Dear Mr. President nah, too formal.
Yo, POTUS ... hmm, might have to spell that one out for him.
If you want to reach the man, you have to go to the source.
Now we’re talking, sort of. Look, I might be a little late throwing my tinfoil hat into the ring, but even though you said this week that you’d narrowed down your choices to fill ol’ Tony Kennedy’s seat on the Supremes to jurists who don’t preside over TV courtrooms — which eliminated Judge Judy, Judge Joe Brown and Judge Reinhold — hear me out.
“I think I have it down to four people,” you told the Enemies of the American People in the press pool aboard Air Trump One. “And I think of the four people, I have it down to three. Or two.”
Soooo you’re saying there’s a chance.
I mean, while you’re not exactly sliding Cindy Birdsong into Florence Ballard’s seat here — if you get infatuated with a candidate, let’s not get too hasty. Remember you can’t hurry love.
If the chamber door’s still open a crack consider what you’d get by putting me in a black robe.
(My current robe, by the way, is right up your alley — an older, dingy, faded-white, wrinkled-chamois thing that would fit in nicely on a court mostly filled with older, dingy, off-white, wrinkled-chamois things.)
But beneath my robe you’d see . ummm, what I mean is, you’d be hard-pressed to find a candidate for the Supremes that has my skill set. I’m tanned. I’m rested. I’m ready.
No, wait, that’s what they said about Nixon in 1988. You remember ’88, #? (Can I call you hashtag?) It was 30 years ago that you told the most powerful person in America — Oprah — that if you were to run for president, you’d win.
Now, you’ve got the power, and Oprah is telling those who want her to challenge you that she wouldn’t survive a presidential run.
OK, enough about Oprah (there can never be enough said about you, #) I’m supposedly here to convince you why I have the legal and linguistic acumen to meet the high standards set by your administration.
Let’s start with the obvious: I’m an aging, white, straight, American male so I’m uniquely qualified to rule on 1) what women should do with their bodies; b) who can be stopped from serving in the military; and 3) which countries we’ll accept troubled souls from so we won’t seem petty and they don’t have to live like a refugee.
In fact, I have no problem passing judg(e)ment. At this stage of life, it’s one of the two things that I pass most often.
Speaking of being long-winded, I understand that it’s the role of a SCOTUS justice to write lengthy, prosaic opinions that will stand the test of time and be referred to by law students, legal scholars and the prosecuting attorneys on every branch of the “Law & Order” family tree — although, for me, the true legal mastermind was Perry Mason, because who didn’t love watching him make mincemeat of defenseless D.A. Hamilton Burger (and just how did Erle Stanley Gardner get away with calling him “Ham Burger,” anyway) and wish that Perry could have gone head-to-head with Jack McCoy over the sale of wedding cakes instead of just figuring out which secondary character seen in the first 10 minutes was the real killer for which there might be a dramatic summation, but no need for a meandering but firm opinion the type of which I’d be expected to file as a member of the court.
I think I could handle that.
Ask my wife; she’ll tell you that once she makes up my mind, there’s nothing that can be done to change it — unless she changes her mind, and even then I have to get assurances of no changies-back before I know where I stand on a issue.
So, if I were to get your nod, I’d know how to succeed in this judicial business without really trying. Like a good company man, I’ll play it the company way; executive branch policy is by me OK. Whatever the White House tells me, that I’ll do. Whatever the hashtag may think, I’ll think so, too.
No, wait I’m having high school musical flashbacks that’s the Frump company way.
I know it’s late in the game — and FLOTUS likely already has made up your mind — but please consider my candidacy. Now that coffee has been shown to increase longevity, I should be good for another 40-50 years of sitting on the throne err, the bench.
Seriously, like that middle-(e) I dropped into judgment, my being on the court would be just another case of people winding up in positions where they have no business being.
And if there’s anyone who can relate to that
Mail Tribune senior designer Robert Galvin, firstname.lastname@example.org, makes all important decisions with the help of an Executive Decision Maker from Radio Shack.