Author Richard Cahill's Website--Living By Our Motto:"There Are No Stupid Questions, Just Stupid People Asking Questions Everybody else already knows the answer to."

​The ex-Caucasian-in-Chief, in one of his more notable outbursts, said the other day that the Constitution should be overturned and him either installed promptly back into the White House or a new election held.
 
“Our great ‘Founders’ did not want, and would not condone, False and Fraudulent Elections!” Trump babbled.
 
The Founding Fathers had more in common with Trump than it appears on the surface. Many of them wore wigs, and they also had a penchant for random capitalization. A considerable number of them owned slaves, which Trump, by accident of his modern birth, cannot, although the smart money is that he would dearly want to, especially when his bipolar Nazi pals shoot their mouths off at Mar al Lago.
 
But, hey, the FF’s are dead. It’s Trump’s misfortune that they never invented the position of Secretary of Ignoring the Constitution, which would have been ably filled by Michael Flynn. The Office of Installing People in Office Anyway After They Lost would be a perfect slot for Mike Lindell. Kari Lake needs work now, and the head of the Task Force for Re-Running Elections When You Don’t Like the Way They Came Out would suit her just fine.
 
Herschel Walker, if he loses his mush-brained bid to sit in the Senate, could still serve as the Commissioner to Find Extra Votes in Georgia. If Aileen Cannon could be persuaded to give up her lifetime appointment as Trump’s personal federal judge, she would make a perfect High Declarer of Rightful Winners.
 
Unfortunately for Trump, the authors of the Constitution did not create these offices, and the inscribers of the 27 amendments to it that came afterwards didn’t think of them, either. He’s stuck without a Czar of Do-Overs. He’s crapping in his pants like Putin because he’s no longer facing off against Merrick Garland, who comes across as a humorless college professor whom everybody in his department secretly hates. Not a guy you’d like to have a beer with, but still, not a guy utterly without mercy. Instead, he must do battle with Jack Smith, who, if he threw on some leather and chain mail, would look like an executioner on Game of Thrones.
 
Off with his head, Jack. Off with his head.

In the collection of cringe that is the Senatorial campaign of former football star Herschel Walker another noteworthy nugget of knuckleheadery dropped this past week. Apparently, another woman whom the erstwhile running back had begged to abort his child had recorded some of his horny yowlings on tape during their affair, the most notable of which was Herschel murmuring on her voicemail, “Ah you, this is your stud farm calling, you big sex puppy, you.”
 
No one can say for sure this is the worst pickup line ever uttered in English, but the women of America certainly don’t want to hear any attempts to compete with it. The state of Georgia’s favorite pickup line, i.e., “Git in the truck,” is the soul of grace and humor compared to this awkwardly mixed metaphor about dog breeding.
 
It was enough to make me wonder whether other, more senior Republicans had their own favorite lines they used when they went a-courtin.’ I asked my sources and it turned out that, indeed, Republicans have their own special vocabulary of love. Here’s just a few examples:
 
“I’m your turtle and you’re my dove, baby. You make my carapace hard.” Mitch McConnell
 
“I know skinny, cowardly little traitors turn dirty girls like you on. Catch me if you can.” Josh Hawley
 
“The Republican Party has a new big reptile, baby. Come sun with me on the Florida rock of my love.” Ron DeSantis
 
“I’m horny, you’re horny. The guy who dropped you off at the gym—do you think he’s horny, too?” Marjorie Taylor Greene
 
Just call out “Hunter! Hunter!” when we’re making love, baby. That’s what makes me hard.” Kevin McCarthy
 
“Mommy, not while Jesus is looking.” Mike Pence
 
“Come on, cowboy, stuff my ballot-box like you were a Democrat.” Kari Lake
 
“Wear this wig and call me Daddy, and you can make it great again.”  The Mango Mussolini
 
“Ah you, this is your stud farm calling, you big sex puppy, you.” Lindsey Graham

It’s Halloween, the happiest season in Hell, and over here we hope that Rush Limbaugh is enjoying being impaled by imps of Satan who have donned Hillary Clinton rubber masks for the holiday.
 
