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."

In news from the religious fringe this week, noted charismatic Jennifer LeClair predicted that the Prince of Darkness had it in for recently Christianized pop singer Kanye West, while Paula White, newly hired advisor to the White House, prayed aloud that Trump would be kept safe from demons although she did imply that most of those demons were on the House Intelligence Committee.
 
Paula preaches the Prosperity Gospel, which holds that you will get rich if you send her all your money, thus surpassing the original Christian concept that strained credibility the most, the Virgin Birth. Kudos to Paula for that, and congratulations on getting the White House job.
 
Jennifer, who still works in the private sector, and has previously held forth on the Seven Signs Witches Are Attacking You (they include excessive dandruff and tinnitus) fears that Satan will murder Kanye West, despite the Evil One’s reputation for not doing humankind any favors.
 
Not willing to get my news secondhand, I drew a pentangle on the floor of the garage and placed a candle at each point. I didn’t have any blood of an unbaptized male child handy—the girl threw it out, thinking it was a bottle of spoiled ketchup—so I put a box of Cheez-its at the center of the pentangle, knowing that Satan loves Cheez-its.
 
He immediately appeared in a cloud of ash, which coated the garage thoroughly. Next time Skype, I thought to myself.
 
“Hell, no,” he said sincerely, in between mouthfuls of snack food. “Got a glass of ice water? Just leave the pitcher by me. I don’t want to kill anybody. Killing people was His idea in the first place, remember? The whole everybody’s-got-to-buy-the-farm concept was alright at first—there weren’t that many people and slashing at their departed souls with pitchforks gave my imps work.
 
“Then came the USA, God’s favorite nation. You know why that is? Because almost no Americans go to Heaven. He’s got to let Jimmy Carter in, but anyone can see He’s even putting that off. The rest of you are addicted to either Internet porn or opioids, or both. Every time one of you people dies, you add to the line to get into the Pits of Perdition. It’s starting to be the DMV of all eternity. Inside, it’s just too crowded. We’ve had to buy space heaters for some of the far corners just to keep them respectably warm.
 
“Of course, Trump and Kanye are going to Hell—why should they be any different? But I’m putting it off for as long as possible. I do send demons after Trump, but that’s only so they can insert Satan’s Stents into his arteries while he sleeps off his latest cheeseburger binge. Otherwise his heart would have stopped in Stormy Daniel’s arms. And now that Kanye’s formed an attachment to Jesus, I want him to live as long as possible. Christ just texted me the other day about it--Dear Me, he is just so icky. I’d rather be hugged by a fetus—which amuses me to no end. So, I don’t want to see Kanye here anytime soon. And neither does Biggie or Tupac.
 
“What Hell’s scientists are really working on is the live-forever pill. Yeah, I put them in the lowest circle after they invented the boner pill—didn’t that backfire spectacularly? I promised each one of them an afternoon at a Tastee-Freeze, though, if they can come up with a live-forever treatment.
 
“That would solve all my problems.”

My personal Christian icon came alive with a revelation over the weekend. This was a first—Dollar Store Camouflage Jesus generally sits quietly on His allotted place on the library shelf, never weeping or bleeding or having other bodily functions that make other statues of Him, His Mother or other sundry saints and martyrs famous.
 
This time, though, He raised his tiny right hand and said, distinctly, “I need you to do Me a solid and tell Mike Pompeo to get off My ass.”
 
My first thought, as anybody’s would be, was, Shit, have I been doing drugs again? But that was unlikely, since it was first thing in the morning. I was drinking my coffee, and unless somebody had laced my Splenda with ayahuasca, I was as sober as I was going to get all day.
 
“Mike Pompeo, the Secretary of State, oh Lord?” I asked.
 
“That’s the one,” DSCJ said grimly, and for the first time, I wondered if the little AK-47 by his side was loaded. “That fat bastard’s been stalking me, and I want to be left alone. It’s Dear Lord this and Holy Me that all day and night long. From the early AM, when he’s praying he doesn’t have to kiss Trump’s ass before breakfast, to when he’s getting ready for bed, when he’s beseeching Me that there’s a piece of cake left in the fridge, I’m getting smothered with Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, every day.”
 
“But isn’t he and everyone else entitled to believe in You, oh Lord? Didn’t you say, “Believe in Me, and you’ll go to Heaven?”
 
