The Death of Ruth Bader-Ginsburg

 I am angry with you, Ruth Bader-Ginsburg. I feared this was going to happen.

Despite what I'm sure were your best and highest intentions, you succumbed to the Trump disease. The same selfish, megalomaniacal impulses so vividly displayed by the most destructive man ever to inhabit the White House.

You knew you were sick. You knew your time was limited. And yet you persisted in holding your seat on the Supreme Court even at the risk of allowing Donald Trump to nominate your successor.

And exactly who did you imagine he would replace you with? A radicalized socialist feminist?

Thanks to you and your outsized ego, Sir Lies-A-Lot is now in a position to install a third justice (in a single term!) to the Supreme Court.

I politely inquire: exactly what were you thinking?

While I admire your tenacity and your dedication and your passion, your inability to step-down from the Court despite your obvious ailments will always be a black mark against you. You have empowered our mortal enemy for years, if not decades, to come.

Is it too much to hope Democrats can pull a Mitch McConnell-like stunt and force Congress to wait until after the next election to replace her?

Of course it is.