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."

It’s the Gubernatorial Round of America’s Next Top Asshole, and no one is surprised that the two finalists are Ron DeSantis of Florida and Greg Abbott of Texas. Let’s listen in as the two competitors are schooled in the art of assholery by America’s once and possibly future First Bunghole, Donald Trump.
 
TRUMP: As the former owner of Miss Universe, the most popular beauty pageant in the history of the Universe, I’m—by the way, the ratings for that show have seriously slipped since I left it—I, um you couldn’t have found a better host for this show. Although I won’t be slipping backstage to see either of you change your clothes. How do you even get your pants off anyway, Abbott, sitting in that wheelchair?
 
ABBOTT: Good one, Mr. Ex-President, and I’m going to ignore any brutal stupidities like that one that slip out of your mouth because if you actually run for President again, I would love to be your Vice-President. It’s Ron that wants to run against you.
 
TRUMP: Only if he wants his ass kicked. (Glares at DeSantis, who merely looks smug) Get that smug look off your face, Governor!
 
DESANTIS: It’s the only facial expression I can make, Mr. President. But I can win this contest. Nobody else in this room has picked a fight with Mickey Mouse.
 
ABBOTT: Sure, brawling with your state’s biggest employer is a huge prick move. But what about me? I let Texans die in the cold last year and then took campaign money from the people that froze ‘em out. Just last week I practically closed the border to truck traffic. Millions of bucks’ worth of vegetables rotted in the sun, so I could grandstand about drug smuggling. People were forced to make their Easter guacamole out of lawn clippings on account of me.
 
DESANTIS: Nice try, Tex, but you ain’t gonna win this contest any quicker than you can do a jumping jack. What about when I pushed that bill allowing white people to sue their kids’ teachers if they even mention slavery? I even claimed Martin Luther King would have loved the legislation, if he was still alive today. That’s how to max out in the insufferability field, amateur.
 
ABBOTT: Anybody ever tell you you look like a lizard? But in the arena of courting the racist vote, you come in second place every time. Aren’t I the one that dispatched the Texas National Guard to the border to sit there uselessly? These are people that have full-time jobs elsewhere, but I sent ‘em down to El Paso to watch the dust blow, just to garner the votes who are pissed off because the smiley faces are bilingual at their Walmart. And it’s me that’s sending busloads of brown people to DC, pretending that they’re illegal aliens when they’re actually asylum seekers. That gives me huge cred with the church and guns crowd.
 
DESANTIS: And didn’t I play along with that, by warning those people not to come to Florida? “Life will not be easy for you,” were my exact words. They can interpret that any way they want. Lynched? Shot at? Eaten by gators? Shipped to Guantanamo? Vague threats always hit the rat-bastard bullseye, loser. Ask the Godfather, if you don't believe me.
 
TRUMP: They’re gonna go through some things. That was my favorite. Don’t let me catch either of you guys using that.
 
DESANTIS: Hey, what did Dr. Oz say about your heart, anyway? I heard your cholesterol was higher than Elon Musk.
 
ABBOTT: Don’t worry about it, sir. When I’m your Vice-President, the country will be run by a pathetically cruel, self-important jerk, no matter what happens to your ticker.
 
TRUMP: You? You think I’m spending my second term pushing you up the ramp on Air Force Two? Haw!
 
A fracas breaks out onstage. DeSantis and Abbott are fighting over the brakes on the Texas governor’s wheelchair, which DeSantis wants to release so he can push Abbott off into the audience. Trump takes advantage of the distraction by giving both governors wet willies. The Secret Service rushes in when DeSantis threatens to break Trump’s finger.
 
OFFSTAGE ANNOUNCER: Don’t forget to mark your calendar for next week’s America’s Next Top A-hole, the Senatorial Round, with Ted Cruz facing off against Josh Hawley, Tom Cotton, Marsha Blackburn and dark horse threat Rick “Tax the poor!” Scott!

​Perennially panic-stricken Fox personality Tucker Carlson is deeply worried about sagging testosterone counts in American males.
 
Officially, he’s not worried about his own t-count. I don’t know why—any American guy who has ever been in even one bar fight, no matter how badly he lost it, takes a look at Tucker Carlson and thinks to himself, “Well, I could kick his ass for sure.”
 
There is some evidence that testosterone levels in Western countries are falling, although with Jackass movies still being made and watched and teenagers wearing bulletproof vests shooting at other with live ammunition, some people think they are not falling fast enough.
 
Most experts think the decline is due to environmental factors, but Tucker thinks us guys are just not getting enough sun on our cajones. Testicle tanning, he claims, results in hormonal surges for those with heroically sun-browned nut sacks.
 
