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 U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, a compilation of old, mostly white guys that like to wear nice dresses, is getting ready to issue a formal statement on the meaning of Communion and, believe me, they are not going to come to the conclusion that it’s a meaningless piece of ancient Catholic drivel left over from the Middle Ages.
 
No, they are going to announce that Joe Biden and other Catholic politicians aren’t going to be allowed to get it, because they aren’t working hard enough to make Catholic theology into US law. In this they are joined by evangelical Protestants, who believe that the Gospel forbids abortion, even though it actually does not, and that this nonexistent provision of Scripture should also be enshrined into law.
 
Such a confluence of influence would have been unheard of in my Catholic youth, when we Catholics believed all Protestants were going to Hell, and they confidently believed the same about us. Good times.
 
Now the nation’s remaining Catholics and their Bible-belting friends have joined forces, and the hill they have decided to be martyred on together is women and how their uteri need to be controlled by the states. They have not decided that the states should try to get men to keep their dicks in their pants. They seem to realize that some causes are hopeless, even for God.
 
So, the President may be left tapping his foot at the communion rail pretty soon, while the priest busily stuffs wafers into the mouths of every other kind of sinner standing alongside him you can imagine, including members of his own brotherhood whose fingers reek of altar boy ass.
 
It is the existence of this band of underground pedophiles, which the Conference of Pointy-Hatted Pricks mostly chose to ignore for decades, that is causing the Church to lose membership faster than you can say ten Hail Marys. Yes, formerly reverent Catholics are saying, “I just don’t want to go to Church this Sunday,” and then, because they were raised in a faith that finds value in suffering, they say, “I think I’ll watch the Jets game instead.”
 
Fear not, Mr. President. There are plenty of faiths that will welcome your abortion-tolerating person. You won’t have to have some brave young priest sneak your wafer into the White House while Protestant soldiers with pikes lie in wait to chop his head off, like some Netflix drama about persecuted Catholics in Elizabethan England.
 
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster will be happy to have you as a member, and while slurping pasta may not be gourmet dining, it’s at least gustatorily superior to letting a tasteless wad of what seems like Walmart copy paper dissolve on your tongue. Wearing a colander on your head might cost you a few suburban swing votes, though, although the CFSM would not forbid you from taking it off your head and hitting Putin with it, next time you see that guy.
 
Personally, I’m a Dudeist, and all we have to do is abide. Sure, it’s recommended we bowl and drink White Russians, but I don’t do either of those things, and nobody’s excommunicated me yet. Abiding is good. Abiding in the White House is even better, and will help you keep your equanimity when that sewer clown Mitch McConnell kicks you in the nuts again.
 
There’s the Church of the Holy Taco, which I thought I just made up, but apparently was envisioned by another satirist before me. The Church offers Salsa Salvation, which sounds pretty tempting. Imagine standing at the rail of the Taco Church, sanctified, munching a consecrated Dorito while the Holy Hot Sauce runs down your chin. Just hope you avoid the dreaded Ring of Fire, which is that Church’s version of Hell.
 
Tacos also have a double-entendre meaning among the sniggering set (it’s vagina), which means you can cut into the Republican lead among Young Guys Who Talk About Sex Constantly but Hardly Ever Get It.
 
Even incels love tacos. 

​Buffalo Bills wide receiver Cole Beasley made what he called a “Public Service Announcement” the other day. Here it is in its entirety:
 
"Everyone — Hi, I'm Cole Beasley and I'm not vaccinated!... I will be outside doing what I do," Beasley added. "I'll be out in the public. If your (sic) scared of me then steer clear, or get vaccinated. Point. Blank. Period. I may die of covid, but I'd rather die actually living."
 
As someone who has been fully vaccinated, and is actually living in the hellscape of being immune to serious Covid, I feel an obligation to reach out to poor frightened Cole, and let him know that, while my life has been rendered a pale shadow of what it was before I was vaccinated, I nonetheless survive, in a vapid, regretful kind of way.
 
Some of the jab’s alleged side effects don’t affect me much, Cole. I’m not magnetized. Silverware doesn’t fly out and stick to me when I walk past the utensil tray at a buffet. I would regret getting the shot much more if steak knives and salad forks attached themselves to me instead of lying placidly on my napkin the way they did before I got immunized, and, thank Jesus, still do.
 
I don’t shed genetic material on other people, either. Unless they buy me a couple drinks first, and make it obvious they want some of my genetic material. I’m sure that happens to you Cole, way more often than it happens to me. Is that why you want other people to get vaccinated, buddy? So they won’t be afraid to have random sex with you when you and the rest of the Buffalo Bills are on the road? I feel you, bro.
 
