The Barnyard

“Everybody has to buy food sooner or later. Therefore, you can make people buy broccoli.” -Antonin Scalia, during oral arguments before the Supreme Court over the Affordable Care Act.

Perusing the wares at the Dupont Circle Farmer’s Market this weekend, City Paper came upon a most curious document: the diary of U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts. We thought it might give some insight into the real reasoning behind his surprising ruling about the Affordable Care Act, and we were right . . .

March 28, 2012 I was set to shoot down this fucking Obamacare, even before arguments began. I fucking hate that dude. Thinks he’s so cool, with those posters and the socialism. But now I’m wavering. I don’t know what to do. It’s the damned broccoli thing again. I hate him, I hate Congress, I even hate my senile old colleagues. The only two loves in my life are the legacy of the court, and broccoli.

My fetish, not even known to the readers of that homo-trash Savage Love: I’m a broccolophile. I’ll never forget my sexual awakening, obsessing over the way all of those little green penises grew off of the long stalk. Perhaps one day, I thought, if I rub it hard enough, my penis will sprout thousands of little penises, each a center of pleasure. I’ll never forget that first orgasm thinking about it. Or how Shannon, my first girl love, dumped me when I asked if I could penetrate her with broccoli. Or how I penetrated myself after she left. It was the best and worst night of my life.

April 15, 2012 Tax Day. But instead of frolicking at a Tea Party in colonial garb, I wrestle with the angels of my better nature. I don’t want Americans to be forced to buy insurance. But I do, in fact, want all Americans to be forced to buy broccoli. Imagine if the amber waves of grain were replaced with the fruit of Venus, the vegetable of heaven. Then, and only then, could America be great again. It’s the true green revolution.

That fat bastard Scalia needs to eat more broccoli. And Kagan would be a new woman if she used it to exercise her kegel muscles; even that troll seems sexy if you imagine broccoli between her legs. All these farting old fuckers could use it. Even now, thinking of it, I’m thankful I have my long black robe on to conceal the effect. I want to vote with my party and my ideology, but I feel increasingly that I will vote with my heart.

May 30, 2012 This obsession must stop. Take your hand out of your robe. No more. Think about the legacy of the court. Imagine if the great Justice Jay or Holmes had been outed as a fruit-fucker. This court would be a much different place. But perhaps the country would be better too. If I play it right, I know I can shape the U.S. into a conservative, small-government, broccoli-loving republic. That chain-smoking POTUS will be dead, and I will still be rubbing broccoli on my SCOTUS.

June 25, 2012 Pretty sure Scalia’s onto me. He came by today. “Just to chat,” he said. He could never understand. Like most conservatives, he hates vegetables. They’re too green. Clarence might get it—he had that whole thing with Coke cans.

“Come on, you lily-livered, pansy-ass little shit,” Scalia roared. “Are you with us or against us?”

“Sir,” I told him. “I will preside over this Court long after you are dead. You have been able to choose one president already—”

“The president who chose you! Remember that, you broccoli fucker!”

I almost broke down. Did he know? I had to assume it was just a colloquialism, but I could feel myself grow tumescent.

“It’s not called the Scalia Court, you fucking second-rate potato face. It is the goddamned Roberts Court. Remember that, you fat fuck.”

“You vote against us, and I will bring the Rumsfeld Robot ™ out of retirement to kill you,” he said. “You remember that.”

He stormed out. But I had an idea. I could save face with Scalia and Thomas and Kennedy (fuck Alito) by saying, if I vote with the Liberals, then I can write the decision, and thus limit the scope of federal power in the long run. Yes, the long game. Everyone will have to buy broccoli.

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