He offers little evidence to support this theory. History doesn’t really back it up, either. Vikings, whose only career option was raping and pillaging, activities which require huge stones, carried out their raids with testicles of pure alabaster, owing to the cold climate and constant cloud cover over their native Scandinavia. There are many photos of D-Day, and not one shows any hero of that greatest amphibious battle in history snagging some rays on his balls prior to storming ashore. If the bravery of Navy Seals could be explained by them exposing their bulging trouser tangerines to sunshine, in a secret training ritual called Operation SPF Zero, why hasn’t this secret leaked out?
 
Volodymyr Zelensky, the man with the heaviest documented sack weight on the planet, has not confessed to sneaking off to a bomb shelter with a sunlamp and dropping his pants to his socks in front of it. Maybe he does do that, though. Tucker’s just asking questions.
 
Tucker has a lot of viewers, though, and, sadly, mostly of them are people whose drooping gonads nobody wants to see, i.e., old white guys. It could get quite disgusting out there. Plus, we could be looking at an epidemic of scrotal skin cancer. All dermatologists will now have to ask their patients if they watch Tucker. If they say yes, then the skin docs will know that they have to check their testicles for melanoma.
 
It's the nutjob nut check.
 
Modern problems require modern solutions.

A few days ago, on one of the many atheist groups on Facebook that I belong to, someone was complaining rather bitterly about his child being forced to say the phrase “under God” while being required to say the Pledge of Allegiance at the start of his school day.
 
He told his child to say the phrase “under dog,” instead.
 
This man is trying to raise his child to be an atheist. I am afraid that he will find out that that is a mistake. I was raised a Catholic. This is the surest path to atheism that I know of. Send that kid to parochial school is my advice to that earnest Dad. Sure, he may be attracted to the pageantry and the swell robes at first. He may even develop a mild fetish for girls in short plaid skirts and knee socks. When he hits puberty, though, and is told an act he has no choice but to do several times a day is a mortal sin and makes him a prime candidate for Hell, he’s going to have his second thoughts about the One True Church, and you’ve got yourself a perfect little atheist.
 
But if that atheist Dad can’t go along with that program, my counsel is not to worry about the Pledge. It’s no more likely to make your boy more religious than it is to make him more patriotic. The nanosecond it is over, all thoughts of God and country have vanished from his head, to be replaced by fervid but unremarkable childish thoughts, like how to cheat at math, avoid getting bullied, and which of the objects of his boyish affections is least likely to laugh at him if wants to sit at the same lunch table as her/him.
 
Public displays of patriotism and piety are only enjoyed by those who arrange them, not those that are forced to participate. The authority that forces that atheist boy to recite the pledge imagines that he/she is encouraging love of the Almighty and America when they are, in fact, doing no such thing. They might as well tell those kids to open a tab to PornHub when they get home, which those kids are probably going to do anyway, whether you encourage them to or not. Porn has far more educational value than the Pledge. Children know that instinctively.
 
Having something crammed down your throat is liable to leave a bad taste in your mouth, to mix a gustatory metaphor. Atheism may be no exception to this rule. A kid raised in rationalism may rebel. No atheist parents want to hear, “Mom, Dad…I think I might be a Jehovah’s Witness.”
 
There’s no way to avoid religion in this world, and that’s not going to change for hundreds, if not thousands of years. If ever. People will always try to figure out ways to influence the unknowable future, whether it’s by rabbit’s feet, reading entrails, avoiding Scorpios, or making a novena, even if none of those ways has ever demonstrably worked.
 
I’m the only atheist I really know in person, and on some days I’m even an agnostic. All of my close friends have mild, tolerable forms of religious belief. The love of my life is vaguely Jewish, as is another friend I’ve had for thirty-five years. One of my beer buddies believes in God, because, in a moment of physical danger, he prayed and was saved. The other suffers from a case of Lutheranism, or something similar, left over from his childhood. Another will just say “I believe in Jesus!” whenever the question comes up, like a jack-in-the-box squawking when its handle is turned. He won’t say what Jesus he believes in, or what theology his Savior promotes.
 
Oddly, this makes his faith just about impregnable.
 
The only true atheist I know is my son. That’s because I let him go to Catholic school for a few years. “Might as well check it out,” I told him. "Always a good idea to see what the other side thinks."

He came out a committed rationalist.
 
Do what works, is my advice. Eggs and bunnies, everybody.

House Bill 233 in the Tennessee House had an innocent beginning. It was just a simple, earnest attempt to re-instate hatred of gays into Tennessee law, a noble effort by the Tennessee legislature to follow the wishes of its constituents, who want to be able to discriminate against gays legally, as well as using the traditional Tennessee tools of gay-hating, like punching them out and hitting them with pickup trucks.
 
The bill would have established a form of contract marriage that GAYS WOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO USE.
 
The caps are mine because passing this law would obviously result in a series of expensive lawsuits for the state to defend, which I predict Tennessee would lose. If the state won though, can’t you see Tennessee instituting a special form of marriage that only people of the same race could use?
 
