Hung Jury

What a week in the news! The New York Times reported that people are naming their kids after vampires, studies show that babies know right from wrong—and an alleged lesbian has been nominated to the US Supreme Court.

Now, I’d love to focus on evil babies, but this stupid column is about gays, so let’s spend the next 500 words fantasizing about having one of our own on the court.

Before we begin, a qualification: Nominee Elena Kagan has not come out as a lesbian. But where there’s smoke…and a picture of you playing softball. And that haircut. And the pearls. I mean, come on. Only high-powered lesbians and former First Lady Barbara Bush wear pearls these days.

Kagan isn’t my physical type. I prefer the suburban-mom-gone-terribly-wrong look, but you gotta work with what you got.

Picture this: Famed constitutional attorney JLo Parello appears before the bench to argue the case of declaring Doris Day a national treasure—the only political issue I have any interest in getting behind these days.

So, on my big day, I approach the bench, and kick things off by making a few wry comments about a hung jury, because how are you not going to make that comment?

It will make Justice Clarence Thomas laugh really hard, and he’ll pee his robe.

Next, I’ll present a cheesecake image of Day in a bathing costume, circa 1945. While the other justices are busy demanding that I tell them what the hell I’m doing, and ordering the bailiff to toss me out of the court, Kagan will raise her hand to quiet them.

“Go on, counselor,” she’ll say.

I’ll nod with respect, and proceed to the video portion of the show. Day will appear in blue chiffon, singing “Shaking the Blues Away.” Kagan will tap her judge hammer in time to the number. I’ll peek under the desk, and notice Justice Ruth Ginsberg tapping her toes.

Then, I’ll bring in my first witness, Dina Martina, one of my favorite drag queens.

“Can you testify to the character of Ms. Day?” I’ll ask.

“She was the biggest slut in Hollywood. She went down on everything but the
Titanic,” Dina will answer.

Thomas will pee his robe again.

At this point, Justice Antonin Scalia and that really pale judge whose name I always forget—the one who had a hissy fit at the State of the Union when Obama called the Supremes idiots—will stand up, demanding I make a case, or get the hell out of their precious court.

So, that’s when I’ll bring in the dogs. The court will be flooded with pups. As they parade in, I’ll remind the justices of all the stray dogs Day has rescued, and how happy she has been since she gave up men for pets.

Kagan will interrupt me to talk about her cats. She’ll pull out pictures, and pass them to Justice Sonya Sotomayor, who will coo, then punch Chief Justice John Roberts in the face when he tries to kick a dog that is lifting his leg on him.

When one of the dogs jumps in Kagan’s lap, and licks her lips, I’ll wink, and say, “Well, look who’s a good kisser.” She’ll blush, and unzip her robe a bit.

In closing, I’ll remind the court that “Everybody Loves a Lover” (one of Day’s most famous songs), and rest my case.

As the other justices chase the pups out of the court, and debate whether Day’s having dated Ronald Reagan once is relevant to the case, Kagan will nod knowingly in my direction, and I’ll know that I won.

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