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."

Governor Ron DeSantis, in his bid to become an even nastier and more despicable version of the Tangerine Drama Queen, only without his pool boy getting indicted, gave his imprimatur to the new version of racial history in Florida, which states that, among other things, that slavery taught slaves valuable life skills, like blacksmithing.
 
I called up my old pal, veteran Republican political operator Joe Redstate, and asked him if blacksmithing slaves were going to become a touchstone for all Republicans from now on.
 
“Sho ‘nuff,” he replied, in a pitiful attempt at dialect. “The personal benefits slaves got from slavery have been concealed by woke history for too long.”
 
What were they besides learning to blacksmith? I mean besides whippings, rapes, and having your kids sold down the river? And I mean, the Mississippi river. To Mississippi.
 
“Florida is going to cover the travel benefits of slavery next semester. Right now, we’re teaching the vocational gifts that slavery gave slaves. And blacksmithing tops the list.”
 
So, there would be no black blacksmiths without slavery?
 
“Oh, there would probably be a few. But slaves were not natural blacksmiths, unlike white people.”
 
That does sound like open racism, Joe.
 
“Of course, it’s not! It’s just apparent that centuries of peasanting in Europe gave white people an advantage in learning blacksmithing, and other stuff that nobody does anymore, like wagon-wheel-making and cooking whales for their oil, when they escaped to freedom in America. Whereas, what did the slaves having going for them before they were imported here? Chanting, painting themselves, making war clubs, and being so afraid of solar eclipses that they immediately quit boiling explorers when one occurred?”
 
Tarzan movies are not considered documentaries nowadays, Joe.
 
“Tarzan! One of my childhood heroes. He was raised by apes, you know, and look at all he accomplished! Vine-swinging, yodeling, knifing lions. And Jane! Ooooh, Jane.”
 
We better change the subject, Joe, before you get lost in your boyhood memories of Jane...
 
“And Tarzan, too. One of the greatest white Americans ever, at least until Jason Aldean came along.”
 
Never mind that Tarzan was British, Joe.  So, what you’re saying, before we got sidetracked, is that white people were naturally better at picking up pre-industrial skills than black people, who needed to be enslaved to learn the colonial arts?
 
“Exactly! Man, that was precise! Have you ever considered writing textbooks for the state of Florida?”

Facebook has apparently decided I need another job. I don’t know why. I’m perfectly content with my current job, as it is part-time most of the year, largely unsupervised and pays me enough for food and beer.
 
I’m reasonably sure I know how Facebook works. When I evince an interest in anything, the Zuck fills up my feed with opportunities to buy it. When I shop for fishing gear, all kinds of great deals for shiny reels and expensive lures interrupt the meme-flow. When I price cruise vacations, my feed fills up with pictures of attractive older people smiling and holding glasses of champagne with a calm tropical ocean in the background, instead of pics of cruise reality, which is regular old people disoriented by days of heavy drinking, staggering from rail to rail in twelve-foot seas.
 
But I enjoy that kind of vacation. Meta knows that. Where they got the idea that I wanted to be a spiritual coach, though, I haven’t a clue. There it was, though, yesterday, right between some guy I don’t really know giving me an update on his blood sugar and Smudge the Cat--BECOME A SPIRITUAL COACH!
 
I guess I could send in my money and learn to be spiritual enough to coach spirituality, but they would have to start training me at rock bottom, for I am the least spiritual person I know. Alphabetically, from the A of angels through the g of ghosts and God, the k of karma, the m of metaphysics, all the way to the z of Zen, I don’t give credence to much of the spiritual realm. I worry about dandelions way more than I worry about demons, and I don’t worry about dandelions at all. When the sun rises over the mountains, I don’t feel united with the universe. I see a ball of exploding gases billions of years old rising over a geological formation caused by continental drift.
 
Maybe I just need a shot of ayahuasca in my coffee, but before I start charging people to help them tune the tines of their inner vibrations, I could just start my own religion or mega-church, and loot from the gullible in the name of Jesus. That’s tried and true, and has a 2,000-year head start on Internet bullshit.
 
Maybe Facebook sensed that, because my feed soon dropped the “spiritual” and offered me the opportunity to become a simple “life coach.” I imagine most of this involves coaching people to make more money. I could tell people to work harder and save more, I guess, but I don’t do that myself. I don’t set much of an example for living a lucratively rewarding life. I drive a 2009 Ford Escape because it’s a nice, anonymous vehicle in which to travel in Baja when I want to fish, eat, and drink there. It’s no Ferrari. It’s not even a Tesla.
 
