Breaking Nothingburger: Brett Kavanaugh TPed A House In 7th Grade!

h/t Mike at Cold Fury

On the heels of some other horrible revelations about the monster nominated to SCOTUS, we've just come up with this:

"It was a Saturday. Late spring. I work the daywatch in the Malicious Mischief and Stolen Bicycle Division of East Mayberry. My partner is Frank Gannon. The boss is Captain Crunch. My name is Friday. I carry a badge...

We'd just cracked an overdue library book ring at the local grade school when the call came in. Greg Martin's house, at 148 West Crabapple Street was the kind of idyllic neighborhood parents want to raise their kids in. Until juvenile vandalism destroys the peace in suburbia. I've been doing this twenty years, and it still turns my stomach.

When we pulled up at 10:42 AM, the evidence team was already gathering samples, and Latent Prints was dusting the entire lot.

"Anything, Jimmy?"

"No chance, Joe. There was dew last night, and this ultra-absorbent stuff blurs the prints. We may be able to get a clean index finger if they ding-dong-ditched the doorbell, but otherwise, we've got nothing."

Since the doorbell had already been dusted, Frank and I rang the bell. We questioned the homeowner, who said she hadn't heard a thing. We took her statement, then we split up to canvas the neighborhood.

Next door down, we struck the jackpot.

At the Rottencrotch's house, we found an eyewitness. Little Suzy had recognized one of her classmates.

"It was those football guys!" she exclaimed. "I saw their bicycles, and I recognized one of them. It was Brett Kavanaugh and some other boys from the school. I'd recognize that blue Schwinn anywhere!"

A call to Maple Street Middle School confirmed the address of the suspect, Brett Kavanaugh. Before questioning the suspect, we got some background at the school. Kavanaugh was a model student, but things started to come unglued when we got to Maisy Walters. She'd been slinging hash at the cafeteria for 32 years, and she confirmed the criminal bent of the suspect.

"Many's the time I've seen him sneaking his broccoli into his lap napkin 'stead of eatin' it. He throws his beets away too, after I slaved over those pots all morning. Just terrible. And once, he was laughing, and I seen him shoot milk out his nose all over the table. The nerve of that boy. Anybody won't eat broccoli probably kicks puppies too. I bet he even teases his sister. What's the world coming too, Sergeant?"

I could only shake my head in disgust at this unfolding chain of criminal behavior.

We left Maple Street School, and approached the suspect's residence. We found Brett at home doing his homework. With his mother present, we began to question him. I noticed his left shoe wasn't laced the same as his right one, his wastebasket was overflowing, there was a dirty t-shirt still not completely in the clothes hamper, his "g" and "j"s were lazily penned, and he'd misspelled "parliament" in his homework essay, leaving out the "i". Just the sort of giveaway to all sorts of juvenile delinquency, if we could get him to crack.

After rubber hoses and thumbscrews, and some serious threats of being grounded for a week with no supper, and no TV, he broke.

"Yeah, it was me, and Steve, and Tim. Greg was being a jerk all week in school, and he was always complaining he was bored, so we decided to liven things up. Steve and me bought the toilet paper, then we both went over to Tim's house. The Martins don't have a dog, so we just waited until they were watching WKRP In Cincinatti, and we knew we had half an hour to go to town on his place. I know it was messed up, but we were all giggling as we were throwing those XL rolls over the mulberry tree. That stuff'll be up there for days, man!"

"Is that all son?"

"Well, I teased my sister last week, I forgot to walk the dog and he peed all over the garage in the corner, sometimes I stick my gum on the bottom of my desk at school, I don't like broccoli, and last week I told Mr. Andrews in social studies that President Carter is a pussy jerk for not gettin' those hostages out of the embassy! And I don't care who knows it!"

I'd had a bellyful of his adolescent rage, so I unloaded on him.

"You probably think that was a great prank, son, but what about all those hard working lumberjacks sawing trees down all day, and all the guys who've lost fingers working at the paper mill, just so you and your friends can squander 75 cents apiece on a few six packs of toilet paper? Do you think paper grows on trees??
And what about the neighbors? They'll probably make fun of Greg's parents too, and they'll have to leave their lights on at night wondering if you and your crew are coming back to do their houses, but you and your buddies never think of the consequences when you're out being hooligans. What about the neighborhood dogs and cats that'll pull that stuff down and spread it all over? All those people raking and plucking tissue out of the begonias and chrysanthemums, just so some punks can have a good laugh. And the landfills will get filled up too. You wasted, what...? Twenty-four, maybe thirty rolls?
And instead of doing your homework, and sitting at home and watching TV, all those commercials and programs will go unwatched, because you weren't at home to do it. And while you increased profits for Charmin, that's money you won't have for college, getting a good house, shopping for necessities for your own kids someday, and for paying your taxes to Uncle Sam, no matter who's president. Yessir, your little caper just about undermines everything the US of A stands for, but you never thought about that, did you, boy?"

He was crying in a heap on the floor, so I left him with one final thought.

"And your mother slaves away over a hot stove every evening to give you a balanced diet; so how about from now on, you eat your vegetables, son? And ALL of them, not just the ones you like. Instead of destroying this great country that grown-ups have built, just to hand down to you in a few more years? Is that so much to ask??"

His mother pleaded with us.
"We've tried, Sergeant. He's getting straight As, he's in the Boy Scouts, and he eats his corn and peas, but he just hates broccoli. What's a mother to do?!"

"I don't know, ma'am. I just don't know."

On June 7th, in the Superior Court of Dad's den, Brett Kavanaugh was sentenced to two weeks mowing lawns in the neighborhood for free, a stern finger-wagging, and having to take his friends over to Greg Martin's house to clean up the mess. They never did get all the tissue out of the top of that mulberry tree. And he still won't eat his broccoli.

- 30 -

Thank heavens the Democrats and their full-time pubic relations wing at ABCNNBCBS are out hounding the bushes from hell to breakfast to uncover the true temperament of this man, before it's too late, and we're stuck with him on the Supreme Court until he's as old as Ruth Vader Ginsburg.

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