![]() Klobuchar: “Could you answer the question, judge?. Kavanaugh: “If you’re asking about blackout, I don’t know-have you?” Klobuchar: “You’re saying there’s never been a case where you drank so much that you didn’t remember what happened the night before or part of what happened?” ![]() Here is an exchange, from Kavanaugh’s testimony on Thursday, between the Supreme Court nominee and Senator Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota-in which the senator tested the theory that Kavanaugh in fact did what Christine Blasey Ford accused him of doing, but, being drunk as he did it, simply did not remember: Too much has been invested in you, the world whispers to Brett Kavanaugh I will keep you safe. The young man gets, apparently as a matter of habit, “ stumbling drunk,” and “ sloppy drunk,” and “ incoherently drunk,” and slurringly drunk, and foolishly drunk, and aggressively drunk, and belligerently drunk, and the environment itself, smiling benevolently at his antics, wraps him in its warm protections. Not just as an activity but also, it seems, as a core element of his very identity. Over the course of the past week, the story that had previously been put forth about the character of Brett Kavanaugh-the carpools and the service projects and the generous mentorship of “Coach K”-has required a necessary addendum: Even a Washington Examiner op-ed conceded that “the Senate Judiciary Committee is witnessing a very different Kavanaugh than the nominee who came before them two weeks ago.” The choir boy, the carefully crafted mythology soon had to allow, is also the frat guy-and the latter guy, Kavanaugh said repeatedly on Thursday, really likes drinking. The event-the raw but measured testimony of Christine Blasey Ford, followed by the rage-fueled indignations of Brett Kavanaugh-was a testament to the corroborative effects of power: the ease with which those who edit entries and chair committees and run countries can rearrange the facts of the world until they conform to, and allegedly confirm, the tales told by the powerful. ![]() Either way, it was fitting: Thursday’s hearing, in its assorted grotesqueries, was its own kind of clumsy joke, precisely because of its transparent display of reason-defying entitlement. The edit might have been a clumsy joke it might have been a flimsy attempt to corroborate an explanation of things that, in the context of the rest of Kavanaugh’s sex-suggestive and booze-bragging yearbook page, would seem to defy common sense. At that point, congress-edits, the Twitter bot that tracks updates made to Wikipedia pages from congressional IP addresses, recorded a change made to the entry for “Devil’s Triangle”: “‘Devil’s Triangle’: a popular drinking game enjoyed by friends of Judge Brett Kavanaugh.” No evidence, that is, until shortly after Kavanaugh testified as to his personalized definition of the term. If “devil’s triangle” is a game that, indeed, involves bouncing coins into cups, there was, as of Thursday afternoon, seemingly no evidence of this on the internet, when people watching Kavanaugh’s hearing, inevitably, checked. “Three glasses in a triangle,” Kavanaugh said. “Devil’s triangle,” he insisted, was merely a drinking game. Kavanaugh, however, told the committee that his definition of the term was different. On Thursday, the testimony delivered by Brett Kavanaugh to the Senate Judiciary Committee took a turn that was at once unexpected and, the past week being what it has been, deeply predictable: Sheldon Whitehouse, the senator from Rhode Island, used a portion of his allotted questioning time to ask the Supreme Court nominee about the definition of the “ devil’s triangle.” For most Americans who came of age in the same rough decades as Brett Kavanaugh, the term-included, along with his self-identification as a “Renate Alumnius” and references to kegs and ralphing and boofing, on Kavanaugh’s yearbook page-would seem an obvious reference to a sexual act.
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