Or maybe life-coaching means coaching people on their relationships. I could see myself saying to one of my life students, “Objectively, you’re a fairly boring person, and your wife-girlfriend-object of your lust is not very interesting either. Both of you need to jump out of an airplane in an active war zone. If you survive, I could probably listen to you without having to pinch myself to stay awake.”
 
I could see myself giving advice like that. I couldn’t see anybody paying me to listen to it, though.
 
One guy is offering me a twenty-seven-step program to becoming a certified life coach. I’ve been told I could quit drinking in just twelve steps. Why would I buy anything off him?
 
Finally, FB decided they couldn’t lure me into life-coaching. The next ad I saw was BECOME A LICENSED HYPNOTHERAPIST.         
 
I could do that. I don’t know if I need to be certified, though. If you read this far, you’re probably getting very sleepy, anyway. Send me your money.

The discovery of a gram of cocaine in a public area of the White House has set off a storm of speculation on the right that the blow belonged to a member of the Biden family, with the beady eye of suspicion falling mostly on former coke fiend Hunter Biden. The more blithering members of the Fox newsroom, along with Donald Trump Jr., no stranger to accusations of partying in the snow himself, immediately identified Hunter as the source of the baggie.
 
Had to be, although the Biden scion was apparently not in the White House when the toot was found in a heavily trafficked room in the building.
 
The Orange Ex himself, always the calm voice of reason and restraint, immediately pointed the finger at Biden Sr., switching abruptly from his usual characterization of the President as a narcoleptic dodderer barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to infuse America with Communism, to Amped-Up Joe, smoking crack with Merrick Garland in the Situation Room while giggling over their latest batch of subpoenas, or hoovering up rails off the Resolute Desk while caving in to China. The Indicted One added Hunter as a suspect, natch, and, somewhat out of left field, special prosecutor Jack Smith.
 
That’s a lot of people to be railing up a single bag of coke, especially since they apparently lost it in a cloak room somewhere in the depths of the WH, but that didn’t occur to Trump. The possibility that a random visitor or employee at the Presidential residence was the kind of social animal that pulled out his cell phone in that cloak room with a hand trembling with substance abuse, and didn’t notice that his coin bag of party powder had come out with it and fallen to the floor, also didn’t occur to the Tangerine Tyrant.
 
Trump loves to accuse people of what he is dead solid certain to be up to himself, and the list of his associates that appear to be always coked out of their minds, most notably his two boy children and pardoned criminals like Mike Flynn and Roger Stone, who seem to dwell in an alternate reality that could well be fueled by crack nuggets, is longer than the list of people Marjorie Taylor Greene wants to impeach. How much sniff has passed through the gates of Mar al Lago? And do guests have the option of snorting it off a hooker’s ass or a Top-Secret document?
 
There are certainly more people abusing drugs in this country than are willing to participate in say, the Iowa Caucuses, although there is bound to be some crossover there, and people who use drugs like to have their drugs with them. Losing a small part of your stash to a mishap is like leaving your laptop in Delaware. It happens, especially when you are blasted on that nose-tickling Peruvian powder.

The Secret Service admits it may never know who dropped the blow, even though they are suspects along with Hunter. The SS tend to be hard partiers at times. They might have been tempted to snort the snow themselves and pretend they never found it at all, if they hadn’t been worried that it might be anthrax.
 
So, they didn’t. Fox, Trump, the House Republicans et al, certainly are grateful for that.

Imagine this: Right before the Republican convention in 2024, all the white men running for the Republican nomination are on the same airplane (except Trump, because he has his own airplane). Pence, Christie, DeSantis, Hutchinson, and some guy named Burgum coincidentally find themselves on the same flight, unaware that it is being piloted by a woke Communist-Muslim transgender suicide bomber. While they are flying over the golf course at Mar al Lago, the pilot, with a cry of “My body, my choice! I'm saying gay! And, oh yeah, Allah Akbar!” points the plane downward at a lone fat guy in a golf cart—Donald Trump. In a blinding flash of aviation fuel, every single white guy running for the GOP nomination is dead.
 
Not very likely, you sneer, to which I reply, “Stranger things have happened,” even though that’s obviously not true.
 
