it’s 4-5. I was in no way confident that we could pull this off but Chuck kept telling me not to panic then he would throw up that stupid fucking black hood and bounce away like Luka hitting a jumper over Durant.
We were all pretty well spent and ready to go home by the time we hit Split. The doctors having withheld the super soldier serum from those we haven’t flipped yet made life terrible for those poor folks. Imagine having felt the highest of highs for three days straight then BLAM, every endorphin and happy thought you have ever had is blinked out of existence, leaving you with all the terrible memories, thoughts, emotions and anxieties you have ever experienced to fill that void. On top of that you are vomiting/shitting your self every half hour. That’s what was happening to these over privileged assholes who wouldn’t walk in step. I almost feel bad but then I remember the rulings some have voted on and like little orphan Annie, I don’t feel so bad.
That being said the majority of us spent that last day and a half in our cabins, recovering from all the madness that possessed our souls this week.
I found a small restaurant on in Split and reserved a back room big enough to hold all nine justices and myself. Charlie will be listening in and speaking to me through an ear piece. He said he had a Hail Mary if things went sideways and knowing his demented brain it’s a fifty/fifty shot he’s correct.
That evening at dinner when every one finally gathered, half the room looking like crypt keeps and the other half wearing sunglasses to hide their dilated pupils, we dug into some of the finest Mediterranean food I had ever had. Clams, veal, octopus, lamb, chicken, shrimp, cured ham, mussels, rare olive oil, aged cheese and a live squid. It was a once in a lifetime meal and I spent the entire dinner with Charles annoying voice in my ear asking how it all tastes.
I had the pleasure of sitting at the head of the table with secret service surrounding the entire room looking bored and sad they aren’t getting to eat this delectable feast. I’ll get them fed after we get this shit over with. I text Charlie to make sure the kitchen stays open for Secret Service after the meeting and he said he already did because he planned on eating with them. Love a man who thinks with his belly.
As the plates started to get removed and the deserts and espresso started to be brought out I decided it was time to get off the pot. Jeter at the end of the table looked as if he didn’t know whether to wind his ass or wipe his watch. He was staring out into the abyss, what my fat friends would call the 1000 Island Stare. Only I know its not from consuming too much food, that stare is reminiscent to a person seeing too much trauma to process it. I had the POS right were I needed.
I stand up and clink my class with an ancient looking fork.
The muttering turns to silence.
“Lets all act like adults now shall we? We had a fun fucking week and by the look of all of your faces its time to make like Sadam and hang in there for a few more moments.” That gets one chuckle from Boggs and the others just look confused. I was never one for jokes. More of a point and shoot kinda fella.
“The matter at hand tonight people is this. The number of justices is just fine at nine. No more, no less. Packing helps no one, in fact it hurts 331 million people identifying as Americans. Packing will be seen as partisan and possibly drive a large nail into an already gaping wound that is the USA. None of you want more justices, that is the unpopular truth. None of you want to do any more work than you already have bestowed upon you and funny enough none of you want any less work either, which is what would happen with 18 justices. Let me say this so you all get it clear. Fuck your softball league. It’s a god damn embarrassment to see you crustaceans slink around the diamond pretending to be the uber athletes you are named after. If I had it my way, I’d treat your fun co-ed league like Kuwait and raze it to the oil pits that lie below and let Mother Nature burn it out how she sees fit.”
This last part gets a gasp.
“But I know the importance of physical movement for people your age so I will continue to tolerate this charade you call sports. Finally, this all comes down to you Chief Justice. If you could please stand up and make your case for keeping your chair as el hefe. Justice Jeter, you have the floor.” I say raising my hand for him to rise.
He slowly shoves himself back from the table and gets to his wobbly feet.
“Ladies and gentleman of the court.” Jeter starts like an asshole.
“As you all know I have taken my position as Chief Justice extremely serious and have done so with a humble and understanding nature.”
