I was sitting in my hot tub, flipping through the latest issue of The Source, The Bible of Hip-Hop Music, Fashion and Jurisprudence, when my personal assistant Fai’sha said there was a Supreme Court justice on the line for me.
“Which one?” I asked. I ain’t gonna interrupt some serious chillin’ for a junior justice like Samuel Alito.
“It’s the Chief,” Fai’sha said, brushing her apostrophe off her forehead with the back of one hand.
“O.K., I’ll take it,” I said. With the possibility of a Democratic administration for the first time in eight years, I need to keep the lines of communication open. I got a lot of judgin’ experience on Flavor of Love, and I could end up bein’ a dark horse nominee for an open seat on Da Court.
“Hello?” I said in a blasé tone. I didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Flav, it’s John Roberts.”
“Heeeey, J-Boi—what you been doin’ with yo’ bad self?”
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that.”
“Stayin’ out of trouble, dawg?”
“You know, Flav, every decision we hand down is bound to upset somebody.”
“Don’t I know it. Every time I drop some girl from Flavor of Love she gets all pissy with me.”
“Ain’t that just like a woman? Listen, Flav—I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead and axe.”
“It’s getting close to the end of our term, and I want to do something special for the other justices.”
“Maybe a neck clock, like one of mine?”
“No, I was thinking of something more along the lines of a personal rap nickname for everyone.”
“That’s cool.”
“Well, actually there’s a problem. I understand in order to get one you have to go through a gang initiation, get a tattoo, maybe pull off a brutal carjacking.”
“Yeah—if you want to have any street cred.”
“Well, there’s the rub.”
“What you mean?”
“Supreme Court justices are officers of the highest court in the United States. It would
“Unseemly?”
“Precisely.”
I could understand his predicament. And with the black robes they are required to wear every day, there is no way for the justices to distinguish themselves by gang colors.
“Have you tried any of the Internet rap nickname generators?” I asked. The Chief Justice was silent for a moment.
“I … didn’t know that there was such a thing,” he said finally. It’s funny how some white people are so reluctant to reveal their ignorance of hip-hop culture.
“There are a number of robust online tools that can assign randomly generated rap nicknames to members of the federal judiciary,” I told him. “I don’t wanna tell you how to run your business, but you’re the Supreme Court—you should go with the best.”
“How much does it cost—ballpark.”
“That’s the dope part—it’s free!”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope—like many internet business models, advertising pays the bill. Let me get out of the tub so I don’t electrocute myself and we’ll check it out.”
I put on my robe and asked Fai’sha to hand me my laptop, then logged on to http://rapnickname.com. “Fire away,” I said.
“Well, let’s see. Why don’t we start with Ruth Bader Ginsburg.”
“O.K. Male or female?”
“I’m gonna go with female.”
“Any distinguishing physical characteristics?”
“She wears her hair in a bun—like a librarian.”
“Very judicious. What else?”
“She’s part of the Court’s liberal bloc. I try to marginalize her as best I can
“Say no more. When Thing
“You mean Trisha?”
“Right. When Thing 1 was eliminated during Season 3 for performing oral sex on her husband, her sister Thing 2 got real close with Sinceer.”
“Right—it’s a chick thing. O.K., so how does this nickname generator work?”
“I type in the info, wait a second and—voilà!”
“What you got?”
“Queen Fresha Nasty!”
“That is so ‘bad’—Ruth’s going to love her new moniker!”
“Well,” I said with just a touch of smugness. “Flav has always known how to please the lay-deez.”
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