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."

​Paula White, spiritual advisor to the White House, who is paid by taxpayer money, was recently videoed saying:
 
"We declare any strange winds – any strange winds that have been sent to hurt the church, sent to hurt this nation, sent against the president, sent against myself, sent against others – we break it by the superior blood of Jesus right now…In the name of Jesus, we command all satanic pregnancies to miscarry right now. We declare that anything that has been conceived in satanic wombs will miscarry.
 
Immediately the libtard media went into a frenzy, since Paula yacks about the preciousness of fetal life all the time, so commanding fetuses to self-abort definitely smells of mission creep. Paula’s ministry has really been raking in the cheese lately, because of her association with Trump, and likely she’s getting insider stock tips from Steve Mnuchin as well, so naturally she’s filled with the Spirit, but it is nonetheless a distinctly weird message that the Spirit is blurting out here, so weird that eventually Paula started telling people she was quoted out of context. Which is another kind of miracle, because she’s on video saying it.
 
How do I know if my womb is satanic? I hear the women of childbearing age of America crying out this question, to no avail. No information available. If you can’t reach Paula, ask your OBGYN, I suppose.
 
Nonetheless, I've learned something from Paula. I’m vowing to add the phrase “By the Superior Blood of Jesus” to every request I make in the future. For example, “By the Superior Blood of Jesus, can I get a couple extra packets of hot sauce?” or, “By the Superior Blood of Jesus, could you kindly not run the fucking dishwasher when I’m in the shower?”
 
Also, we are left to wonder exactly what a Satanic pregnancy is, since Paula refuses to say anything more about them. Is it a pregnancy actually caused by Satan? Could be, because in no artistic or sculptural rendering of the Prince of Darkness, is he ever depicted wearing a condom. His biggest centuries for knocking up human women were in the Dark Ages. Apparently, the Lord of the Underworld prefers women that have never bathed in their entire lives.
 
Back then, when a woman conceived a child by Satan, her neighbors didn’t bother with praying for her to miscarry—they just burned her and her fetus at the stake, so we ought to be grateful to Paula for her mercy, relatively speaking. And for all the girls nowadays who have woken up in a strange bed after a hard night of partying with a guy they met on Tinder, and saw Satan sleeping next to them, and thought afterwards, “I kind of wish that had been Harvey Weinstein,” they are grateful to be getting their periods after Paula’s prayers, no doubt.
 
As for those strange winds, they are no doubt blowing straight from the Pit of Darkness. Unless they’re blowing from a burrito you ate after midnight.

​In either case, they can hurt. 

An official Space Force Bible has been blessed at the National Cathedral for use in swearing in senior Space Force officers--News item.
 
I must admit I let this column lose track of the Space Force. My crack research team had failed to notice that the Force had actually been formed. Last I heard, the Joint Chiefs were arguing about whether the Air Force had jurisdiction over space. Somebody must have won the argument by pointing out that there is no air in space, therefore we needed an entire new military bureaucracy to fight in the vacuum.
 
So, the Space Force has been born. The first thing they needed was a uniform, and they have one. Much fun has been made of it, since it is traditional military camouflage, and there is a significant lack of underbrush to blend into out in space. Space camouflage should be black, and sprinkled with white dots that represent stars. That way, the wearer could blend into space, when his rocket ship is attacked and he or she is blown out into it.
 
No worries about that right now, since the Space Force does not actually have any rocket ships. What it does have is a Bible, though, even though the Bible does not mention space. Indeed, many of today’s Flat Earth practitioners cite the Bible when they accuse NASA of sending astronauts to the space station, which they believe hangs by gigantic suction cups that astronauts lick and stick on the underside of the big dome God keeps us in, so they can take pictures of the Earth with fish-eye cameras, to give us the false impression that it is round.
 
That is the same Bible we will now launch into space on the wings of the Space Force. We do not know yet whether every Space Force capsule will be required to have a Bible on board, like a comfy room in a Holiday Inn Express, so space soldiers can either take it out of the drawer and read it, or set their beers on it, like I do. Only it’ll be a suite fueled by liquid hydrogen and capable of shooting laser rays at its enemies.
 
When our technology advances to the point where we can actually build Death Stars, will the Space Force make sure each one has a Bible inside, so that the Death Star commander can read a reverent little verse or two before imploding a planet and all its inhabitants? Based on the history of the connection between religion and military adventuring, the bet here is yes.
 