Yeah, Bill Gates and George Soros now know when I touch myself. I figured Bill Gates did already, by keeping track of when I logged on to Pornhub through Windows, so no big deal.
 
Are you afraid your man-bun might unravel, as a side effect from being vaccinated? I can’t assure you it won’t. I haven’t had enough hair to manage a man-bun since I was your age, but the vaccine hasn’t affected my hair situation one way or another. The most I could manage in the way of a stupid hairstyle would be to let my fringe grow out and put it in a pathetic little ponytail, which is the only male hair arrangement that manages to look dumber than a man-bun. I could do that, to show solidarity with you, my man.
 
I know you’re not a chickenshit, Cole. And I don’t feel superior to you because when I went to college, I managed to learn the difference between “you’re” and “your.” You play a sport where every time you catch the ball, a 240-pound mass of steroided muscle playing linebacker or a swift cornerback brimming with hatred from his abused childhood, or both of them, will try and separate every single one of your vertebrae from each other.
 
No, you’re no coward, Cole, but retiring is probably a good idea.
 
Sounds like you’ve had enough concussions already.
 

We’re going to have a new national holiday next year, which is going to be called, rather clumsily, Juneteenth National Independence Day.
 
You can quibble about the name, and I’m prepared to (wouldn’t Emancipation Day been more to the point? Or Freedom Day, as the pic suggests?) but you can’t quibble about the sentiment, and Joe Biden won’t—he’ll be signing that holiday into law as soon as he gets over his jet lag from his European jaunt—even though we won’t get that day off until next year. June 19th is only two days away as of this writing, and a Saturday this year besides.
 
We need more holidays here in the US in any case, as I have previously pointed out. The US will only have 12 even after Juneteenth is instituted. Cambodia has 22. India has 21, and no, one of them is not Extend Your Car Warranty Day. So, we needed to catch up. Putting Juneteenth in between Memorial Day and the 4th gives us a brace of summer holidays to match the winter triad of Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year’s, at a time of year when it is much more comfortable to drink outside. I know progress when I see it.
 
And a national holiday is an easy lift for Congress, eager to sponge after the votes of black Americans. Easier than actually making it a snap to let them vote, for example, or to figure out how to keep cops from killing them on videos. Republicans are dead set against both of those things, but Juneteenth grubbed up votes from both sides of the aisle, with no one opposing it in the Senate, and only 14 Republicans in the house against it.
 
These 14 Republicans, all from outback districts in the South and West, claim that the new holiday is “divisive,” and that they were just listening to their constituents when they opposed it.
 
I believe that, but I also believe that their constituents were actually saying things like, “We already got one (N-word) day. Why do they get two?” These are not people who crab about divisiveness, because they are the same people who are always talking about Texas seceding, or re-arranging state borders so they can quit being out-voted by them college-educateds and people of color.
 
What holidays would make these people happy? Sure, Trump Day, but what day would that be? The ex-Caucasian-in-Chief just had a birthday, and what with Juneteenth on the books, making the 14th a holiday as well would be crowding up the month. Same with making the day he had sex with Stormy Daniels a national holiday, because that was in July of 2006 and would push up against the 4th.
 
Maybe Put A Flag or Four On Your Pickup Truck Day, Pal could be considered, and it would have the additional benefit of limiting redneck goon fake patriotism displays to one day a year. That would probably be its downfall. Also, people calling it Small Wang Road Rage Day.
 
January 6th as Fake News Day? Naw, Democrats would want to call it Big Lie Day. That’s never going to get through Congress.
 
We can wait for Trump to die. Some of us would want to use that occasion to build a giant disco over his grave, so that as many people as possible could dance on it at the same time, with cheap beer and roomy, no-gender restrooms located centrally in the structure for obvious reasons, but some people would feel a sense of loss at Trump’s demise, and a holiday would console them. And I would certainly drink, set off fireworks, blow off air horns and yell, “Trump’s still dead!” at my neighbors all day long.
 
We currently don’t have any national holidays from President’s Day in February until M-Day kicks off the summer, so if Trump could gulp that fatal cheeseburger sometime in March or April, it would give us a break from that current long stretch of soulless work days.
 
But, hey, let him know he doesn’t have to wait that long on my account.

