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."

A high school principal, Hope Carrasaquilla, was fired last week from her job in Tallahassee for exposing a sixth-grade class to a picture of Michelangelo’s David during an art lesson.
 
Although the dismissed principal was not given the reason for her canning, she stated it was because one parent had complained that the nude sculpture, long considered one of the world’s greatest works of art, was “pornography.” Another parent complained that she wasn’t “warned” that her precious child would be “exposed” to David, although she was not clear what she would have done to prepare her little Bobby Jim Bob Jimmy for his first glimpse into the art world if she had been forewarned.
 
Certainly, by the sixth grade, all these future GED holders had been familiarized with the concept of penises, if not by their Uncle Sticky in the tool shed, then just by life in Florida in general. Florida is the Penis State, not only because it is geographically shaped like a limp dingus, but because Floridians in general are preoccupied with their sun-washed dicks. Run a search for Florida Man Penis. I did. My favorite was “Florida Man with Drugs Around Penis Denies They Were His,” but there are many, many more to choose from. Penises flounce around Florida like they own they place. I’m surprised torpid ones don’t fall out of trees like frozen iguanas in the winter.
 
So, all these sixth graders know wang already. Showing them a picture of Michelangelo’s David is not likely to affect their attitudes towards male genitalia. Some of the boys are going to think to themselves, “At least mine is bigger than that,” while other, luckier boys are thinking,” I got a hog compared to that dude.”
 
At least one is saying to himself, “Bro, you could hardly wrap any drugs at all around that thing.”
 
All the girls are thinking, “Gross. He’s even whiter than Elon Musk.”
 
Anyway, it’s all over now. The chief of the school board gave Ms. Carrasaquilla the choice of resigning or getting fired. She’s sending out resumes as I type this.
 
All this is going on in Tallahassee, which happens to be the home of Meatball Ron DeSantis, at least until his ambitions for the White House are realized. No doubt the school board was feeling the Governor’s hot, slightly parmesan-scented breath down the back of their necks when they decided they had not choice but to give Principal Carrasaquilla the heave-ho.
​
Because you know how touchy the Meatball is, especially about sex, transgenders, drag queens and Mickey Mouse. If Michelangelo had decided to name his statue “Small Dick Energy,” Carrasaquilla might still have a job.

Trump claims he's getting arrested Tuesday. I just hope I can get ready in time. I know I can pick up a couple of air horns, and I've got buckets and hammers in the garage.

Fireworks are out. I live in firework-free California, and don't have time to drive out to Yuma and pick up enough personal pyrotechnics to beat Elon Musk to Mars. I'd like that, though.

I don't own any bagpipes or kazoos. Until Trump actually dies, that will be the case.

The party will happen all day. In my time zone everything happens early. I expect Trump to be indicted before my first sip of morning coffee, so I can switch to margaritas instead.

Trump plans to make a speech on the courtyard steps after he gets inducted into the justice system, and has called upon his followers to join him in protest there. This is not going to work out nearly as well as he thinks it is. First off, MAGA folk are going to suffer from the short time allowed to get to NYC, just like I can't get to Yuma. Some of them have jobs or drug deals they have to show up for; some of them still have their RV's up on blocks for the winter. Plus, parking your Ford 750 pickup in Manhattan is almost as easy as getting the Pope's autograph on a Communion muffin.

When they get there, they really can't expect the wide-open rampaging they enjoyed on January 6 in the Capitol. NYC's finest, plus probably the National Guard, plus an alphabet soup of Federal cops will be there. If you show up with merely your leftover pepper spray and a DON'T TREAD ON ME sign, you're gonna get treaded on.

But this is only the first time Trump gets indicted. You'll have time to perfect the art of getting a multi-year prison sentence on behalf of the Ex, if you haven't gotten one already, only this time, he's going to get one, too! Makes you tingle all over, doesn't it? Whether it's on the courthouse steps in Atlanta, or the federal courthouse in DC, there will be at least two more indictments, and you can play the chump for your orange-hued hero a few more times before they send him away.

Over here, we're just stoked. Nor quite as stoked as Meatball Ron. Close, though.

​In the current Republican party, the general itch is to make laws that nobody wants. They daydream about cutting Social Security back to dog-food once a week rates and paring down Medicare until you’re only entitled to a couple free Advil’s a month.
 
But don’t just accuse them of granny-starving. They’ve got plans for the younger generation, too. Loosening child labor laws has always been a dream for them. Instead of happy children playing video games or running around outside committing small acts of arson and sneaking puffs off swiped cigarettes, like we did, Republicans think kids ought to be working for the minimum wage, or, ideally, the minimum special child wage in a perfect Republican economy, in giant dangerous factories, and only smoking cigarettes during designated breaks.
 
