The facts
Conservative U.S. Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito, 76, sat for a rare interview with CBS News that will air on Monday. In the preview clip, Alito told CBS national correspondent Jan Crawford that he thinks about retirement each year, saying, It’s something that someone at my age has to think about. He added that he still believes he can make a valuable contribution, which is why he remains on the bench. When asked about predicting the political climate or a president’s decision on a replacement, Alito said it is too hard to predict … for anybody, especially when you reach a certain age. The interview follows a March hospital visit for dehydration after Alito fell ill at a Federalist Society dinner. He also reflected on the personal toll of the 2022 majority opinion that overturned Roe v. Wade, noting lost friendships and threats, and warned that “very harsh criticism” from political figures could be “quite damaging” to the Court’s reputation.
Our take
Samuel Alito, the Supreme Court’s architect of forced-birth trauma, has a cute little annual tradition. Every year, like a constipated grandfather on a porcelain throne, he strains and wonders whether it’s finally time to get the fuck off the bench. What a profound, soul-searching ritual for a man whose entire contribution is making millions of people’s lives demonstrably worse. Most people reflect on their birthday; this prick reflects on whether his continued presence is still a ‘valuable contribution’ or if he should just go be a miserable bastard in private.
He blames his age, 76. Not the fact that his legacy is a country hemorrhaging rights, lost friendships, and death threats - all things he whined about in the same fucking interview. Boo-fucking-hoo. You spent decades sharpening the knife, you twisted cunt, and now you’re sad the handle is slippery? You unleashed the hounds and you’re upset some people barked?
The real punchline is his admission that he can’t predict the political winds for a replacement. Translation: the old fuck is terrified that if he retires under a Democratic president, someone might undo a fraction of his life’s work of turning the Constitution into a medieval chastity belt. So he’ll keep his saggy, entitled ass in that robe, doing his annual ‘should I or shouldn’t I’ pantomime - a performance of vanity so brittle you could shatter it with a whisper.
It’s the ultimate grift. He gets to play the persecuted, principled oracle while holding the country hostage to his yearly geriatric crisis. He even got dehydrated at a Federalist Society dinner - a fitting metaphor for a career spent sucking the life out of everything and then complaining of thirst. Maybe next year he can contemplate whether he’s also too old to stop being a duplicitous, legacy-obsessed dickhead. Spoiler: the answer is no.
He should die there, confused and bitter, wondering what went wrong as the lights go out. It’s what he deserves. Fuck him and his annual retirement thoughts. The only valuable contribution left is the sound of a door closing behind him for good. But he won’t. The prick loves the smell of his own farts too much. Happy contemplating, asshole.
