A short and bitter fiction of the true tale behind the doors of the Chief Justice
The receptionist knocked at the Chief Justice's door very quietly, peering nervously into the chambers to see if his employer was busy or otherwise occupied.
"What!" the Chief Justice boomed without turning away from his desk. "Why are you bothering me? You know the drill around here!"
His gaze locked on the floor at his feet, the office aide sheepishly mumbled "I'm sorry to bother you, sir. Mr. Ezra Baggadough and Mr. Fetid Scurvy are here again. They said they need to see you right away."
"Do they have an appointment? There's nothing on my schedule." The Chief Justice grumbled back.
"They're, uh, very insistent, sir. They seem upset." The aide offered sheepishly.
"Oh, alright. Show them in." Roberts snapped, rising from his chair.
A moment later an entourage from the outer office made its way through the Chief Justice's doorway. At the front of the procession were two poorly disguised men in dark sun glasses dressed as Arabs. Following closely behind this pair of cranky billionaires were the now almost hysterically nervous receptionist and an aging, over weight Federal guard. The guard's face was puzzled, alert and suspicious.
Chief Justice Roberts, turning abruptly toward his guests, waved his hand, silently dismissing his staff. "Leave us and close the door behind you."
The "Arab" robes were quickly set aside along with the sun glasses, revealing two very rotund men in their late middle age, both over dressed in expensive suits. These were two of the grotesque "success stories" which had emerged during the W's autocracy. Now, facing the timid restoration of democracy in the Congress, they found themselves painfully addicted to the rush of their ill gotten fortunes, yet frighteningly unable to compete in a more open economy.
The Chief Justice, still piqued by the sudden interruption, attempted to be a bit more social. "Mr. Baggadough and Mr. Scurvy. Why are you wearing those robes?"
Mr. Scurvy breathlessly answered, "We 'guised ersevs so's none of them libberel photographers culd snap a pitcher o' us commin' in here ta see ya."
"So what's so important? I thought we addressed everything in our, ah, last meeting." the Chief Justice answered.
Mr. Baggadough, obviously upset, leaned forward, locking his eyes on their host. "We want ya to stop this damned heth kyar thang afor it gets out'ta hand, thet's whut. Whah, them Congrissmen is goin' suck us drah, yew hear?" Drawing his breath, he repeated emphatically, "They's tri'an ta suck us drah!"
Mr. Scurvy quickly joined in, "Yew got'ta dew somthun! Them poor people's jest 'lectin' all sorts of commies 'n passin laws 'n stuff. Every tahm they turn 'round, they's suckin' more cash raht out'ta our, uh, yew know, hard earned profits."
Baggadough added yet another of his own complaints, "Whah, we's jest barely squeakin' bah on a skimpy lil' 30% profit from Scurvy Baggadough Gigantus Health Inshoorance Corpyeration's, uh, hard earned premium money! Yew got'ta stop 'em!"
The Chief Justice sighed patiently, then attempted to calm his guests. "I told you last time that the Supreme Court can't really do much about your problem. What you're facing is a matter for the Senate. Haven't you taken steps to put the right people in there? That's the way you get something like this taken care of."
Baggadough exploded. "Look here, college boy! Us 'n ahr friends greased the wheels on thet outfit mahtily to git your nomination 'aproov'd, yew know, t' git them snakes in thu Senate ta look thu otha way 'bout thet conflict of interest bizness. Granted, they was 'publicans suckin' thu toes o' thet Connettikut idiot in thu Whaht Hass, but all o' thet ain't heppin us t'all raht now! Not'tall! We want 'ya ta dew somthun!"
Pausing for a moment, the Chief Justice finally answered thoughtfully, "Well, there is one thing I can do to help. I can throw this latest decision so folks like you will be able to spend all you want to un-elect those Senators who are making such a problem for you. Would that satisfy you? Could you two work with something like that?"
Almost in unison, the two guests chimed in, "Wahll, thet maht hep us out. Mebbe we culd jest throw a coupl'a 'lections 'n set the odds back 'n favor fer real 'mericans, yew know, fer honest, hard working folk -- lahk us."
Mr. Scurvy, now somewhat more relaxed, added, "D'yew thank we shuld git back into them Arab outfits 'fore we walk out'ta here? We cain't be too keerful. No siree! Wuldn't want them poor people t'know who was a screwin' with thar 'lections"
MeanMesa says to the Supreme Court: "Thanks a lot. It isn't like we don't have anything else to do beside fiddle around with crap like this..."