And will the heroic fighters of the Space Rebellion figure out the weak point in the USS Death Star in time to destroy it, before it blows up their home world? Will a lone Resistance fighter in a tiny craft, accompanied only by a squealy little robot, be able to shoot an energy pulse down the one crack in the Death Star’s armor, causing it to blow up at the last minute and send thousands of camouflage-clad space fighters to their doom?
 
Here, we are willing to send out a tip to that brave soul of the future— Aim for the Bible.

The American Ship of State is currently navigating its way through a shitstorm the like of which it has never seen, according to a crew of historians and pundits. That news is leaking down to the man in the street. Hell, it’s leaking down to the boys and girls in the street. “What is the state of the union?” I asked a group of Girl Scouts I encountered in front of the supermarket yesterday.
 
“Balls deep in scumfuckery!” they chorused, in their sweet girlish voices. Then they sold me cookies.
 
The latest star in the nation’s battle with loathsomeness is Lev Parnas, a Ukrainian-born American who’s blabbing to anyone who will listen about the chores he’s done on behalf of Rudy Giuliani in Parnas's native land. Parnas, who appeared on national TV with a hairstyle reminiscent of a Dairy Queen swirly cone, is yacking like someone who fears he will commit suicide next week. He claims that everyone in the entire Trump mob was in on pressuring Ukraine to announce an investigation into Joe Biden.
 
Parnas is not the most credible of witnesses, except that he has the texts and photos, evidence that proves Trumpish figures found him irresistible, despite a history of debt and fraud, probably because he had a bank account they could use to funnel Russian money into a Trump Super Pac, which resulted in his unfortunate recent indictment. They found him even more delightful when they discovered he spoke Ukrainian and could be relied on to personally convey blackmail notices to the old, and then the new, Ukrainian government, to push an investigation that would benefit Trump next election. Of course, the US employed people who spoke Ukrainian already—they work for the State Department—but Trump & Company preferred Parnas.
 
Parnas, in turn, found Robert Hyde, with whom he exchanged texts concerning stalking and maybe even killing one of those people who spoke Ukrainian on behalf of the State Department, who happened to be the US ambassador to that woebegone country at the time. Hyde, who apparently has a history of mental problems, alcoholism and being a Republican, may have hatched this whole plot out of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Probably, though, there should be more than three degrees of separation between an unbalanced, murderous drunk and the office of the Presidency. Just sayin.’
 
Of course, none of this will have consequences for Trump in terms of booting him from office in his impeachment trial, because he has been gifted with a Republican Senate whose members would, if he commanded it, engage in public perineum sunning on the steps of the Capitol while shouting his praise. Some of them would even print “Not” on their right pasty thigh and “Guilty” on the left one voluntarily while they did so. We’re looking at you, Lindsey Graham.
 
And we’re looking at Lev. Quick, someone get him a book deal, before he kills himself.

Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, speaking to a group of evangelical Christians, recently vowed to keep fighting against abortion and same sex marriage “until the Rapture.” –News item
 
I had just finished reviewing reports of this incident on the Internet when God appeared to me. While the Creator had appeared to me previously in person, nowadays we Skype. It’s more convenient for both of us—He doesn’t have to transmogrify into human form, and I can tilt the laptop so He doesn’t see the empty liquor bottles and pizza boxes on my kitchen table.
 
As soon as my screen lit up, I knew He had another vital message for humanity, and, sure enough, the Alpha and Omega got right to the point. “Tell Pompeo the Rapture ain’t happening until he loses some weight.”
 
“My Lord! Pompeo is the Secretary of State. I’m certain he won’t appreciate being body-shamed by me.”
 
“Billy Barr, too. That pint of pistachio ice cream he eats every night before bed is slowing down the Final Judgement.”
 
“But you are all-powerful, oh God. No matter how obese Your believers get, You’re able to slurp them up into Heaven, right?”
 
“It’s a problem for Us up Here—American evangelicals are getting fatter faster than we can rebuild the divine Hoover to suck their souls into Heaven. Bake sales, fast food, deep-fried butter—these are just some of the things that are postponing the End Times. Plus, the usual procrastination by My Son. And the Holy Ghost is never any help. He’s actually opposed to the Apocalypse entirely now, ever since He got hooked on playing fantasy football with the Apostles. Only I’m really on board with getting it all over with.
 
“Never anticipated this problem. And don’t tell Me I’m supposed to know everything. I never claimed that. I’m just an acute observer of trends is all. But I missed that one. That’s because the first takers on My deal for eternal life were no problem. Virgins and martyrs tend to be on the thin side. But when the evangelicals started applying, I could see we were going to have an engineering problem. Just building diabetes carts for the ones that show up now is straining our production abilities.
 
