Brett Kavanaugh has a soul made of Naugahyde.

Brett Kavanaugh smiled as he sat down in the adjacent waiting room just before the confirmational hearings for his Supreme Court seat would begin. Content and self secure he took a sip of the latte that one of his lackey’s had fetched for him from the Starbucks across the street. An attendant opened the door on the far side of the room and told the judge that they would be ready for him a few minutes. Asked if he needed anything, Brett smiled and said no thank you. 

Brett closed his eyes and began to meditate on the last bit pornography that he had watched earlier this morning before leaving the house. Brett’s wife Ashely had already left the house, having kissed her husband on the forehead and wishing him good luck. Her lesbian lover had texted her that morning and insisted that they meet at the IHOP before going to their usual spot where they would scissor into the early afternoon before Ashely had to help at the church.

Brett breathed in and out, timing his breathing to the rhythm of the penetrations of all the penises that he had scanned through that morning. He felt flush but relaxed. He knew that the rest of his life and any sense of self control was in reach. To be confirmed to the Supreme Court would mean that all of the deviance that he had accumulated over the course of his career would be squashed. He would be untouchable. Guaranteed as a power player for the rest of his life he knew that destiny was on his side.

The door leading to the conformation chamber opened and Satan poked his head in, “Hey Brett, you little bitch, don’t fuck this shit up. we are all counting on you.” The door closed, only to quickly re-open, as Jesus himself floated across the floor, taking Brett by the hand, elevating him out of the expanded polyvinyl chloride plastic coating of the naugahyde seat and through escorting him into the chamber where the lions lay waiting.