Dear Justice Ginsburg,
I feel your pain. We all do. For the better part of the last year, I’ve had a growing contempt for Donald Trump that borders on being all-consuming. I write a newsletter that once aimed to steer clear of direct partisan politics. Trump has washed away that ethical line in the sand with a Tsunami-like force (except Tsunamis don’t constantly tweet about how much its victims love it).
I mean he lies constantly and he can’t go a day without a remarkably stupid, naive, or offensive tweet that would sink any other candidate — and none of his supporters care (other than to be completely jacked). How can we look away from that?
I used to share Facebook photos of my two beagle puppies. Now I share Facebook posts with links to my Medium essays in which I detail my contempt for Donald Trump.
I used to Tweet about Apple’s keynotes and the epic witticisms I heard from my 7 year-old daughter. According to analysis of my most recent thousand tweets, Trump is my second-most commonly used word (falling between I and Me).
My dad often calls me after 10pm. When I see his number come up, I immediately worry that there must be an emergency. But then I pick up and and hear an agitated voice on the other side: “I just vondered vhat you thought of Trump’s speech. He just vhants the attention.” My dad and I used to talk about the same things as any other average father-son duo (the stock market, antisemitism, and regularity). But now that’s all changed. Because no one talks to anyone about anything other than Donald Trump. And the fact that he is, as you stated, a “faker” (and if I may be so bold as to add, “a complete piece of shit.”)
My wife has begged and demanded that I promise never to write another word about that buffoon Donald Trump. And I love her. And I’m writing this piece write now. Trump is destroying the family unit.
So yes, while it’s technically true that a Supreme Court Justice should avoid publicly criticizing a political candidate, anyone in their right mind completely understands why you couldn’t resist the urge. Spoiler alert: None of us can. We’re too scared-pissed to stop.
So yes, you’re out of order! I’m out of order! The whole election is out of order! Our country is out of order. (Or at least in Tilt mode.)
It’s like that moment in War Games when the computer asks, “Shall we play a game?” And you know that playing the game will probably take us to the precipice of Globothermal Nuclear war. But, hey, you really want to play.
In admitting my obsession, I’m admitting that Trump’s getting the very something he really wants out of us. And that pains me. But I can’t stop. He makes me sick like no one else. And not sharing that feeling would be like constantly puking in my mouth. Madame Justice, I submit to the court that we go projectile.
So let it go. Break with precedent. We’ve got your back. This is the Notorious RBG vs a Loquacious P.O.S.
If I sound like an extremist, it’s only because I’m writing this under the influence … the influence of Donald Trump. See, the first step is admitting you have a problem. The next step is talking some more trash talk about Donald Trump.