Today I hope John Roberts awoke with a sore jaw because all the small bad things that have been happening to him every day for the last couple of months are cumulatively starting to overwhelm him with cortisol and he has begun to grind his teeth at night, and later today he learns that the grinding has made his teeth super sensitive and how he learns this is that he sips a cold drink and experiences a sharp jab of pain right through his skull and also his jaw keeps clicking in a weird way.
Today I hope that John Roberts remembers that he completely forgot about what would have been Antonin Scalia's 90th birthday last month, and in contrition and fondness he decides to try mortification of the flesh in Scalia's honor and so he digs out the cilice Scalia once gave him to celebrate Josemaría Escrivá's birthday and straps it tightly around his upper thigh under his slacks, with the points digging painfully into the soft skin there, but he doesn't realize that Opus Dei associates are only supposed to wear the punishment device two hours a day and instead John wears it all day and that night when he finally goes to take it off it's bled in several places and scabbed itself into his skin and hurts and bleeds more when he pulls it loose and he wipes the whole area with alcohol for safety which also hurts like hell and wraps it in gauze and quickly pulls on his PJs so his wife won't see and honestly he doesn't feel any closer to God at all. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2026/apr/06/opus-dei-gareth-gore-pope-leo
This morning for breakfast I hope John Roberts' wife makes him grits (which he loathes) and overcooked scrambled eggs (which make him nauseated), and now he's *extra* sad he dropped yesterday's delicious breakfast leftovers on the sidewalk.
I hope that on his way to work today John Roberts stops at a new coffee place for a medium latte with one sugar but when the girl (?) with three nose rings hands him his cup he doesn't notice that it has "Omar" written on the side and he's already driven away before he takes his first sip and realizes what she (?) gave him was unsweetened black tea and he doesn't like black tea because to him it tastes like dirt and the tannins give him an upset stomach.
I hope today in front of the Supreme Court building a protester throws a rubber dildo at John Roberts like folks elsewhere are doing to ICE and it bounces off the building's marble cladding and lands right at his feet and ofc he doesn't want to touch it but also he doesn't want to just leave it lying there sullying the dignity of the Court and because he's an orderly person he decides to do the right thing and dispose of it and the instant he bends over and has it in his hand yep, you guessed it, 163 different protesters and tourists all take and post photos of the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court with his butt stuck out holding a dildo and before he even reaches his chambers everyone has seen it and his law clerks are snickering and he feels gullible and foolish so he decides maybe he can deflect some of his embarrassment with more humor so he puts it in Clarence Thomas's inbox, but Clarence doesn't think that's funny either and chews him out so John's whole day is basically shot. https://www.closertotheedge.net/p/the-dildo-distribution-delegation
Today I hope several of the justices go out for lunch to a little restaurant serving South American food and the meal includes a plate of deep fried savory meat pies that John Roberts finds delicious and praises several times out loud except he calls them empañadas, carefully rolling the tilde ~ to show he's erudite, instead of empanadas, which they're actually called, until finally Sonia Sotomayor corrects him in front of everyone, and then he's embarrassed.
I hope this morning John Roberts has a meeting somewhere other than the Supreme Court building and traffic is bad and at one point he has to brake so suddenly that he spits coffee onto the front of his silk tie (dry clean only) and white shirt, and then he has trouble finding parking, and when he finally arrives disheveled at the meeting host's offices he can see that the glass-walled conference room is empty and then the receptionist looks up and says, "but sir, that meeting is by Zoom, and they've already started."
I hope today all the U.S. Supreme Court justices had a conference and John Roberts was just trying to get through it efficiently but Clarence Thomas kept derailing the conversation by perseverating about the cost of RV repairs and the unavailability of a type of hose connector needed to supply the obscure brand of Latvian plumbing fixtures he got a great deal on on Facebook Marketplace, and the meeting didn't wrap up until over an hour after it was scheduled to.
I hope today John Roberts has trouble getting his tie tied correctly for some reason so that he spends 10 minutes just standing in front of the mirror tying and re-tying it because it keeps coming out too short or too long and when he finally gets the length right the knot lands at a slightly too narrow part of the tie so it comes out sort of small and the dimple is a little to the side and then all day it just keeps twisting and twisting until the knot is sort of sideways and it just looks like he's some kid who's never tied a tie before and he stops thinking about it eventually because he can't see it but everyone else in his chambers notices and thinks that despite his two Harvard degrees maybe he is not as sophisticated as they thought he was.