Like most people who live to adulthood, Limbaugh left some family behind and they, apparently having thinned out the fortune their famous crock of hateful lies left them, have released the book pictured in the corner, the title of which is “Radio’s Greatest of All Time.”
 
Wolfman Jack might object to that, were he still alive, and even Howard Stern might raise an eyebrow. But that’s hardly the least offensive thing about bringing Limbaugh back from the dead. Hopefully, the book contains key Limbaugh quotes like “Have you ever noticed how all composite pictures of wanted criminals resemble Jesse Jackson?” and his once advising a black female caller to “Take that bone out of your nose and call me back.”
 
Noble words, for sure, that should deservedly echo down the corridors of time, even as their speaker is being eviscerated by Lucifer’s ghouls for all eternity. It’s a wonder they haven’t been stamped in ink on paper prior to this, but probably Kathryn and David Limbaugh haven’t really needed the money until now.
 
“But look,” you say. “All the profits from the book are going to needy families of America’s fallen heroes. It says that on the jacket.” Well, they couldn’t really say they were going to give the money to the family of one of America’s most famous chickenhawks, could they? Rumor has it that Rush avoided the draft during the Vietnam war by claiming to have anal cysts, only to become a fervid warmonger when he was safely past the age where he could be enlisted. He also avoided getting stuck with the nickname “Ass Cyst,” even though he deserved it.
 
No, our friends Kath and Dave are probably getting paid the lion’s share of the profits, in the form of editing and contributory fees, despite likely doing no editing. Perhaps some contributions were made by them. Maybe they recalled a sweet Christmas story about Limbaugh dressing up like Santa Claus and teaching little racist children to sing “Barack the Magic Negro,” and it’s retold in the pages of the book.
 
But maybe not. Anyway, it’s better for long-suffering Limbaugh non-fans that you need to buy a book to experience the words of Limbaugh now. You remember gritting your teeth while your husband, who is also your nephew, used to listen to Limbaugh on the radio, whooping “That guy tells it like it is!” through the dentures you had to remind him to put in before your inbred family picnic, and just praying for the show to be over soon so you could resume twisting the radio dial looking for Fleetwood Mac.
 
So, buy him the book for Christmas. It’s not like he’s ever going to read it.

​According to the Washington Post, “A $100 million effort launched this year is blanketing cities and the web, aiming to redeem Jesus’ brand from the damage done by some of his followers.”
 
The campaign will have a web site that allows you to claim free swag if you welcome a stranger or forgive someone.
 
The reason the Son of Man and the King of Kings needs a PR campaign, according to Jon Lee, one of the PR men who proudly proclaim themselves Flacks for Jesus, is the behavior of His followers, who tend to want to kill abortionists, gays and occasionally Nancy Pelosi. Jesus, the re-branders claim, does not want His followers to do any of those things.
 
The campaign is going to culminate with a Super Bowl ad next February.
 
Fortunately for our readers, this column was privy to a strategy conference between a Flack for Jesus, hereafter abbreviated FFJ, and the Savior Himself.
 
FFJ: So, My Lord, we want to make this a real game-changer. Like, we’re going to get the whole guns, God, and America crowd to lay down their weapons and embrace the Gospel of love.
 
JESUS: Huh? I don’t mind those guys so much. I mean, they’ve got the heavily-armed sincerity thing going for them. And they know who they don’t want to bake cakes for.
 
FFJ: Let’s look at the big picture here. (Seems slightly self-conscious about talking to the Creator of the Universe about big pictures, but overcomes it) Judgement Day is on its way, and You don’t want to preside over an Eternal Kingdom of fat, angry diabetics.
 
