"Judge Kavanaugh killed my kid sister with an axe!"

I have received the following missive by post. The writer wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons, but I am quite familiar with him, and have every reason to believe that the accusations contained herein are credible.

Mr Whiplash,

I am writing to you as I do not know where else to turn. My story needs to come out lest a very demon in human form become a justice on the US Supreme Court.

As you know, I was born and raised in the US. In fact, I grew up in the Commonwealth of Virginia, not far from the nation's capitol. In the year of 1975 I met the gentleman referred to above, the very typing of whose name fills me with such unbearable dread that I dare not attempt it. Rather, I shall refer to him as BK.

We were classmates in Primary School. I was a lonesome child, shy and ill-equipped to recommend myself to strangers. BK was also unable to make friends, but not because of shyness, but rather because the savage and unrelenting nature of his personality warned off the children of more gregarious temperament.  The other children were afraid of him. As such a lonely child, the apparently human contact offered by BK was a seductive bait for me, and ultimately a fatal one to my younger sister.

My sister Evangeline was a precocious beauty, and even at that very young age had something of the ingenue about her. From her first introduction to the fiend, she was fascinated by BK, and would follow us wherever we went, to the 7-11 to buy Slurpees, or into the woods.

I will never forget the day, August 9, 1974. I had walked down the street some number of blocks to the convenience store, I don't remember which one, or even what town it was in. My kid sister Angelina tagging along as always. or maybe she wasn't. It's been a long time. Anyway, whichever, I was going back home when I heard Eva's tortured scream coming from a house. I burst in the door, or maybe I broke a window to get in, or something. There in the basement and/or dining room, was BK, on all fours, covered in blood, the axe still in his left hand. In his right was my sister's leg, and the savage was taking a bite from her thigh! About him were the scattered remaining limbs, head and torso of my little sister, Angela. BK was naked, or at least, wasn't wearing any pants, and he was futilely poking his engorged member at Angie's mouth, still agape from her dying scream!

At the sound of my entrance,  BK ran from the kitchen. Obviously I had to deal with the situation, so I gathered up the body parts and dumped them in the bottom of an old barge that was parked down at the river since before I was born. I then cleaned the house thoroughly, since the home owners should not have been expected to do so, and went home. I wept silently, alone, for weeks after that, never telling a soul about the terrible secret of BK, no matter how many times the police interrogated me. I continued of course to treat BK as my friend.

For years my parents searched fruitlessly for Annie, until ultimately they surrendered to despair. My mother committed suicide 6 years later, and my father was broken man, devoting his time to drinking and drug abuse. Still, I could never reveal my secret, no matter how easy it would have been.

Finally, in 1982, the police found the bones of my little sister Amie in the bottom of that barge. I knew they would want to talk to me about the matter, so I ran away to Canada rather than reveal that it was BK who had murdered her. I realize this story may sound far-fetched, but I can rely on the testimony of my four friends who were there. They both live in Iceland now, but you probably wouldn't have heard of him. You can also ask the orderlies and my doctors at the Alberta Regional mental hospital, who I revealed the story to in 2012. I am sure they kept detailed notes.

If you won't believe me for my sake, believe me for Ann's. 

Homer 

I don't know what to add to such a succinct and credible account, except it is obviously necessary to delay the Kavenaugh hearings at any cost.