“I may have said something like that once or twice, but, come on! Don’t you people have sarcasm anymore? And when they translated my holy wisecracks, they left a couple of asterisks out. One of the footnotes on that one was Except if you’re a self-important, bloated bag of pie and burgers, then it’s a hard swipe left. Yuck! I’d rather get hugged by a fetus, and believe you me, that’s creepy as fuck.”
 
“Is this all about Pompeo putting that video about being a Christian leader on the State Department web site?”

“Damn straight it is. I mean, it would be okay if Pompeo kept his crush on Me on the down low. Let’s put it in terms you can understand. I mean, it’s one thing when a woman who’s a tad overweight and not exactly a beauty queen lusts after you, but she keeps it between the two of you. It’s even a little flattering, right? But when you and her have about fourteen White Claws between you and start making out on the deck, and your wingman snaps a pick and posts it on Insta, it’s a whole 'nother story.”
 
“You’re embarrassed, oh my Savior?”
 
“The Holy Ghost has been roasting my ass ever since it went up. Every time the Trinity comes together, He rubs my nose in it, cackling with holy glee. He’s the same bitter, merciless mofo He’s been for all eternity. Mike Pompeo wants to know how to be a Christian leader? He can follow my example, and get himself crucified, as far as I’m concerned.”
 
“He works for Trump. That could happen any day.”
 
“Praise friggin’ be, is all I can say.”

​Attorney General Bill Barr took time off from his busy schedule of rummaging around the world for dirt on Democrats and letting pedophiles hang themselves in his custody to make a speech at Notre Dame Law School last week, on which he blamed all the nation's ills on “militant secularists,” which all of you reading this probably are.
 
And, militantly, you are saying, “Notre Dame has a law school AND a football team? Wow. Why didn’t the Attorney General just take in the game and keep his cheeseburger chute shut, thereby obeying the First Amendment, which says the US gov should make no law establishing a religion?”
 
The AG dismissed this argument by saying the Founding Fathers didn’t really mean that—they probably left it in because they ran out of Wite-Out while doing the Constitution and what they really wanted was for the US to be one great big Jesus-land from the get-go. The Amendment the FF’s were really serious about was the Second, which Barr and his pals interpret to mean any murderous pinhead is entitled to buy a machine gun to randomly kill people because he has a shitty social life.
 
And when they do that, it’s YOUR militant secularist ass that is at fault. Mass shootings wouldn’t happen if you hadn’t taken all the fun out of bullying gay people with your PC ways and thinking that women should be able to get abortions. It’s not Christians’ fault for letting AK-47’s be easier to get than library cards. If we let church bells bong incessantly across the land, the crackle of gunfire in the schoolyards would cease, or at least be less audible, says Barr.
 
Why are more kids born out of wedlock now than in the 50’s? It’s because YOU eat too much gay wedding cake. Why is there an opioid crisis? Because you bitch when the government lets God-fearing Americans put crosses on every hillock and the Ten Commandments in every courtroom.
 
Speaking of the opioid crisis, which is a social problem, remember when it was the heroin epidemic and mostly confined to black people, when it was a crime problem? Good times. But probably still your fault.
 
Barr may have stopped by South Bend to proclaim the Word because the Justice Department has an interest in a lawsuit filed in Indiana which seeks to force the Church to hire people in same-sex unions to teach in Catholic schools. Despite the long and mutually beneficial relationship between the Church and gay people, the Church does not want to let openly gay people around little Catholics, preferring that Catholic gay sex stay between an altar boy and his priest, where it belongs. Why your tax dollars are being spent to take a side in this litigation is something your militant secularist hiney shouldn’t be questioning, unless you want more drugs, child porn, sexting and Planned Parenthood unleashed upon America.
 
Yeah, it’s not violent video games. It’s YOU. Look in the mirror. And the next time it’s all steamed up from the shower, draw a little pair of horns on your head while you’re shaving or fixing your hair.
 
Doesn’t hurt to have a little reminder.

This photo recently was featured on Fox News. Allegedly, it was taken on 9-11 of this year and features a cloudy fireman rushing towards a vaporous angel, whose wings, back lit by the sun, appear to be possibly on fire.
 
Fox News features many stories you don’t see on mainstream news, because those other journalistic outlets are so often wearily preoccupied with our President continuing to be a lying salmon shitbird. Fox does not think this is newsworthy, and so they give plenty of airtime, or at least more airtime than it deserves, to the phenomena of airborne moisture clots looking like angels and firemen.
 
