"Harriet Miers walks into the Senate Judiciary Committee's confirmation hearings. Arlen Specter asks her, "Ms. Miers, how would you describe your approach to interpreting the Constitution?”
Miers, visibly excited, says, “I’m glad you asked. My approach is really quite interesting. I think you’ll like it.”
“Well then,” Specter says. “Let’s hear it.”
Miers launches into an explanation: “Well, first thing I do is find a fairly quiet room with a clean desk. I put the Constitution on one side of the desk, and a Bible on the other. I then completely disrobe, as to be completely unfettered for the job at hand.”
“Uh, Ms. Miers, I’m not sure that—”
“I then take the Constitution and stick it all the way up my ass. This is fairly difficult, because I like to use a large, leather-bound version, but I’ve gotten much better at it. It’s usually just the gold-plated index tabs that hurt.”
“Ms. Miers, you realize that we’re on C-SPAN right now....”
“Then, once the Constitution is safely hidden in my rectum, I bring my cat—Oscar—into the room, and begin feeding him pages of the Bible. He mostly likes the New Testament. Of course, since the Bible I use is printed on a 15% cotton-fiber stock, Oscar can only keep it down for so long. But when he finally coughs up the Bible-laden hairball, the pages have been reduced to a fine paste that it is somehow perfectly suited for use as decorative body paint.”
“I really think we should take a break now, Ms. Miers.”
“Wait just a moment. So now that I have this kitty-puke body paint, I’m finally ready for the midget to come in.”
“Ms. Miers—”
“I’m sorry, little person. The little person takes the cat-vomit paint, and begins transcribing my thoughts on the facts of the case in longhand, backwards, using, for parchment, my glorious, naked body, and using, for a quill, his glorious—”
“Would somebody get a paramedic in here? I think Feinstein just fainted!”
“Now, while the anatomically-gifted dwarf is dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s, I take a moment to forcibly eject the Constitution from my cavity. I then beat the cat to death with it—that little fucker just ate my Bible, after all—skin his corpse, and spread it out onto the desk. I then proceed to pleasure the Sex Gnome with the Constitution, all the while rolling my body across the desk, which transfers a now-readable version of the transcription onto the spread-out cat’s fur. I then wrap myself in this fabulous cloak, borrow a quarter from my Magnificent Porn Pygmy, and flip it into the air. If it lands on heads, I donate the cloak to charity, marry the little guy, and decide for the appellant on moral grounds. If it lands on tails, I donate the Oompa Loompa to charity, have myself declared legally married to the Cat-Skin-and-Puke Blanket, and decide for the appellee on a technicality.”
At this point, Feinstein has fainted, Kennedy has had three heart attacks, and Specter looks as if he’s just vomited down his suit pants, which, in fact, he has. “That’s quite a judicial philosophy you have there, Ms. Miers,” he says. “What do you call it?”
Miers jumps up from her seat, gives a cute little wave of her hands and says:
“Originalism!”
http://wingsandvodka.blogs.com/blog/..._promised.html