“So, tell Pompeo to hold off getting his boss to start Armageddon until I’m ready for it. I know he wants to launch the missiles in the confident hope that he’s going to get evanesced into Heaven while he’s still outside of the blast radius, but I wouldn’t count on it. Of course, I’m going to leave all the gays, atheists and abortionists behind. Kanye West, too. Eternity with him? That’s a big fat fucking NO. That still leaves about seven billion souls to dead-lift into Heaven at once and We just don’t have that kind of capacity.”
 
“Well, I’ll pass that along to Pompeo, oh my God, but he’s going to want some guidance. What can I tell him to do to hasten the Rapture?
 
“One word, baby. Keto.

Numbers in the rationalist community are reportedly dwindling, as heretofore firm atheists and previously logical agnostics are returning to church in droves, just so they can fantasize about Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell roasting in Hell.
 
“I know there’s no real chance that the Hell of orthodox Christian theology exists, or that any of us are going there,” said one former atheist, who was willing to be interviewed anonymously. “Still, when I sit in church and fantasize about McConnell getting all of his chins ripped off every day for all eternity by the teeth one of Satan’s imps, I am overcome by a feeling of numinousness.  
 
“The thought of McConnell getting stabbed repeatedly by pitchforks, or having his testicles smashed continuously by a brimstone brick glowing red-hot with the fires of Hades, just brings me closer to God. Ever prayer I say, and every hymn I sing, makes me firmer in my belief that someday that frog-eyed sack of lying crap will get what he deserves forever.
 
“I mean, people say that McConnell’s got his head up Trump’s butthole now, but that’s just a figure of speech. In Hell, Satan could actually make it happen, and keep McConnell’s silly-putty looking features wedged up that canyon of hemorrhoids with a spring-loaded slave collar the temperature of molten lead, maximizing the never-ending pain for both of them. Sweet Jesus! I can almost hear the angels sing when I visualize it.
 
“I know when I go to church I could be surrounded by Republicans, and they could be praying to keep McConnell out of Hell. I’m there to balance that out, by asking God to not only send him there, but to stick a spear the size of a regulation NFL goal post up McConnell’s ass, and shake him around on it like an inflatable tube man at a used car lot for centuries at a time.
 
“I pity my former fellow nonbelievers, who think that McConnell will just cease to be a point of consciousness when he dies. They are limited to wishing him the most painful death possible, maybe by being stabbed to death slowly with dull Swiss Army knives by a combined mob of illegal aliens, Muslims and transgenders. Or accidentally ingesting some radioactive polonium that Putin was trying to slip to Chuck Schumer.
 
“But I’ve moved beyond that. I see McConnell gasping for breath while boiled in a vat of his own bullshit for time without end, and it brings me bliss unimaginable.
 
“You can laugh if you want to, but I never knew what religious ecstasy was, before now.”

There’s partying on the links at Mar-al-Lago, where Trump remained the entire time the United States was dispatching Qasem Soleimani, head of Iran’s Quds Force, to the company of 72 virgins, because it drove impeachment off the news cycle for a day.
 
Nobody in the White House will admit this, naturally. Their story is that Soleimani had his head surgically blown off by a precision missile strike because he was planning attacks against Americans. Yes, he was. That was his job, and he no doubt expected some day to be abruptly killed for it, but the timing of it is as suspect as an email from Nigeria.
 
First off, the Quds Force is still around. If they want to carry out plans to kill Americans, they have thousands of fighters remaining to do so. Even Trump doesn’t believe that they’re all going to quit and start looking for jobs in retail just because Soleimani is dead.
 
The other reason given for Soleimani’s explosive dispatching to Hell is that one of the under-militias he managed had just killed an American contractor. Trump chilling the Quds Force commander sends a message reverberating throughout the world—if you’re a Washington Post reporter and you get fed into a wood chipper by Trump’s Saudi buds, you’re good. And if you keep an American citizen in captivity for no good reason for years, and then release him a week before he dies of cancer, Trump will exchange love letters with you. But if you work for Halliburton, Trump’s got your back.
 
The problem with killing just Soleimani is that the American public never heard of him, just like they never heard of the ISIS guy Trump laid waste to last year when the impeachment train started picking up speed. Abū Bakr al-Baghdadi al-Qurashi? Remember him? Of course, you don’t. I had to Google him.
 
