Today I hope John Roberts decides to clean out his nightstand drawer and notices that the small bottle of lube he and his wife use every time they make love has a 2021 expiration date, and it's still 2/3 full, and it wasn't a very big bottle to start with.
This morning I hope John Roberts can't find any matched pairs of socks because his Black housekeeper hid one sock from every pair before she left yesterday, and then that on his way to work this morning he stopped at a drive-through for coffee and his Black barista put seven pink packets of saccharine in it instead of two sugars and then the Supreme Court building's Black doorman noticed he had dog slobber on his pants and didn't tell him and then today he goes out for lunch and the Black cook spits in his gumbo and then his waiter does too and this evening on his way home he stops for a cocktail with a friend and his Black bartender slyly pisses just a little in his Manhattan and the white ally cocktail waitress adds a cherry she dropped on the floor and things like this keep happening all day today and every single other day for the rest of his privileged, racist, godforsaken life, right up to the very end when his immigrant Latina ICU nurse will see he has soiled himself in bed and just ignores it and leaves him festering in his own shit for three more hours and that's how he passes away.
This morning as he's leaving the shower I hope John Roberts isn't paying attention where he's walking because he's engrossed in a Rambo daydream fantasy about bravely saving everyone from a crazed assassin at the White House Correspondents' Dinner, and he accidentally steps barefoot on a Lego left on the floor by one of his visiting grandchildren and with the sudden surprising pain his emotions well up unexpectedly and he finds himself lying naked on the wet linoleum floor holding his hurt foot and sobbing because he hates and misses his daddy so, so much.
This morning I hope that as usual John Roberts put on one sock and then one Florsheim wingtip and tied its laces (because that's how he does it, one shoe at a time like Meathead on "All in the Family"), and then when he stood up to push his other heel into the other shoe something squished underfoot and when he took the shoe back off to look there was a green, melon flavored, sweet-bean-curd-filled mochi completely mushed into his sock and the crevices inside his shoe, and he has absolutely no idea how a melon mochi got into his shoe, and also he was wearing his favorite socks that feel really silky against his feet and now he has to change them.