Louie Gohmert, the low-in-the-Q’s perpetual Congressman from West Texas, has obviously had it with newcomer idiots Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor-Greene. He must have felt the title of Head Clown of Capitol Hill slipping out of his grasp at the antics of the new girls in town. The lightning bolts of boneheadedness in DC were no longer bursting solely out of his office.
 
Boebert had proclaimed that you can’t rewrite the Constitution, despite rewrites on the Founding Document that gave her the right to vote and become a Congressperson. She ran for office solely on a platform of wearing her favorite pair of tight jeans in front of racks of AR-15's, and has since introduced—yep, you guessed it--a Constitutional amendment.
 
And she did go to Congress, because the people of her district said, “Hell, I don’t care if that girl just got her GED. She owns more guns than she does pairs of pants. That’s the kind of representation we need in Washington.”
 
Greene went to the House because she was tired of threatening school shooting survivors and wanted to threaten other people, mostly female (AOC and the Squad, Pelosi), members of Congress. She also believes in guns. And Jewish space lasers.
 
Gohmert was obviously discomfited at losing his perennial front-runner status as a publicly-elected lamebrain. It was like the Yankees falling behind a pair of expansion teams. Gohmert needed a bold move to retake the lead and on Tuesday he made it, by asking an official in the US Forest Service if the Service, or perhaps BLM, could change the orbits of the Earth or the Moon to combat climate change.

And, hey, valid question, especially to a Tea Party stalwart like Gohmert. If you can't change the orbits of heavenly bodies, why have a government at all?
 
Also, that’s BLM as in Bureau of Land Management, not Black Lives Matter. If Black Lives Matter wanted to change the orbit of the Earth, Gohmert would be strenuously against it. For sure. Forest Service rep Jennifer Eberlien replied that she would have to get back to him on that question.
 
This showed a either lot of self-discipline or cowardice on Eberlien’s part, because she should have just burst into laughter, tears and perhaps a sustained rolling on the hearing room floor until sedation was called for.
 
Or she could have pointed out that changing the Earth’s orbit even a few miles would require installing a rocket about a trillion times bigger than any we currently have at the South Pole and burning the world’s entire stock of fossil fuels in it at once, resulting in both incomprehensible pollution and all of Gohmert’s constituents in West Texas having to buy solar-powered pickup trucks and electric tractors anyway. Or that moving the Moon wouldn’t have much effect on climate, but if you moved it closer, the tides that wash into the streets of Miami now would be much higher, maybe sloshing over all the way to the Everglades.
 
She could have asked Gohmert why she was putting pressure on the Forest Service to change the Earth’s orbit when the job would logically fall to NASA, although maybe she was afraid Gohmert would answer, “Honey, all NASA does is fly helicopters on Mars. I’m looking for an agency that has a lot of earth-moving equipment already.”
 
I know people work long and hard and kiss startling amounts of ass to get government jobs so high-placed that they get to testify before Congress, and once they have them, they think that keeping them means being very circumspect about what they say. Eberlien is one of them. I’m not, which is why I never testify before Congress. I would have told Gohmert, “Buy me a bean burrito and wait an hour, and I’ll be able to flush something smarter than that question.”
 
But Louie wouldn’t care. He’s back on top.
 

I don’t know about the future of artificial intelligence, but I can assure you that artificial stupidity has already arrived, and it, or at least Facebook’s version of it, has decided that I am a racist, Bible-believing, reactionary Republican dripping with discretionary income.
 
A casual observer of my person might suspect this, since I’m an old white guy, but it is not true. The girl and I had a discreet “Biden-Harris” sticker in the window before the last election, but it was only discreet because our HOA prohibits yard signs. I wanted to spray-paint “FUCK TRUMP” on our garage door, and I regretted not doing so, especially after the damn thing broke down in December and a new one cost $2300.
 
I had to settle for naming our wireless network “fucktrump.”
 
Thanks to my research efforts intended entirely to sharpen my satire, I get offers for t-shirts that say “My Rights Don’t End Where Your Feelings Begin,” which is advertised as “Being for Proud Americans.”
 
Probably sell more of them with that tagline than by saying, “Being for Thoughtless, Agitated Assholes,” but what do I know about marketing?
 
I have to admit I also get ads for t-shirts that say “I Could Go a Day Without Beer but Why Risk It?” which seem to at least vaguely recognize who I really am.
 
But I am not sending money to Ted Cruz to help him keep the country from descending into a socialist hell. I am cool with the Biden plan of killing off the virus and restoring the economy. I can think of only one person I would rather give money to less than Ted Cruz, and that is Rand “Won’t You Be My Neighbor, Because My Last One Punched My Lights Out,” Paul, who wants me to send him money to fire Anthony Fauci, even though he is not Fauci’s boss. I would rather donate to Vladimir Putin’s re-election campaign than either one of those guys.
 