The problem with Trump killing random Muslim murderers in order to take the impeachment heat off himself is that there are very few terrorists really well-known to the man in the street, and the biggest A-lister in the terrorist field was killed on the orders of Trump’s least favorite President back in 2011. I’m sure there’s rumors on 8chan that Osama is still alive. Don’t be surprised if Trump starts re-Tweeting them. Bin Laden’s the guy he really needs to kill. That ought to put impeachment to rest until at least after St. Patrick’s Day.
 
The guess here, though, is that Osama will remain dead. Who is next on Trump’s hit list? Nothing like a string of international murders to keep people from reading those dull emails about how hard he was planning to screw Ukraine. In no particular order:
 
PRINCE ANDREW. Keeps him from flapping his royal mouth about your teenage girl habit. Can’t count on him taking the Epstein route.
 
HILLARY. Before she kills you.
 
TRUDEAU. Your wife will never look at him that way again.
 
HUNTER BIDEN. And make it look like his dad did it.
 
THAT ALEXANDRIA OCCASIONALLY-CORTEZ PERSON. Before she turns us into Venezuela.
 
PETE BUTTIGIEG.  Because he’s a smarmy little gay bastard who didn’t bone-spur his way out of military service.
 
PRESIDENT OF UKRAINE VOLODYMYR ZELENSKY. Good for more points with Putin!
 
GEORGE CONWAY. Nobody would miss him, especially Kellyanne.
 
THE WHISTLEBLOWER: This one would just feel so good.

ANY REPUBLICAN SENATOR THAT SEEMS TO GETTING A LITTLE SQUISHY ABOUT IGNORING ALL THE EVIDENCE AGAINST YOU AND ACQUITTING YOU AT YOUR TRIAL.
 
You listening, Mitt? 

The decade drew to a close yesterday, kind of like a man frantic with diarrhea slamming a public restroom door shut behind him, and left numerous impressions on history—the usual wars, uprisings, crisis, disasters that every decade presents us with, plus Baby Yoda—but over the past four years of it, a consensus has emerged among the thoughtful—40% of all Americans are indelible morons.
 
That number has in the past been thought to be both higher and lower, but now can be solidly pegged at 40%, a discovery that can be laid at the feet of modern polling, Agent Orange and the Republican Party.
 
This is important information, probably the biggest scientific breakthrough of the decade, especially considering that I can’t think of any other ones. Couple pictures of black holes mugging each other, maybe, and a lot of new prescription drugs being advertised on TV featuring models that are definitely not sick in any way. There wasn’t even a new boner pill put on the market, for fuck’s sake.
 
The discovery of this data point can safely be extrapolated to the remainder of the human race. There’s no possibility that evolution has made Americans dumber than everybody else in the mere 243 years we have existed as a nation, although we worked at it. It applies to all humankind. From the moment we dropped out of the trees, a sizeable minority of us have been confused and easily manipulated, and there’s no reason to think that we won’t be plagued by the same average number of boneheads as we lurch into the future. The 40% will become as iconic as the 1%. For every six of us that want to clean up the earth and advance through the solar system to the stars, there will be four of us that stubbornly continue to think that space is a hoax, and for sure they ain’t gonna charge their diabetes carts with no windmill power.
 
When we finally encounter intelligent aliens, we will want to get out in front of this story. “By the way, 40% of us are oxy-popping, niece-fucking yickadoos,” is what should have been printed on that space probe we sent out into the galaxy, instead of just some nude pics and some nice music.  Or we could have just mentioned the amount of time the committee that came up with that plaque spent arguing about how big the genitals on the naked humans should be, for surely there was such a committee and surely there was such an argument.

Otherwise, they might just be impressed by the fact that we are civilized enough to shoot stuff off our planet and we definitely do not want that.

Fortunately, we have also been introducing ourselves to the galaxy at the speed of light, by mastering the electromagnetic spectrum and using it to transmit our idiocy into every corner of space. Sure, we started off by giving advanced intelligent beings the impression that we were all good-looking, brave and ready at any instant to fall in love (think Baywatch) but lately we’ve been correcting that impression by sending them Mama June, The Duck people and Live PD.

So, if they’re plunging towards us to make first contact, they might very well hit the brakes around Neptune, make a hard left, and go looking for some other rookie species. But the Universe could be a funny place. It may turn out that the advanced aliens also have a hardcore bunch of dumbasses in their species, aliens that do nothing but flame alien libtards on social media, pray to Alien Jesus and swap alien dic picks, maybe even more than our idiots do, considering that each of the alien pinheads could have a dozen penises or more.  The reason the advanced aliens are scorching through the galaxy is they are trying to get away from their own dimwits.
 
Now, there’s a plan.