by Michael B. “Moondoggy” Mukasey
I admit, I was a little surprised when everybody started asking my opinion of “waterboarding.” I haven’t even tried it yet! The Judiciary Committee finds that hard to believe, but it’s true.
I guess my reputation as a surfer precedes me. You might not know it to look at me today, but back in my youth, I was a first-class boardsman. Not a champion, maybe, but I could “hang ten” on the “glassies” with the best of them! I’d get up before dawn, ride the bumps all day, then watch the sun go down as I sat around a campfire with a bunch of cool dudes and tasty bikini wahines, roasting weenies and singing folksongs. What a bunch of great friends: Stingray, Squirrel, Gadget, H-Bomb, Madman, Noser. Those brahs are all on the federal bench nowadays. But they still call me “Moondoggy Mukasey.” (Granted, a couple of them called me “Michael B. Mucus,” but they were just nipping squids on the appellate court.) And I sure miss the good times we shared. Kumbaya, man. Kumbaya.
How often during my career as a judge have I yearned to break free of my confining robes and my stuffy courtroom, and plunge headlong into the pounding surf! Sometimes during a long, boring trial, I just shut my eyes and dream. Forget about endless summations, I’m thinking about Endless Summer! I see myself, young again and at home, my real home, the waves of Malibu or Newport. One summer, I hitchhiked to Oahu and spent a week, sleeping on the North Shore by night and ripping by day. Now, I know you’re going to say there’s no way to hitchhike to Hawaii, but you can’t underestimate a hardcore surfer like me.
Mukasey (second from left) and friends, circa 1971
So you can imagine how my curiosity was piqued when people in Washington started talking about “waterboarding,” and asking me what I thought about it. Now Washington isn’t known for its waves, so I wasn’t surprised that they didn’t know anything about this new trend in surfing. What surprised me was that I knew as little as they did!
Apparently the best beaches for waterboarding are in Cuba and Iraq, but I keep getting the feeling that there are some other, even better beaches out there that nobody will tell me about. I asked Dick “Big Chahuna” Cheney about it the other day: “Bro, where can I do me some waterboarding?”
And he goes, “That’s classified, bro. But there’s nothing illegal about it.” Whoa! What kind of clucker does he think I am? I don’t care if it’s legal, man, I just want it wet and gnarly!
You gotta figure, if everybody is so hush-hush about it, waterboarding must be truly excellent. They’re trying to keep it to themselves. And I don’t necessarily blame them: look what happened to Bondi! That place has turned into some kind of Ozzie poser zoo. But if waterboarding is that good, I want a piece of it, and I’ll go where the action is. I’ll bet you if I got to Guantanamo, somebody will tell me where the really good, secret waterboarding goes down.
So as soon as my confirmation is over, I’m grabbing my new full-on sick boardies and heading to Cuba. It’s like the Beach Boys say:
“Everybody’s gone waterboarding!
Waterboarding U.S.A.!”
I admit, I was a little surprised when everybody started asking my opinion of “waterboarding.” I haven’t even tried it yet! The Judiciary Committee finds that hard to believe, but it’s true.
I guess my reputation as a surfer precedes me. You might not know it to look at me today, but back in my youth, I was a first-class boardsman. Not a champion, maybe, but I could “hang ten” on the “glassies” with the best of them! I’d get up before dawn, ride the bumps all day, then watch the sun go down as I sat around a campfire with a bunch of cool dudes and tasty bikini wahines, roasting weenies and singing folksongs. What a bunch of great friends: Stingray, Squirrel, Gadget, H-Bomb, Madman, Noser. Those brahs are all on the federal bench nowadays. But they still call me “Moondoggy Mukasey.” (Granted, a couple of them called me “Michael B. Mucus,” but they were just nipping squids on the appellate court.) And I sure miss the good times we shared. Kumbaya, man. Kumbaya.
How often during my career as a judge have I yearned to break free of my confining robes and my stuffy courtroom, and plunge headlong into the pounding surf! Sometimes during a long, boring trial, I just shut my eyes and dream. Forget about endless summations, I’m thinking about Endless Summer! I see myself, young again and at home, my real home, the waves of Malibu or Newport. One summer, I hitchhiked to Oahu and spent a week, sleeping on the North Shore by night and ripping by day. Now, I know you’re going to say there’s no way to hitchhike to Hawaii, but you can’t underestimate a hardcore surfer like me.
Mukasey (second from left) and friends, circa 1971So you can imagine how my curiosity was piqued when people in Washington started talking about “waterboarding,” and asking me what I thought about it. Now Washington isn’t known for its waves, so I wasn’t surprised that they didn’t know anything about this new trend in surfing. What surprised me was that I knew as little as they did!
Apparently the best beaches for waterboarding are in Cuba and Iraq, but I keep getting the feeling that there are some other, even better beaches out there that nobody will tell me about. I asked Dick “Big Chahuna” Cheney about it the other day: “Bro, where can I do me some waterboarding?”
And he goes, “That’s classified, bro. But there’s nothing illegal about it.” Whoa! What kind of clucker does he think I am? I don’t care if it’s legal, man, I just want it wet and gnarly!
You gotta figure, if everybody is so hush-hush about it, waterboarding must be truly excellent. They’re trying to keep it to themselves. And I don’t necessarily blame them: look what happened to Bondi! That place has turned into some kind of Ozzie poser zoo. But if waterboarding is that good, I want a piece of it, and I’ll go where the action is. I’ll bet you if I got to Guantanamo, somebody will tell me where the really good, secret waterboarding goes down.
So as soon as my confirmation is over, I’m grabbing my new full-on sick boardies and heading to Cuba. It’s like the Beach Boys say:
“Everybody’s gone waterboarding!
Waterboarding U.S.A.!”