Sarah Huckabee Sanders, the newly minted governor of Arkansas, is leading the league in getting minors off their asses and toiling on poultry farms. Of course, Sanders herself can’t be accused of hypocrisy on this account, as everybody knows Sanders worked as a trained circus pig every summer of middle school. Other Republican hands aren’t so clean. Iowa legislators are considering a bill that would allow 14- and 15-year-olds to work certain jobs in meatpacking plants and shield businesses from civil liability if a child laborer is sickened, injured or killed on the job. A bill in Minnesota would permit 16- and 17-year-olds to work construction jobs.
 
It is dead solid certain that these various Midwestern legislators aren’t envisioning their own kids working in a meatpacking plant, or some other dangerous industry. It’s not like they’re telling their kids at the end of the school year, “Boy, this is the summer you find out what a working crop thresher smells like,” or “There’s nothing a face full of chicken feathers in the morning to make you feel like you’re alive, son.” Hell, no. They’re all enrolling their kids in summer sessions at Country Day Something School, hoping they can raise their grades enough to stumble into Stanford, or at least TCU.
 
No, child labor is for brown children, particularly brown children whose English isn’t so good and their illegal parents or guardians don’t much like filling out paperwork. Meat-packing executives look out their office windows at these kids playing soccer with a ball made of taped-up rags and think, “Look at those little slackers. We could put them to work, and nobody would care.” So, they give them jobs at meat-packing plants full of sharp saws and knives, and keep them until they’ve lost enough fingers/limbs so they can't be a successful team member any more. Then they let them can drift back to the border and hold up a begging cup with what remains of their digits, so people crossing back into the US can throw their remaining pesos in them and think better of themselves for it.
 
Republicans seldom cross the border by foot or car—they usually fly in and out of Cancun, a la Ted Cruz. But if they are stuck in the border line, they gaze out of the tightly-rolled up windows of their Land Cruisers and say, “Look at that kid with one arm and one leg! And he’s probably trying to get into our country so he can get welfare!”
 
He’s already been here, you know. He’s been here.

It has been pointed out many times that Trump and his band of merry MAGAS have no actual future plans for America, except to torment refugees, people that want abortions, and the Ukrainian nation.
 
Apparently, the Trumpers have heard this criticism and been stung by it, because now Trump has a plan for after his supposed re-election, besides giving himself a get-out-of-jail-free card. He is going to build ten “Freedom Cities,” high in the air above federal land, which will all bear a significant resemblance to Orbit City, the future home of George Jetson, complete down to the flying cars.
 
“Yeah, why don’t the Democrats give us something useful, like flying cars instead of all that health care shit they’re always pushing down our throats?,” says the typical Trump voter, who nowadays only flies when he cooks up a really good batch of crystal meth. His license is currently suspended due to a couple of at-fault accidents and a DUI he got while four-wheeling in the swamp, but his flying car record is unblemished and he can’t wait to get behind the joystick of a Jetsonmobile.
 
Of course, we have flying cars, or to be precise, small personal aircraft, now. The reason they don’t dominate the transportation market is that they fly. Piloting yourself in three dimensions thousands of feet in the air is a way more serious business than rolling your wheels down to the Quick Mart to buy some vape juice, which you can easily do drunk, with your glove compartment stuffed with weed, expired registrations, and unpaid tickets, just on the off chance you can make the cut on On Patrol Live. On the streets of  Virginia, a hypothetical fender-bender between Kellyanne Conway and Kimberly Guilfoyle would only result in each of them lying about who was at fault, but in Freedom City, it would result in a fiery plunge to the ground, and both of these legendary sources of prevarication would have their voices stilled forever.
 
And don’t just say, “so what?” Another one of Trump’s plans for Orbit City is that he will pay white people to have babies. He doesn’t actually say “white people,” but you know what he means. High above the ground, Caucasian-Americans will clutch their paid-for children, letting them go only to scream, “Get away from that window!” every five minutes.
 
Whether this will work or not nobody knows. Probably depend on the money involved. If Trump tries to low-ball the Future White Dads and Moms of the USA, they’ll probably just say, “Naw…I’ll just buy me some Bitcoin instead.”
 
 
The height of Trump Orbit Cities is obviously meant to discourage refugees from climbing aboard, which won’t work unless you add some really dark real-estate accoutrements, like spikes and boiling oil gutters on the legs of Freedom Place. Even then, the moment Rosie the Robot goes out of warranty, some smiling Salvadorean housekeeper will appear magically at the elevator, ready to take her place.
 
So, we’ve discovered some flaws here, but don’t expect that to stop Trump from trying, even if it just results in a heap of rust somewhere in the Midwest, kind of like his wall did for the Southwest.
 
If you really want to make a mess of it, put Elon Musk in charge.