JESUS: (Musing) I did say that I do not bring peace, but the sword. Of course, I had changed quite a bit of water into wine that day, and I was a little edgy that Mary Magdalene had missed her period, but, still, there is a Biblical foundation for the Church of the AR-15, sort of.
 
FFJ: But generally, You rolled peaceful. That’s the side of You we’re buffing up, here. The Super Bowl ad is going to cost us a fortune, but there’s no price we won’t pay to spread Your word.
 
JESUS: Does it really have to be the Super Bowl? I’m already sick of the Super Bowl. Bills and Eagles fans are annoying the Holy Crap out of me praying for their teams to be in it.
 
FFJ: (taking notes) So, it’s really going to be the Bills and the Eagles? Any insights into the point spread, oh My Lord?
 
JESUS: (Coldly) I don’t see where that has anything to do with this business.
 
FFJ: Right. So, I’m just spit balling here. What if You appear at halftime?
 
JESUS: When? Following Rihanna? Nobody wants to follow Rihanna. I don’t like it.
 
FFJ: Jesus, babe, if You descend from Heaven in a fiery cloud, and start the Rapture right before the second-half kickoff, nobody is going to give a shit about Rihanna…
 
JESUS: No, no, NO! I already appeared to an elderly couple in Scranton and promised them the Eagles would get the second-half kickoff. I don’t go back on My word. Besides, I already ix-nayed the Rapture. The current plan for Judgement Day is I come streaking into the view of the James Webb Space Telescope on board the Sweet Meteor of Doom, like Slim Pickens riding the bomb in Dr. Strangelove.  The meteor will smush into Earth a week later and eliminate all life on the planet, except for cockroaches. Get it over with, is My motto.
 
FFJ: Wow, that’s really intense. Kind of makes what we’re doing here look insignificant.
 
JESUS: Does, doesn’t it? I hate to leave anyone cold, though. You want an introduction to Cockroach Jesus?

The latest Rapture scare is well behind us now (It was supposed to be September 25th) but the possibility of the Rapture occurring and being left behind as a non-Rapturee is apparently causing trauma issues for young fundamentalists.
 
From CNN: Thirteen-year-old April Ajoy had a sense something wasn’t right. It was quiet in her Dallas house. Too quiet. Her brothers were gone. Her parents were gone. On her parents’ bed, a pile of her mother’s clothes signaled something terrifying.
Ajoy’s mind began churning, trying to remember, trying to make plans. When was the last time she had sinned? Should she refuse the mark of the beast? At least, she thought, if she was put to the guillotine during the time of tribulation, it would be a quick death.
 
You can see that making your young, probably innocent daughter, terrified of being guillotined is probably not a best parenting practice. But the Rapture can happen at any time, and almost any sin can disqualify a young girl from being sucked up into Heaven by the Roomba of God’s love. What offenses against the Lord were racing through April’s mind as she struggled with the possibility that everyone she knew, except herself, had been popped off the surface of the earth like they were blessed kernels of Orville Redenbacher’s? Had that momentary burst of lust she felt when her phone accidentally exposed her to the latest Korean boy-band video disqualified her from eternal life? Or was it that tiny twinge of affection she felt for Snitty Hanson, the cutest boy in her Zoom Communion class?
 
April thought she had begged for God’s forgiveness abjectly enough for both these offenses, but to her horror, her bleak solitude said otherwise. Little did she know that her mother had merely gone to a fellow Christian wife’s house for a chaste afternoon of wearing modest clothing and baking pies, and her father was raising a barn and thinking about eating pie afterwards, and her brothers had not left the house at all, but had instead found private corners in which to masturbate, which young Evangelical men have to do even more stealthily than regular young guys.
 
Imagine her relief when she spotted her brother returning the box of Kleenex to its usual spot in the bathroom. Still, she could not be entirely sure that the Rapture had not happened until her dad came home, smelling of sawdust and her mother returned, reeking of pie, and also yelling at her for not doing the pile of laundry she had left on the bed.
 
