“Joe, the Supremes just said you can stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and can’t nobody do a god-damned thing about it. What are we waiting for?”

“No, they said he could do that. We try that shit and unless you learned how to make a shiv out of a toothbrush at Harvard Law we’ll be getting hourly prostate exams in the Leavenworth shower room. Until we ‘hang ourselves’ in our cells.”

“OK, OK, so maybe that’s getting too far out over our skis, even for the Supremes. Maybe we just Gitmo his fat ass?”

“You keeping up with our W-L record in the courts? I’m not at all sure we could beat a speeding ticket if we were taking a stroked-out Pope to an ER in Boston.”

“I feel ya, Boss. What about a plane crash? He’s still using that old Boeing piece of shit, yeah? Those things go down more often than Lauren Boebert. Accidents happen, amirite?”

“Only works on Democrats and rock stars.”

“Deranged loner?”

“All registered Republicans. We checked in 2016, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right. OK, how’bout we get Stormy to sign a sworn affidavit saying he liked to make the ’shroom angry by licking Mickey D’s ketchup off a 10-year-old kid or boinking a golden retriever, has a library of videos that makes a Scranton fuck-book shop look like a Christian Science reading room. Send the FBI over to ‘check it out,’ they get into a ‘gunfight’ with his SS detail, he goes down in the crossfire. Shit, I bet at least half his SS detail wants to shoot him three times before breakfast.”

“Too many moving parts; too much wobble. But the dog thing. … How about this? We invite him over for lunch and I introduce him to my dog, Commander.”

“Jesus, Joe. We’re talking a dog bite here? Fuck that. Go big or go home.”

“Going home is starting to look awfully good. I could use a nap.”