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."

For those of you who are sick of the whole dating-relationship-married scene and are thinking of chucking it and buying a sex robot equipped with big silicone breasts and artificial intelligence, be forewarned—your sex robot may be hacked into and reprogrammed to kill you.
 
“Hah!” you’re thinking. “If I spent ten grand on a sex robot, I wouldn’t have to wait around for it to kill me. My wife would beat Botsy to it, for sure.”
 
Sure, but not all of us are married, or might as well be. There are lonely men out there, guys who yearn for soft, sweet, artificially intelligenced companionship. Also, there are horny bastards who will stick it to anything. For both of these kinds of guys, a hidden danger may lurk in having a sex robot in the bedroom, according to this article in Newsweek.
 
“Wow, that’s amazing,” you’re thinking to yourself. “Amazing that Newsweek still exists. And the part about sex robots is pretty scary, too.”
 
But it’s true. Your sex robot is always connected to the Internet, monitoring PornHub so it can keep abreast of new developments in the sex field, but that means it can always be hacked into as well by anybody with sufficient cyberskills who wants you dead, turning your sex doll from tart to Terminator. Like your kid, who hates you already, so you’d better buy him whatever he’s been bugging you to get him, which is probably his own sex robot. Good idea anyway, because for sure he's been using yours when you're at work.
 
“But if that’s correct, I can always reprogram my sex robot myself. I could program it to clean the house, make me sandwiches and bring me beers,” you say. Come to your senses. You already tried to program your wife to do that, which is why you’re divorced. You think you could persuade a profoundly advanced artificial intelligence to pick up after your slob ass? Plus, your computer skills are crap. You only figured out you had to press ESC to exit full screen mode two weeks after you got Netflix.
 
So, when your sex robot grabs her extra-long extension cord, which you put her on so you could have sex all over the house, and strangles you with it, don’t say you weren’t warned.
 
As for you ladies out there, so far, you’re safe. Male sex robots are not nearly as advanced as female ones. So far, the only model available has a boner as soon as you plug him in, whines and begs for sex all day long, and when you finally give in to him, lasts about three minutes. Then he completely loses interest in you and goes to the rec room to watch The Hockey Channel the rest of the night.
​
But at least you don’t have to make him sandwiches.

Robert Kraft, 77 year-old billionaire and owner of the least popular professional sports team in the country, was arrested for soliciting a handjob from a Chinese sex slave last week.

Instead of going to Disney World to celebrate another one of his team's interminable string of championships, Kraft decided to get his noodle yanked by a foreign sex worker.
 
Police in Jupiter, Florida arrested the filthy rich old bastard on the basis of videotaped evidence, which raises the question of where a barely dressed  immigrant prostitute conceals a video camera anyway, and also reminds us that there are plenty of sex tapes out there that nobody but Robert Mueller wants to watch. 
 
Trump’s reaction was muted. “It’s sad,” he said, despite the fact that the police video shows there was, indeed, a happy ending.  “Build the Wall!” he added, pointlessly, then went into an extended mumble about how his Administration was totally against imaginary sex trafficking, which he described as M-13 duct-taping teenage girls’ mouths shut, frog-walking them through the desert, forcing them into a truck bound for California, there to be pawed at by Democrats. None of that has yet to be captured on video.
 
The Chinese sex slaves, however, had been granted temporary work visas. Their pimps told them they were going to be working at Mar al Lago, then when they landed in Miami, having flown high above the proposed Wall, confiscated their passports and forced them to grope geriatric Republican crotch.
 
At week’s end, Trump was said to be still concerned about his pal’s legal fate. He was overheard late at night questioning a bust of Lincoln, “Hey, Abe, why shouldn’t a septuagenarian billionaire be able to find a foreign prostitute thirty or fifty years younger than him, who really knows how to give him a chubby, and bring her into the country? It’s not fair! I mean, isn’t that why you fought the Civil War?”
 
Then he snapped his tiny fingers. “Abe, I know how I’ll get Bob off the hook! I got two words for that Chinese tart—GENIUS VISA!”

Russia, not to be outdone by their puppet Trump, also declared a national emergency to combat an invasion last week.
 
The residents of Novaya Zemlya, a region of Russia whose name translates, roughly, as “frozen bog where you would have to be out of your friggin’ mind to live in the first place,” are being terrorized by invaders. These invaders are all white, as are the residents of Novaya Zemlya, so there is no racism involved. It’s more species-ism, since the invaders are polar bears.

 
There are eerie parallels to the Trumped-up emergency at our Mexican border. The bears are moving in on Novaya Zemlya because where they were living before is no good for them. Global warming, which is popular in Russia because that nation's most popular indoor sport is freezing your nipples off, is nonetheless causing the ice sheets up north to dissolve. This is where the bears make their living, killing seals that pop up through the ice to breathe. Now that there is no ice to pop up through, the seals can breathe anywhere they want, and wisely chose to inhale where there are no polar bears.
 
