Brett Kavanaugh's 1982 diary proves he could not possibly assault anyone – he was too busy living the rich prep school white guy dream

I look at this kid’s commitment to Beach Week, and it’s obvious to me he was always destined to be a federal judge. Not familiar with Beach Week? Clearly you’ve never been a rich, white American teen with the world at your fingertips

Brett Kavanaugh’s calendar entries from the kickass summer of 1982 (US Senate)

There’s a lot of freaks and geeks out there who like to suck the fun out of everything. They get so jelly of people’s awesome, kickass, amazing lives that they just can’t help themselves. They see somebody with nice things, and they just have to try and ruin it: keggers, Senate confirmation hearings, Beach Week, you name it.

It’s no wonder poor, defenceless Brett Kavanaugh was weeping his way through yesterday’s marathon Senate hearing. I mean, who do those losers think they are? It’s like people just naturally assume it’s easy being the coolest rich prep school white guy. But boy, is it anything but.

That’s why Republicans are so lucky Brett Kavanaugh’s calendar entries from the kickass summer of 1982 have been released to the public, so that we can all see for ourselves what a wholesome, blue-blooded, non-rapist, American kid Brett really was. For real: if young Brett’s day-to-day routine doesn’t prove he’s earned a lifetime tenure dicking around America’s moral compass, nothing will.

Let’s contextualise this for all you losers: have you seen Fast Times at Ridgemont High?

If not, look it up, because that was basically Brett Kavanaugh’s life – which is the highest form of praise you can offer any 1980s teen. And if you really delve into his schedule, the dude clearly had no time to sexually assault so much as a cucumber. His diary was full-on with the most 1980s, American guy stuff imaginable.

Every Saturday Brett had a party at Timmy’s, and he always reminded himself who was driving. Swimming at Danny’s, catching the Bullets game (they lost a lot), a long weights sesh at prep (boy, did he lift), football camp, catching flicks like Poltergeist and then a hot date every few days – life never slowed down for Brett.

And why should it? As a middle-class white boy who never doubted for a single millisecond of high school that he defecated pure gold, I can tell you right now: Brett Kavanaugh was the coolest. The coolest of the cool.

I look at this kid’s commitment to Beach Week, and it’s obvious to me he was always destined to be a federal judge. Not familiar with Beach Week? Clearly you’ve never been a rich, white American teen with the world at your fingertips – but it’s cool, I can explain.

For one week every year, the whole crew would take a well-deserved break from English essays, lifting weights and trips to Connecticut with grammy to leave it all behind. They’d drive out to Maryland and spend their days juggling sixers, do epic keg stands all night and hightail it back home at the end of the week to catch the last matinee of Rocky III and start prepping for interviews to get into Yale and Brown.

Brett Kavanaugh wasn’t just a man. He was the man, and this was how he lived his life. He never knew any different, and that’s what makes this sideshow confirmation controversy so goddamn confusing. It’s almost like people don’t think blackout keggers and harassing a never-ending parade of beautiful beach babes is representative of everyday American values.

Why don’t these poor, ethnically diverse Democrats and their hoity-toity, high-horsed politicians get it? When is it gonna click? Beach Week is life, brewskis make everything better and you cannot get into Yale, rise to the rank of federal judge and get nominated to sit on the highest court in the land by a bigoted reality TV star unless you follow Brett’s code.

He did everything the way a self-entitled prep boy is supposed to do it – I mean, he really did it by the book. And so if all these rich white conservatives ignore Brett’s flawless record, vote against his Supreme Court confirmation and spit on his account of the ultimate summer of ’82, it will be a genuine blight on the American tradition.

It would almost be like saying silver spoons aren’t a real job qualification, victims of sexual assault should be respected and Weekend at Bernie’s was not the greatest film ever made.

Ugh. Did you get shudders just there, too?