I may have told them that when I was a naive 17-year-old who didn’t realize that I’d, like, have to be a lawyer then in order to pay off my $100,000 of debt, and I may have never changed it even after my mother helpfully threw things at my head until I realized that I DON’T WANT TO BE LAWYER.
(She totally did not do anything of the sort. When I would have bimonthly meltdowns about what graduate school track to pursue, she would very helpfully place a pillow under my head so that the banging wouldn’t hurt my little confused skull. And then she’s tell me that she had, in fact, gone to law school. And she had, in fact, been an attorney. And I would, in fact, want to kill myself. I finally started listening to her.)
Anyway. Now that Souter has decided to go hang out in the woods with his
boyfriend dog, there is a Supreme Court opening. And I would love to fill it.
So. President Obama. I know we haven’t exactly been on fantastic terms for the past hundred days. I may have had to get drunk the night you were elected and maybe said some things to my sister I regret deeply. But you could totally appoint me! I’m cute, and personable. The Senate Committee would probably let me through (meh, at least I won’t swear at them in a Sicilian dialect like Scalia).
Also, I kind of feel like there should be a total turncoat appointed. Because it would be major judicial poetic justice. Ahh. My favorite kind.