Likewise, the polar bears are doing a job no Novaya Zemlyan wants to do—going through the garbage of Novaya Zemlya and eating the bits that humans have already determined are too yucky to snack down on. The locals don’t appreciate this, however—they are frightened out of their skins when they see hungry polar bears roaming their streets, much as a wary American might panic because he or she overheard someone speaking Spanish at a Walmart. Russian parents won't send their kids to school, for fear of them being eaten at the bus stop, just like American parents are alarmed if their children have to go to school with a little brown kid who doesn't know how to text in English.
 
Like Mexico, the polar bears are not sending Russia their best polar bears. They are sending ALL their polar bears. All these beasts want is to escape starvation in their homelands. They are seeking asylum in Russian garbage dumps, eating frozen borscht and turnips, though if the Novaya Zemlyans have any freshly killed seal they don’t know what to do with, the bears would surely appreciate that.
 
Many of these polar bear caravans contain females and cubs, but that doesn’t cut them any slack in Russian opinion, because female and cub polar bears, just like the males, will kill you AND eat you, which even M-13 seldom does.
 
Faced with this bear invasion, the Russians are doing what any sensible nation that actually has a problem with immigrants coming in and terrorizing its citizens would do. They are separating the cubs from their mothers and putting them in cages, naturally, but most importantly, THEY ARE BUILDING A WALL!
 
No word yet on whether the polar bears will pay for it.

​Fresh from accusing freshman Congressperson Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez of wearing an un-socialist $7000 outfit to the State of the Union, having a lousy credit rating, being fired from Hot Dog on a Stick when she was a teenager, and being able to dance, Republicans are now searching for the ultimate prize—an AOC sex tape.
 
Firmly convinced that the toothy young socialist has somewhere along the line dropped a sex tape like Paris Hilton or a common Kardashian, GOP operatives are looking for it like it was the One Ring. They are trying to keep their expectations low, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement about what the tape could ultimately be found to contain.
 
“If it turns out that it’s just her and her boyfriend getting it on like any common heterosexual couple, that would be okay, as long as she’s moaning ‘Green New Deal! Green New Deal!’ every time she climaxes, and he’s grunting “’Medicare for All!’ as he dives into her sin cave,” said one Republican dirty trickster, who declined to be identified for this interview.
 
“But some of us are hoping for more. It could be a full-on leftist orgy, with Ocasio-Cortez getting ravished by multiple men, women, transgenders and a few lucky homeless veterans while she’s lying on a copy of the Constitution. Bernie Sanders would be presiding over the whole sex party, wearing nothing but his glasses and a Santa Claus beard. All the Democratic presidential candidates, all twenty-eight or so of them, would be lined up, pants-less or pants-suitless, waiting their turn for AOC’s sweet, social-democratic yoni.”
 
I highly doubt such a tape exists.
 
“Oh, it exists, all right. There’s only one problem. Melania’s in it, too.”

​Republicans in Arizona, the big, pebbly state next to my own, are on the verge of declaring porn a public health crisis.
 
Arizona State Rep. Michelle Udall, R-Mesa, introduced a resolution declaring "pornography is a crisis leading to a broad spectrum of individual and public health impacts."
 
Several other states, Utah being the first, natch, have declared porn a public health crisis, and it was a plank in the 2016 Republican party platform, which you might have missed because the part where the platform said we ought to give the Ukraine back to Russia got all the publicity, but it was there.
 
The best way to react to the Arizona resolution is to shrug indifferently, and to remind yourself of the guiding principal of today’s political wars—anytime Republicans use a phrase that ends in “crisis,” you can be certain it is no big deal.
 
“Pornography is used pervasively, even by minors,” says Udall, which inspires a great big, “Well, duh,” on my part. Minors, especially minor boys, are the ones most desperately in need of porn, because onanism, or to use the scientific term, slapping the bishop, is an important daily activity in their young lives, one they engage in far more frequently than brushing their teeth and changing their underwear, because no teenage boy changes his underwear four times a day, unless he is a particularly clumsy masturbator.
 
Young men with mental health issues do not burst into schools, churches and movie theaters and start spraying porn at innocents. Immigrant caravans are not thronging the border because they can’t log on to PornHub from Guatemala. The electronic buzz of porn on tablets and cell phones probably contributes to global warming, but no more than the Fox News does by being on the TV in the waiting room of every fucking lube shop in the country. Seriously, the longer you can go between oil changes, the less Fox you have to watch.
 
Fortunately, for all of you porn stars and fans out there, the resolution does nothing to ban porn in Arizona. There will be no Sheriff Joe of porn, watching through the dust-caked windows of that arid state, making sure its citizens are not running up their credit card debt on cam girls. Stormy Daniels will not be forced to put on a white coat and go to work at a CVS in Nogales. Trump will still be able to download all the Arizona porn his mushroom craves when he visits Mar al Lago.
 