“Ok let me stop you there.” I say standing up.
Jeter stop and looks at me like I just shit on the table. I walk around and from my pocket I hand everyone two sticks of gum, eighteen total.
“Heres what we are going to do. Every time this asshole says something retarded like “Humble and understanding nature”, you throw in a stick of gum. Chief Justice Jeter, you must then put that stick of gum in your mouth and keep it there. Then and only then you can start your speech again. This will help you be more economical in your statements and give us all the pleasure of not hearing you wax poet for the next three hours.”
I sit back down and now I have all the justices attention, super solider serum or no super solider serum.
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by Mac Wallace.” Jeter begins.
The first stick is thrown in by me.
“President Mac Wallace.” I say.
He sticks the gum in his mouth and chews.
This goes on for exactly six minutes untul every stick of gum is jammed into his old, asshole looking face. Every other word out of his mouth is audible and every third word is intelligible. I let it go for a few more minutes then I shut it down.
“Ok I think it’s time to vote. Rousing speech Justice Jeter, it was very Churchhill-esk. Really got the people goin’.” I say gesturing to the nearly asleep table members.
“Alright, those in favor of packing the court raise your old ass hands”. I say.
Four hands go up, including Jeter’s. Five stay down.
“Great. All those in favor of removing Justice Jeter from the Chief position please raise your old ass hands.” I say.
Four hands go up again. Five remain down, including Justice Jeter.
Oh god dammit.
Enter Hoodie Melo.
“Alright Shooter drop the bomb on him.”
“Justice Jeter.” I say loudly.
“Sichuan Flight 328 - November 2019 - Vile code xcigg35218crv - Hotel Sun Room…” and before I can finish a huge wad of bubble gum is being hurled at my face and I see a blur of little old feet jumping, running and jumping again on the table in front of me. Jeter almost gets there before an agile and slim built secret service agent we call McGregor tackles the relic to the cobble stone floor.
I give it to the old timer, the gum got me square in the forehead. As Jeter was restrained on the ground and escorted outside I made one more announcement.
“I hope you all know what those final words meant that I said to your fueher. Those words were a finely tuned and artistically crafted set of syllables that when spoke into existence can cripple a persons career, legacy, their children and grand children legacy and anyone else who happens to share that last name. Remember. I have that kind of information on each and every one of you.” I say sweating now.
Carew throws a stick of gum of his own and it lands in front of me. The room goes still and finally we all start to giggle. I grab the gum and chew it then fill it with air to form the perfect bubble. Behind that bubble from my POV are eight hands raised in the air. It has been decided, and so it goes.
“Who’s your clean up hitter? The one who hits the heavy keys?” I ask. They all look at Boggs and my eyes go wide.
“No shit?” I say and Boggs shrugs a pair of ancient shoulders.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, your new Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America.” I say gesturing towards the feeble and surprised Wade Boggs.
Applause is admitted from fragile hands.
Charlie
Yacht Week was a success. I got to hang out and drop acid with people who remember WW2 while doing my small patriotic part to keep this great country intact, at least for now.
There is no evidence suggesting Justice Jeter had anything to do with any virus outbreaks but from what I found out later it looks like it was possibly a son of his who flubbed up big time over there in the CCCP. That part makes me sad in a way, knowing a father gave up a seat at the table to protect his son. Kids can be assholes like that though and god knows sooner or later Shooter and I will get our comeupins too.
But not today. Today we fly back to DC in our stealth jet, exhausted and ready to fucking be home. I think we’ll need a vacation to recover from our vacation.
With Jeter taking a hiatus to recover from the multiple broken ribs that McGregor dealt him, I was recruited to play short stop for the over 60 Supreme Court Justice team.
Standing in the dug out under the lights at the small park in some shady suburb of DC, I grab my mitt and sprint off to get into my possion between second and third base, but before I do, I reach back and tug up the hood over my head. Long live Hoodie Melo.