If you were pondering what the strangest subplot in the ongoing legal aftershocks of the 2020 election might look like, you probably didn’t have “pillow lumpiness” on your bingo card. Yet, as described in Newsweek’s recent reporting, MyPillow CEO Mike Lindell is gearing up not just for a high-profile defamation trial, but for a bizarre side skirmish about the tactile qualities of his signature pillows.

Let’s be clear: Pillowgate may not, in the grand scheme of American jurisprudence, rank with Brown v. Board or Miranda v. Arizona. But spectacle? There’s an abundance.

Lumpiness on the Record

The source of Lindell’s ire is a lawyer’s characterization of his pillows as “lumpy” during the course of defamation proceedings brought by former Dominion Voting Systems executive Eric Coomer. According to Newsweek, which details the twists of the case, Lindell, incensed over this classification, has threatened to bring a physical pillow into the courtroom—presumably to offer it up for judicial squishing.

If you’re keeping tabs, the actual case is far broader (and more serious) than pillow density. The defamation suit centers on Lindell’s public allegations that Dominion helped rig the 2020 presidential election against Donald Trump—accusations which have already catalyzed billion-dollar lawsuits, settlements (Fox News quietly paid $787.5 million to avoid trial), and a truly staggering volume of cable news content, as Newsweek outlines. The Coomer v. Lindell trial, which kicks off this week, is notable because, as Lindell observed in an appearance on Steve Bannon’s War Room podcast, other defendants have settled, leaving him “the last man standing” in this legal game of musical chairs.

But it’s the pillows themselves that have stolen a bit of the media limelight—an outcome that’s both absurd and, let’s be honest, extremely on-brand for this saga.

Courtroom Showdown or Bedtime Story?

The pillow quality subplot made its way front and center after Coomer’s lawyer reportedly poked at MyPillow’s customer service and product reputation, referencing “lumpy” pillows during a deposition. As described by Newsweek (citing the Minnesota Reformer), Lindell’s response was characteristically unvarnished—he reportedly called the lawyer “an ambulance-chasing a**,” a moment which in turn led to complaints that Lindell had been “vulgar, threatening, loud, [and] disrespectful” through multiple depositions.

Undeterred, Lindell apparently suggested—perhaps only half-joking—that he might bring a MyPillow to court and present it directly to the critical attorney, the physical evidence equivalent of “say it to my face, then take a nap on it.” His own legal counsel, according to Lindell’s retelling as reported by Newsweek, discouraged the move. But one has to wonder: has an actual pillow ever been entered as an exhibit in federal court? Is there a chain of custody protocol for bedding?

The pillow saga, oddly enough, is more than just comic relief. As noted in Newsweek, MyPillow’s website now hosts a legal fund donation page, inviting customers to chip in for what Lindell bills as “one of the most important trials in history”—ten dollars at a time, or up to a thousand, depending on the depth of your pockets and your passion for democracy via upholstery.

Financial Troubles, Transparency, and AI Curiosities

Lindell’s legal and financial dramas are chronicled in detail by Newsweek, which references Associated Press reporting to note that his attorneys once petitioned to quit over unpaid fees. The plot thickened this April when, as Newsweek relates, these lawyers admitted to using AI to draft court documents—filings that included citations of non-existent legal rulings, a twist that feels perfectly in step with the case’s surreality.

For someone who styles himself as radically transparent, Lindell appears unbothered by these footnotes. Newsweek, summarizing a May interview he gave to Rolling Stone, quotes him saying, “I have nothing to hide. I am a former crack addict. I’ve always been open about that…I’m as transparent as they come.” Even with, as he put it, “no money left,” he situates his court saga as a crusade to defend the American electoral process—or at minimum, the right to express fringe suspicions while surrounded by an array of red, white, and blue cushions.

The Pillowy Road Ahead

So what are we left with as the trial gets underway? On one side of the courtroom, weighty questions about the boundaries of free speech and accountability in a post-truth era; on the other, the curious debate over what constitutes “lumpiness” in a pillow, litigated in a venue better known for evidence than ergonomics.

If the last few years have taught us anything, it’s that political theater in America tends toward the unpredictable, if not outright surreal. Will a MyPillow make it into the evidence locker? Is pillow comfort really about personal preference, or can a jury settle the matter for good?

Only time—and perhaps a softly patrolled courtroom—will tell. But perhaps the oddest takeaway is how debates about democracy and truth keep winding up in places nobody expects: not just cable news studios or legal filings, but between the seams of a pillow, where lumpiness evidently matters more than one might think.

After all, how many defamation cases have you seen that hinge (in part) on the aerodynamics of bedtime accoutrements?