“Pay no attention to our throne of skulls or the shattered scale beneath our gavels,” croaked the nine heads of the paper-hydra. For 170 years, from Marshall to Blackmun, freshly graduated maggots had busily gnawed away, then replaced, layer after layer of the fecal legalese that encased the satanically impaled moral-flesh of the Supreme Carcass, as dueling political factions battled over whose turn it was to spin the rotisserie upon which the Court sat.
Then, in the 170th year of its reign, the paper-hydra declared a God-given right to murder God’s children for convenience. And the maggot clerks at the SCOTUS hospice immediately updated the daily menu fed to the nine iron-fisted figureheads — from the gruel of theory to the arsenic of practice: no longer was the mass-murder of the poor just a far-off Utopian fantasy requiring “progress” — overnight, mass-murder was “the established law of the land,” whose pace-maker now was simply zealous conservation of previous “progress.”
And all the hand-picked, precedent-peddling pedants of the pro-murder American Bar Association echoed hymns from the Book of Death, Chapter 410, verse 113: “Murder is a matter of privacy. Murder is a human-right. Murder is women’s health. Amen.”
For a brief blink, each maggot reigned supreme in the hell they had cobbled around the smoldering Supreme Carcass — then, one by one, each returned to dust. Gone was the mirage of their law — banished, even its memory. Banished too was the memory of every shameful fraud and coward that had knelt to the paper-hydra in that era.