I could, but this smug little package of gay-bashing really hit the national press because the writers of the act forgot to include an age limit in the original legislation, which meant that, while you would still have to be at least seventeen to get a regular marriage license in Tennessee, your grandpa could get contract married to his ten-year old girlfriend once the law passed.
 
Not only could any two middle-schoolers tie the knot, but any fifty-year-old guy with a Tesla could fulfill his dreams by picking up your fifteen-year-old daughter at any mall in the Volunteer State and get hitched to her with no notice to you, except maybe a polite note telling you the name of the hotel the newlyweds planned to stay at during their honeymoon in the Bahamas.
 
The answer to that “What is a woman?” question that Tennessee senator Marcia Blackburn asked Supreme Court nominee Ketanji Brown Jackson during her confirmation hearings would have been answered by the Senator’s very own legislature, and that answer would have been, “Anyone a horny gym teacher thinks is a woman.”
 
Once the story hit social media, though, the bill’s sponsors in the Legislature amended it to close the pedophiliac loophole, and returned the bill to its original sacred purpose, making gay people feel shitty about existing.
 
This the lawmakers of Tennessee would stoutly deny, naturally. They claim they are sponsoring the legislation so that churches in Tennessee that are religiously offended by gay marriage could demand that their marrying customers only use a hetero-exclusive license to get married between their walls, so that their union would be cleansed of any association with gay love.
 
This is a solution in search of a problem, as I cannot imagine any gay Tennesseans with wedlock in mind would want to be married under the baleful eye of the preacher at the Church of Our Lord’s Flowing Waters of Love in the Up Creek Holy Hollow.
 
They have other places to go. Just like Jesus wants.

When young, inexperienced liar Madison Cawthorn dropped a dime on coke-fueled Republican sex parties last week, the internal squawking in the GOP was so loud you could hear it from Hawaii.  The suggestion that the party of prayer breakfasts and restroom police was dropping trou and railing blow in their off-time really made the poo hit the fan, and most of it sprayed back on Cawthorn.
 
At first blush, the idea seemed impossible. The Republicans are the party that hates sex. From gay sex to group sex to transgender sex in gender-neutral high school bathrooms, the Republican party is against it. The only sex Republicans approve of is rape sex, and only that if pregnancy results and the rape victim is forced to bear the rapist’s child. That’s a good time, according to the GOP.
 
Republicans are usually against drugs, too, as a matter of policy, though in real life they’re just as happy to consume drugs as the average non-Republican American. The smell of weed permeated the Capitol riots on January 6th, and if you’re contemplating overdosing on fentanyl, wearing a MAGA hat gets you first in line for a shot of Narcan if you live in a place like West Virginia.
 
The other problem with Cawthorn’s tattling on his fellow Repubs is that, if you’re looking for pleasant company for bumping uglies and sniffing nose candy, why would you choose Republicans? Maybe Cawthorn would be a good pick because he’s a handsome young guy. And he’s in a wheelchair, too, which means you can do anything you want to him from the belly-button down, and he won’t even feel it. Plus, you can rest your coke mirror on his head. But the rest of them? Mitch McConnell? His wife made him sign a pre-nup that said, among other things, that she never had to look at him naked, unless he got her a Cabinet position.
 
Okay, so Mitch figured out how to worm around that one. He’s crafty, but not sexy. Everybody’s seen that picture of Ted Cruz fleeing to Cancun. When a guy looks that shitty in a tucked-in polo shirt, the chances of him looking better naked are as remote as the James Webb Space Telescope. Perennially chirpy Republican small-dicks like Josh Hawley and Rand Paul are nobody you want to have at your party when the lube starts getting passed around.
 
Marsha Blackburn is a tough old gal who could probably hold her own at an orgy until dawn’s early light. Marjorie Taylor Green is the kind of girl who would pull a train on a dare, and Lauren Boebert probably is only about 50% sure who the father of her children is, but the rest of the Republican girl field is small, because Republicans don’t elect too many women. It’s why they want Kirsten Sinema to switch parties. Not so they can control the Senate again—just so she can make Republican orgies less of a sausage-fest.
​
When Kevin McCarthy, who’s still on course to be the most comically afflicted Speaker of the House ever, called Cawthorn onto the carpet, the first-term prevaricator said that he might have been exaggerating the richness of his sex life, as 26-year-olds are prone to do, and the coke he saw being snorted might have been a Republican staffer putting his golf clubs in the trunk of his car, because it’s tough to tell the difference from a quarter-mile away.
 
McCarthy said after the meeting that Cawthorn would have to “earn his trust.”
 
In Republican-speak, that’s “lie more convincingly.”
 
Cawthorn immediately said “the left and the media,” not himself, were responsible for his far-ranging fantasies.
 
Boy’s a quick learner.