I want to tell April that I know someone who felt a similar pain. It was the love of my life, who once came upon an empty chair with an empty pair of my shorts on it, and thought briefly I might have been blown aloft into the company of angels. You can read about her reaction here.
 
Her disappointment was far less than April’s, though, because she’s Jewish and immune from the Rapture. There was no pressure on her to regret her sins, because no matter how few they might be, Jesus is not beaming her up into bliss. She was a little upset when I returned and told her that. When God is sucking up the saved souls of Earth like they were a Big Gulp, even when He comes to the end of His list, and His divine straw is making that slurping sound on the bottom of the cup, no Jews are going to be included.
 
Hey, I don’t make the rules.
 
But before she texted me, asking where the hell I was, she did wonder if I had made coffee before God had whacked me into eternity with the pickleball racket of His love, and saw that I had.
 
And she saw that it was good.

A phone in a secret room at the Kremlin rings at midnight. VLADIMIR PUTIN answers)

PUTIN: Hallo?

DONALD TRUMP: Vlad, old buddy, it's the Donald. How's your genius invasion of Ukraine going?

PUTIN: At least as well as your trying to avoid getting speared by Merrick Garland is, Donald. But maybe we can help each other.

TRUMP: I was hoping you would say that, Vlad. I've got lots of Top Secret stuff at fire sale prices right now. I've got lawyer bills to pay.

PUTIN: Ordinarily, I would be enthusiastic. But right now I'm spending all my money on Iranian drones. Just until we can get our powerful Russian drones working with the microchips we pried out of toaster ovens, naturally. Also, we have a little manpower shortage over here. ​I know I said I would give you many rubles for the nude pictures of the French President oil-wrestling with Greta Thunberg when she was eleven, but right now I could use some trigger-happy Proud Boys. Got any?

TRUMP: Love to help you, Vlad, but the PB's are keeping on the down-low until the January 6th trials blow over. How about a list of all US spies in Russia?

PUTIN: Anybody I thought was a spy, I sent to Ukraine. Zelensky dropped missiles on them all. Spying problem way down. I can offer Russian citizenship to the Oath Keepers. They can bring their own guns. As a matter of fact, they get double-secret-enhanced-super-citizenship if they bring their own guns.

TRUMP: How about the inside info on Brazil's nuclear defense posture?

PUTIN: Brazil is low on my attack list right now, Donald. How about you have one of your famous packed rallies in Irkutsk in a couple weeks. No-cost airplane tickets  to Russia provided--incoming flights are kind of empty for the next few months. Afterwards, free van transportation to all attendees to their new positions on the front lines in Izyum! 

TRUMP: A direct feed from our spy satellites?

PUTIN: Nyet. Can you persuade Q-Anon that Hillary Clinton is running sex slaves out of a basement in Kyiv? Where they go one, they go all, so they might as well go to Ukraine is what I think.

TRUMP: We're not getting anywhere here, Vlad. But I still wish you well. Don't end up in front of a firing squad. 

PUTIN: You too, old pal. I'm the last person in the world who wants to see you broke and in prison.

(The phone call ends)

TRUMP: Prick!

​PUTIN: ублюдок овец! (Sheep-fucker!)

In his typically unwavering approach to racial controversy, Governor Greg Abbott of Texas has announced a ban on teaching the history of black mermaids in Texas schools. At a press conference, a spokesperson for the Guv said, “The history of mermaids in Texas will be taught free of racial biases. Little white Texas mermaids will not be made to feel guilty about something they had nothing to do with, since all black Texas mermaids have been free since 1863. There is no separate, ‘woke’ story of black mermaids that will be forced on our schoolchildren.”
 
Why is it necessary to teach the history of mermaids of any race at all, since it is nowadays thought that historical mermaid sightings were the hallucinations of sailors drunk on rum and dying of scurvy and personal horniness?
 