Which he has to do, because he is not allowed to view porn in the White House.
 
Probably the only place in the country you can’t get the stuff.

​It has come to this—after 2000+ years of Latin mumbling and Gregorian chanting, the Catholic Church has thrown the Dark Ages aside like they were an altar boy’s tightie-whities and embraced the ease and convenience of the cyber-era.
 
And by this I mean the Pope has an app.
 
You can download Click to Pray from the Google Play store just like any ordinary secular app that will tell you something you want to know, like how many steps you take a day vs. how much time you spend on the couch wishing the bong were close enough to reach, and in mere seconds you will be praying with Pope Francis.
 
Get ready for this, because the Pope prays big. There are none of the simple entreaties to the Almighty that we regular citizens send flying heavenward in our times of need on His Holiness's app, nothing like “Oh, God, please don’t let my wife find that motel key I might have left in the cup-holder,” or “Sweet Jesus, are the Patriots really going to win another fucking Super Bowl?” The Pope prays in multiple sentences, sometimes sentences with subordinate clauses. This month he is praying for human trafficking victims. It’s pretty drab compared to last month’s, when he was praying for the women of Latin America to stay away from temptation. The wise Pope knew that Carnival was coming up, and the Spanish-speaking women of the world were planning on drinking rum and wearing nothing but beads for a solid week. The Pope was reminding them to pray before partying.
 
But the eloquent-bordering-on-rambling nature of the Pope’s prayer portfolio needn’t trouble you—you just glance at the prayer, punch the icon and a quick “Like he said,” goes flying up to God. This so beats the shit out of Catholic prayer as I remember it, kneeling in some pew ramrod straight, because if you let your butt touch the seat behind you some nun would correct you with a fervent whack from a hymnal, muttering endless rosaries during services that were as long and as torturous as a Say Yes to the Dress marathon.
 
But Catholic kids nowadays—they can bang out Rosaries as quick as their sticky little fingers can fly over their touchscreens, and be back to playing Fortnite before the Mass really gets rolling. We had to stand, sit or kneel there woodenly, as the rhythm of the Mass called for it, watching our classmates genuflect back and forth, in my case paying particular attention to a seventh-grade girl named Barbara, who had matured into a size 38 bra by the time she was 12 years old, and was rumored to be dating a Marine. Even thinking about her now…
 
Well, there I go, sinning again. Where’s my phone?

One of the latest Tweets from Trump:

Numerous states introducing Bible Literacy classes, giving students the option of studying the Bible. Starting to make a turn back? Great!
 
Turn back to what? is what you might be thinking, and this column agrees. We don’t turn back for anything, unless it’s something really important, like a cooler full of beer.
 
But after parsing the Tweet above, you might start thinking that Trump, after suffering the loss of his political gonads in the shutdown fight with the Speaker, has, like many others before him, turned to the salve of religion in order to bind up his wounds.
 
Hah! Just kidding. The first time Trump ever touched a Bible in his life was when he groped one and lied about upholding the Constitution when he was sworn in. He’s just making political points with his Evangelical buds, who are behind this effort to get the Bible read in public schools by proclaiming its worth as literature that even bored little Jews and atheists ought to want to study.
 
This effort to turn the malleable minds of schoolchildren into a coterie of brainwashed Bible believers is, however, doomed to failure. If you want a kid to never pick up a book again, the best thing to do is force him or her to read it in school. How many of you have a copy of Moby Dick or A Tale of Two Cities on your shelves? Some of you, sure, but it’s the same copy you were supposed to read in 11th grade English class. And you didn’t read it then, and haven’t touched it since. It’s just there for you to recall, with a shudder, your failure to understand it in the least back in your high school days, and also your failure to lose your virginity until you got to college.
 
Or consider how many of you right now are thinking “I need to quit reading sarcastic shit on the Internet and pick up Pride and Prejudice again?” Exactly zero of you, even the ones who are wondering “When is this shit going to start to get funny?”
 
You can put Bibles in front of high schoolers’ faces all you want, but they’re still going to be far more concerned about whether they are one of the cool kids, or whether they need to avoid being beaten up by the cool kids, or whether they erased their browser history this morning because today is the only day of the month that their mom has the day off from both her jobs, than they are about Jesus. Tales of burning bushes and trumpeting angels will only be dimly recalled childhood horrors for them, like Melville, Austen and, God forbid, Henry James, are to us.
 
Besides, there’s all kinds of bits in the Bible that Christian parents don’t want their kids reading, like the part forbidding tattoos, which their mom, dad and favorite rap singers are covered in, or the part about not eating pork, because the Beer Belly Barbecue sponsors the school track team, or the part about not lending money at exorbitant interest rates, since without Mastercard, there wouldn’t be a Christmas, ever.

There’s also a big bit in the OT about an immigrant caravan tearing down a wall.
 
For sure Mom, Dad and Trump don’t want the kids reading about that.