Or maybe Mike Huckabee, ex-governor of Arkansas and lying Internet hustler. He wants me to buy a book from him that teaches kids how to recognize “fake news,” which, surprise, surprise, teaches kids how to believe everything Hannity tells them. He also offers a book that explains to innocents how to argue back when confronted by atheist kids with the fact that Adam and Eve only had two documented kids, both of whom were male, so where did the human race come from? Mike advises kids that while the Bible is inerrantly true, it is also sometimes short on details.
 
Huckabee is missing the mark advertising to me personally as well as politically--my kid will turn 30 this year. He also doesn’t seem to realize that kids care very little about politics and theology. What kids care about is war and bloodshed, as I recall from my days of playing army in the dirt with a piece of wood as a pretend rifle, and today’s kids exemplify by fighting online combat games. Huckabee doesn’t offer any kid-friendly advice on these interests, although a book called, “Hey, It Really, Really Hurts When You Get Hit by a Bullet,” might serve as a helpful reminder to kids not to shoot themselves or others when they get a real gun.
 
Useful advice is not what Huckabee is accustomed to selling, though. He’s retired from politics now, although he’s gung-ho for his overweight daughter with two different-sized eyes to follow in his footsteps by becoming Governor of Arkansas, relying heavily on her resume as an unsurpassed prevaricator to appeal to the voters of that benighted state.
 
If Sarah loses, she can follow in her dad’s footsteps by writing kid’s books. “You Already Lie to Your Mom, But Nobody Pays You for That,” has a nice ring to it.

You can now pre-order the Lee Greenwood Bible, the latest hustle by the publishing Christian right to try and separate the evangelical base from another fifty bucks, and it will be shipped to you by the anniversary of the 9-11 attack on the US, so you can hold it reverently in your hands as you ask God if we’ve killed enough Muslims to avenge it.
 
This is not exactly how this Bible is advertised, but I’m sure you can use it for that. The Lee Greenwood Bible contains, besides the King James version of the same, a “readable” copy of the Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, the Pledge of Allegiance and the lyrics to Lee Greenwood’s sappy patriotic anthem “God Bless the USA.”
 
So, it’s easy worth the fifty bucks, even though you could get a Bible for free from that motel room you get to have sex with your second cousin while her husband’s working nights any time you want. That Bible doesn’t contain any of the thoughts of Lee Greenwood, though, just the standard mumblings and vague threats of various prophets and disciples. Lee’s a little more straightforward than the Book of Revelations, for example, when he writes, “And I'm proud to be an American/where at least I know I'm free,” which means that nobody else anywhere is free, even Europeans and Australians who vote for their leaders and have free speech and press, because they are yoked under the tyranny of universal health care.
 
See? Country-western musicians can be interpreted just like the words of Jesus. The Greenwood Bible has the advantage of combining stuff you never read (Bible, Constitution) with stuff you don’t need to read because you know it by heart (Pledge of Allegiance, country songs).
 
So, it doesn’t have to be opened at all. It can just sit there on your coffee table, proclaiming your religiosity and patriotism to whoever drops by, whether it be your pastor looking for his tithe or the FBI, wondering where you were on January 6th.
 
This Bible’s marketers seem to recognize that no one is about to buy one of these books for themselves, so the web page you can order it from has a list of people you can gift it to. Some of these suggestions are believable, like “The family,” because there’s nothing like a great big Bible/Constitution lying on the coffee table to remind you not to leave your sister’s underpants on it when you’re done having sex with her.
 
Others are not so convincing. “American History buffs?” The amount of American history in the Bible is negligible. “Grandparents?” They’re probably familiar with the Bible already, but you want them to remember what a good kid you really are when you need bail money, so maybe. “New American citizens?” Complete bullshit. You don’t know any, and if you did, you would be annoyed by them to the point of smacking them around. It’s not a hate crime if you just hate someone’s accent, right?
 
So, Lee Greenwood’s got a pretty viable product here. He’s probably going to make some money off of it, which will supplement the income he makes croaking out “God Bless the USA,” in some dank Vegas lounge six nights a week, which, like all musicians who had at least one hit song, is the way he’ll finish out his career.
 
But he’d better watch out for the competition. With the Country-Western Bible on the shelves, can the NASCAR Bible be far behind?