“The Governor is aware that the anti-family media, particularly Disney, is pushing the idea of black mermaids along with the rest of their PC agenda, on small children. People who go to the beach in Galveston or Corpus Christi just want to relax in the sand and wash down Walmart-size bags of Fritos with a case of Lone Star. They don’t need their kids to go bugging them to find a black mermaid.”
 
Or a white mermaid?
 
“That’s innocent family fun. The important thing is, white people today are not responsible for any injustices inflicted in the past on black mermaids.”
 
Never heard of any, honestly, unless you count black Ariel to be the first black mermaid to ever land a job. So, long history of unemployment for black mermaids?
 
“NO! And as proof, for just a twenty-five-dollar campaign contribution to the Governor, you can get this t-shirt. (Holds up a t-shirt that reads “All Imaginery Lives Matter”)
 
“Imaginary” is misspelled.
 
“The people who are lining up to buy this shirt aren’t going to notice that.”
 
Why is Abbott even bothering with this?
 
“He’s pissed that the Governor of Florida is getting all that great ink for taking our illegal aliens out of here and dumping them in Martha’s Vineyard. We were planning to ship those Venezuelans to La Jolla. At first, Abbott was going to send the Texas National Guard to Venezuela to grab some Venezuelans direct from the source--there's a nearly unlimited supply of Venezuelans in Venezuela, you know--and force them on a plane to the Catskills, but for legal reasons he decided to go after black mermaids instead.”
 
What about Mexican mermaids?
 
“Bite your tongue!”

​In an abrupt tit-for-tat, in response to Florida governor Ron DeSantis sending two planes full of what the Guv called “illegal immigrants,” to the resort town of Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts responded by sending an equal number of Martha’s Vineyard residents to Orlando, Florida.
 
Local authorities proclaimed themselves overwhelmed. “We can’t accommodate all these people in knit hats wandering around demanding ‘fresh lobstah’ and ‘clam chowdah,’ said one spokesperson, who insisted on anonymity. “I mean, we have eleven Denny’s in Orlando alone. If you want sit-down dining, go into one and crack a menu. And don't be asking where you can buy a scarf for 'when it gets cool at night.' Ask when. And the answer is, December."
 
Another local complained that he was constantly being asked by people wearing Red Sox jerseys to ‘bring my cah up.’ “Haven’t they heard of Uber?” he said testily. “Another couple asked me if I knew any good Greek tutors for their boy, because they didn’t want him falling behind before he got back to St. Episcopal’s Prep School.” He shook his head wearily. “I mean, we got a couple bilingual guys working as Mickey Mouses at the World, to make the Cuban kids happy. We got Hercules too, but all he ever does is curse about how hot wearing all those foam-padded muscles is in the summertime. And he don’t curse in Greek.
 
“Send ‘em back where they came from is my solution.  I hope DeSantis gets right on that.”

Used to be (and I’m saying this in my best, creaky old guy voice) that the Republican Party got along fine just being regular Republicans. By that, I mean they got plenty of votes and won their share of elections by standing up for Republican principles. Principles like hating Obamacare, dishing out the bare minimum of Social Security to keep old people alive, squawking about how raising taxes on the wealthy would ruin the economy because then they couldn’t afford to pay poor schlubs to mow their lawns and polish their silverware, and spending the equivalent of a car payment every month for insulin.
 
And the deficit, the deficit, the deficit. Fixing it was the Benghazi of economic principles, endlessly talked if never actually addressed. Republicans always talked about eliminating it, but when they actually had a chance to, they expanded it like it was the roof of a Russian ammunition dump.
 
People noticed this, but it mostly never kept them from voting Republican. The American people are a thick-headed sort, but now it seems to have dawned on them that, now that everybody has at least one relative on Obamacare and a couple on Social Security, and that billionaires are flying themselves into space on the money they save on not paying taxes, that there are flaws in old school Republicanism.
 