This morning I hope John Roberts goes out to a really good breakfast diner with nice waitresses and the food is delicious and the portions are *really* large so he puts two-thirds of his plate into a to go box to enjoy later and in general it feels like the first really good day he's had since, what, January? and then as he's walking back out to his car he stumbles for no reason besides inattention and drops his to-go clamshell which pops open and the French toast and bacon and flimsy little container of real maple syrup all just smear across the sidewalk and instead of being happy today he becomes sad again.
Today I hope that John Roberts decides to get out the stepladder and clean that one leaf-filled gutter over the garage and he doesn't fall or anything but as he scoops the half-decayed leaves out of the gutter he tosses them onto the driveway below and when he's done with the first section he climbs back down to move the ladder over a few feet and when he has one foot on the bottom rung he puts the other one on the ground covered with leaves and that foot slips out so his legs straddle and he pulls his groin painfully and also the other foot slips awkwardly between the rungs which scrapes his shin all the way up and as he's lying on the ground the ladder topples comedically over on top of him so when he finally extricates himself and hobbles into the house he's bleeding from his shin and also his forehead where the falling ladder hit him and when he gets inside some of his blood drips onto the entryway and then he feels even worse because he knows his wife is going to scold him for being clumsy and making a mess.
Today I hope that when John Roberts's wife awakens he's already up and because it's #Easter he says sincerely and joyfully, "Good morning! He is Risen!" and she looks pointedly at his pajamas crotch and replies dolefully, "at least someone is," and then they go to church and the scabbed shin scrape he received yesterday makes it painful every time he needs to kneel on the tilt-down genuflexorium, which let's be honest Catholic services require worshippers to do a lot.
Today I hope John Roberts is starting to wonder whether he made the right decision spending his spare time last weekend working to clear the way for Steve Bannon's conviction to be reversed on Trump's whim instead of what he really wanted to do, which is just hang out following updates about the Artemis mission because when he was young Apollo really was important to him.
I hope that this morning John Roberts chose shoes he hasn't worn in a while that are a little narrow in the toe box, and also that his left fourth toenail has a sharp corner that he should have rounded off last time he trimmed them and all day long that toenail corner just grinds into the third toe next to it so that by the end of the day he actually has an open sore there that's annoying and makes him limp.
I hope nothing bad whatsoever happens to John Roberts today!
Ha ha April fools no seriously I actually hope he slips on a banana peel and breaks his elbow and has to be taken to the emergency department and today's oral argument on birthright citizenship has to be rescheduled for sometime in the next term of court and Trump's illegal order remains stayed until then.
I hope that this morning, as he transitioned through that productive, liminal state halfway between sleeping and waking, John Roberts was struck with the unpromped insight that all his success as a student and lawyer was born of a pathological need to please his overdemanding, vicariously ambitious father, and that he stumbles through the rest of the day with a surprisingly strong, even pathetic feeling of sadness that he actually should have been a professional sailor or large animal vet.
I hope today John Roberts realizes that Clarence Thomas and Samuel Alito probably will retire before the end of T's term so T can attempt to name their replacements the way Obama never got to because RBG was too stubborn, and that that makes him sad because them leaving literally will eliminate half of the friendships he's had in his entire miserable life.
I hope that this morning John Roberts awakens pleasantly horny and happy because Saturday mornings traditionally are when he and his wife make love and then she makes her special super-hot, super-fluffy waffles, and before he even opens his eyes he extends a gently probing foot to touch her lovely warm body and initiate a cuddle but his foot finds only a cold empty bed, and then he gets up and wanders downstairs to a cold empty kitchen because his wife is at a #NoKings protest, and she didn't even set up the coffeemaker for him.
I hope that last night John Roberts' wife didn't come home from yesterday's #NoKings protest until 3:00 a.m., and that when John awoke and saw her with her clothes rumpled, her hair disheveled, and her makeup smeared, he exclaimed, oh my God, did the protest turn violent?and she answered icily, my God, could you be more naive? and headed for the shower.
I hope that last night John Roberts had insomnia and couldn't fall asleep until 6 a.m. and then his alarm went off at 6:30, and he's pretty sure the "decaf" his wife served after dinner accidentally wasn't decaf, and then he remembers that (unusually for her) she had Sleepytime tea instead of coffee, and now he's wondering whether it was really accidental.
I hope that when John Roberts got home from work tonight, he was juggling his briefcase and a couple loose books and a bottle of wine someone gave him and managed to awkwardly get his right middle finger in the way as he slammed the heavy door of his Mercedes and it damn near broke it and at least jammed the joint, and now it's substantially swollen and turning purple and the whole thing throbs with pain with every pulse over and over and over even though he's taken too much ibuprofen and is applying ice, and he might lose his fingernail, and also he dropped the wine when he klutzed out and the bottle broke on his driveway and despite his pain he really needs to go sweep it up.