Republican party leaders panic, cursing themselves for not having an emergency white candidate. All the remaining Republicans running for President are people of color. Who will emerge from Milwaukee to challenge Biden? Here are the possibilities, ranked:
 
TIM SCOTT: You have to give the black Senator from South Carolina the pole position. “He’s like a young Clarence Thomas,” his fans gush. “Instead of just kissing billionaire white ass, though, he knows how to kiss trailer park white ass.” Does he beat Biden? Not by giving up 98% of the black vote to an ancient white man.
 
NIKKI HALEY: The other South Carolina person in the race. Born as Nimarata Nikki Randhawa, she changed her name so racists would vote for her, not realizing she was Indian. Does she beat Biden? Well, Barack Hussein Obama did, so maybe she shouldn’t have changed her name.
 
VIVEK RAMASWAMY: Also Indian, but unlike Haley, he did not change his name to Vince Ramsey, Victor Rangehorse, Van Riderpuppy, or any other Anglo-Saxon version of Vivek Ramaswamy, continuing to use his birthname even though it makes him sound like someone who spent the ‘80’s chanting “Hare Krishna” in a major airport. Whatever happened to those guys, anyway? The same thing that’s going to happen to him if he gets the nod to take on Sleepy Joe. He’s going to disappear.
 
FRANCIS SUAREZ: The mayor of Miami and a Cuban-American, Suarez has absolutely no experience in national politics, which won’t keep him from getting elected (see Donald Trump) but he will be done in by a “confused” Joe Biden continually asking, “Francisco Suarez—doesn’t he have his own drug cartel?”
 
WILL HURD: A biracial good ‘ol ex-congressman from Texas, nobody’s ever heard of Hurd, and I predict this trend will continue.

LARRY ELDER: Got his ass handed to him by Gavin Newsome a couple years ago. Do you remember that? No? Well, you're not going to remember to vote for him this time, either.
 
And there you have it. Most minorities are Democrats, not necessarily because they support Democratic policies, but because they know all the people that bitterly hate nonwhites are Republicans, and who wants to be in the same party as them? Well, see above. And pass the popcorn.

In a series of rulings that had people all over the US saying, “STFU! Really?” the Supremes decided to kick a bunch of citizens in the groin, before boarding some friendly billionaire’s private jet to fly off for summer vacation.
 
Gays took it in the nads first, as the Court ruled that it was perfectly okay for web designers to refuse to design webs for them, because God invented the Internet and He hates gay people. This is what Lori Smith of Colorado believes, and she is entitled to that belief under the First Amendment, say a majority of the justices. Lori’s God is the Great Fag Smiter, and while she’s content to wait until Judgement Day for Him to whomp all those gay souls into Hell, in the meantime she’s secured the right to tell gays, “Git out dat door,” if they come to her for web designing.
 
Now, embarrassingly, it has come out that no gays asked Lori to work on their wedding webs anyway; the person named in her suit is straight and a web designer himself, who says he never asked Lori to design for him, since he can design his own web pages. Also, Lori features her motto, “Jesus loves you, unless you’re a homo,” prominently on every page of every web she designs, which some customers find wearying.

​The fact that the harm in this precedent-setting lawsuit was entirely imaginary did not stop the court primitives from eagerly ruling that gay wedding URL’s disgust them nearly as much as they disgust Lori, and if American citizens find gays revolting, they are perfectly free to claim that the Word of God commands them to sneer at the queer.
 
The Court spoke on affirmative action by taking great delight in slamming the doors of the Ivy League shut on black people’s toes, while leaving them wide open for white people whose SAT results are no higher than a nice bowling score, but have names like Whitmore Chillington Terrarium III. Clarence Thomas, who got his current job because of affirmative action by Bush the First, wrote in his concurring opinion, “Ain’t no black folk ever invited me to a private island for golf, lobster tails and a welcome break from looking at my wife’s face. Fuck ‘em.”
 
The Supremes also said no, no, NO to student debt relief, finding it more important that banks continue to get paid even if they have to take it out of people’s Social Security checks, rather than the debtors be able to afford to buy houses and have children and do other things that would insure that America has a future.
 
The Court did all this in the name of the Founding Fathers, who lived when it was considered natural that only rich people were educated, blacks were slaves and being gay just wasn’t an option. A return to Colonial times is what the Six wishes for wistfully. I wonder if, like the FF’s, they all want to wear silk stockings.
 
Under their gowns, of course.