Plus, a pandemic’s worth of sitting inside and eating chips has greatly increased our nation’s need for cheap insulin.
 
So, the Republicans now have a new rallying cry—INFLATION! They’re hoping that if you elect them to cure inflation, you won’t notice that they will do absolutely nothing about it, just stick it on the wall next to the Benghazi/Obamacare/deficit stuff and take credit for it if it solves itself.
 
Might not work for the GOP this time, though. They have inadvertently shot themselves right in their elephant feet by appointing enough religious zealots to the Supreme Court to throw abortion rights to the wind, which started blowing back right in their faces immediately. They are discovering that lifelong Republicans PawPaw and MawMaw, despite attending the Church of the Ever-Flowing Waters of Jesus’s Love, where the preacher thunders against abortion every week, are not so keen about having abortion criminalized. Especially since they were forced to adopt their granddaughter because their daughter is in jail for selling fentanyl, and they found their adoptee’s panties on the roof of their doghouse one morning last week.
 
And she listens to nothing but rap music.

The Republicans need to scour for votes, and the conspiracy community is looking for political leaders. Chemtrailers want to clean out the skies, flat-earthers are looking for validation, election-deniers want to overturn every election they lose and Q-Anon just discovered the Queen was dead. Elizabeth Two was always on the top of their list as a leader of the global child-abuse conspiracy.
 
Of course, many Q-sters believe the Queen has been dead for years, replaced by a clever holograph, although why the cabal would have her officially dead just now instead of replacing her batteries and letting her go on forever is not explained.
 
Q-Anon also claims that the Queen was Queen of the Lizard People as well as of England. The Lizard People are our reptilian overlords, controlling us from a parallel universe through their agents, Bill Gates, George Soros, Hillary Clinton and Harambe, the dead gorilla.
 
None of this makes any sense, but that doesn’t stop Republicans from screeching for Q-Anon votes. Without them, they could lose. Republicanism, historically, has never had to really make sense.
 
Ask Herschel Walker.

Most of us who have achieved a certain age have an ex, or several, or a dozen or more in our lives, although if you have a dozen, you probably ARE the ex. The lucky among us have exes that move far away and stay there. I am blessed to have one of those. She choses to live on another continent. I encourage that.

But now, all of the US has an ex. I speak of the Former Caucasian-in-Chief, natch, and he combines all the bad qualities that an ex can exhibit, the worst being that he refuses to go away. He is the loser ex constantly trying to convince you that you made a mistake by rejecting him. In fact, he refuses to believe that you really did get divorced.

He bad-mouths his replacement constantly. Sure, you're not always happy with him either, but you think back on the days of constant Tweets and turmoil, and you realize you made the right choice. You were sick of a guy that constantly has to put others down. The lying had to go, too.

He won't give back your things. This is all too common in legal separations. It is not your fault you had to serve him to get what legally belonged to you returned. His howling about the sheriff "breaking in" to his house to take your possessions out of his nasty clutches can be ignored without a cloud on your conscience.

He is constantly begging for money. Not from you, but from your friends and relatives that think you ought to give him another chance. He shows up at all their barbecues and reunions, howling about how unfair you were to him and asking for handouts so you can get your divorce "reversed." Some of them are stupid enough to believe that's possible. There's a cold chill between you and people you used to get along with on account of this. The ex notices, and accuses you of dividing your own family.

He has a whole new bunch of friends. His only standard for making them is that they need to, first and foremost, hate you. If they threaten you, he just laughs it off and proclaims it is all your fault for the way you treated him.

But, most of all, he's just there. If the White House had a detached garage with a mother-in-law apartment on the second floor, he'd be living there, where you (and the rest of us) couldn't avoid looking at the parade of prostitutes (like Lindsey Graham) he summons to his door every weekend and listening to him play the same shitty Kid Rock and Ted Nugent albums over and over.

Yep, Trump is America's Ex. Let's keep it that way.