Justice Thomas recuses himself from home

"Look at her, will you? Just take a long hard look. Grown woman with a damn piece of foam rubber on top of her head. That's quite a glamorous outfit for the wife of a Supreme Court justice, don't you think?"   Clarence Thomas is not in one of his upbeat moods. Not that he ever is, but still. Today he has taken up temporary residence at Washington's Ritz Carlton, the hotel recommended to him by his old adversary Harry Reid.   "Harry doesn't really understand the needs of the country, but he does understand what makes for a fine hotel," Thomas says with a moribund chuckle. "And he has better taste in wives than some people I could mention. Do you know what Harry Reid's wife does for a living? She keeps his damn house clean. And do you know what Harry Reid's wife's political opinions are? Me neither. She keep her damn mouth shut. She's not out there shooting her mouth off about the Tea party, or about how we've got to end Obama's tyranny. I don't know, call me crazy, but I was just thinking, here I am, the only black Supreme Court justice, and hey, we've elected a black president, maybe the two of us could have a cordial relationship. Of course that would be impossible to imagine were you to have a wife talking smack about him."   "You know what else Harry Reid's wife doesn't do?" asks Thomas, sitting down on the edge of his king-size bed and opening a Diet Coke. "Harry Reid's wife doesn't go around whacking hornets' nests by calling up his old employees and rekindling past unpleasantness. That means that Harry Reid doesn't have to worry about those nearly forgotten incidents resurfacing in a way that creates opportunities for new ugliness. I'd be willing to bet that Harry Reid has never been totally mortified by his wife's behavior."   "Harry Reid," Thomas sighs. "That lucky son of a bitch."