God communicates through clouds. It is Jesus that communicates through toast—the headline is mistaken, but I am too lazy to change it now. You skeptics out there are saying, “If God communicates through clouds, why isn’t He a little more obvious with it? Like, if every single cloud was an identical image of Him, it would be a lot tougher to doubt His existence.”
 
To which I reply, “Why doesn’t He just sit down with Trevor Noah some night and, between yocks about sex and politics, reveal which one of the monotheistic faiths is His fave?” Which doesn’t really refute your point. It’s just something I wonder.
 
God likes to mix it up more than that. When you see a cloud that looks like a crocodile, is He reminding you that you may eventually be eaten by one? Maybe. When you see one shaped like a dollar sign, is He trying to tell you you’ll never win the lottery unless you pray for it? When you see one resembling a coat hanger, is it just a helpful reminder from Him to go get that abortion?
 
In the Middle East, on 9-11, did a cloud formation appear that resembled a suicide bomber rushing towards a virgin?
 
All is possible, with God and clouds. Sometimes clouds are just fluffy angels and firemen, sometimes they clog together to give us much-needed rain—sometimes they give us rain we don’t need at all. Sometimes they wad themselves into humongous hurricanes, and spray whole islands cleaner of houses than a fireman’s hose.
 
There’s a clear message in those kind of clouds, a message from God that rings loud and true, consistently, through the course of history.
 
Watch out for your own ass. 

Amen to that.
​

The Almighty just took a massive dump on the Bahamas, and Christian prophetess Kat Kerr knows why—He was ticked off at all the underground sex trafficking going on in Bahamian tunnels.
 
No one says sex traffickers are smart, but digging tunnels in the Bahamas is problematic because they sit about three feet above sea level, meaning sex tunnels have to be pretty shallow or else they fill up quickly with the ocean. Remember, though, when Hillary was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the basement of a pizza joint that had no basement? Sex traffickers find a way.
 
The problem with Kerr’s hypothesis is that God is basically cool with sex traffickers. In the Bible, you could buy yourself a hot slave and make her your concubine if you wanted to. See illustration. If that’s not sex trafficking, what is?
 
No, there has to be a different reason God blew up the Bahamas. Here are a couple of different scenarios in which the Bahamas could have attracted the wrath of the Deity.
 
1.He went on one of those three-day cruises to Freeport and got sick after eating at the shipboard buffet. Have you checked out the prices on one of those trips? I mean, it’s cheaper than staying in Heaven. You can eat, drink and gamble all you want, but when your Filipino egg cook, who is working his 43rd day in a row, accidentally slips a little salmonella into your Benedict, you can pay a gastrointestinal price for your little vacay.

2.God hates black people living in low--lying areas. One word—Katrina

3.He meant to destroy Epstein’s Pedophile Island, but sliced his shot right. The problem with this theory is that having sex with teenage girls is also pretty Biblical, so what was His beef with Epstein? Was He just mad about never being invited on Epstein’s private jet? And Epstein’s dead now anyway, so He can take up His issues with Epstein eternally. No need to bash up a bunch of resorts to make His point.

4.Spent a week at a Sandals in Nassau after watching one of their sexy TV commercials, but the pool was nothing but kids and the waiters were rude. 
 
So, there you have it. God likes to keep us on our toes with his special mix of hurricanes, tsunamis, volcanoes, plagues and earthquakes, but it’s never about the sex trafficking. Most likely it’s the gay. Or abortions—don’t interfere with His plan for your unborn child, which is to kill it eventually some other way.

In the meantime, desperate Bahamians are pouring into the United States as storm refugees. Trump’s been too busy playing with Sharpies to notice that much, but wait until he finds out they’re mostly not white, and start questioning why hurricanes never hit Norway.
​
Let’s see if God has an answer for that.

​One of the items my Facebook feed has been trying to sell me recently is a book called Dark Agenda, which subtitles itself as The War to Destroy Christian America, which, briefly, caused me to wonder: Hot damn! Where do I sign up?
 
And, moreover, the author of the book, David Horowitz, is dead, a casualty of the war. His lifeless corpse was found floating in the Hudson river, bound head and foot with NPR bumper stickers…
 
No. He’s dead, all right, but he died of being 80 years old. In truth, the war against Christianity couldn’t be going much worse. Prayer wizards and prayer warriors pop out of the woodwork at every national tragedy, reminding us that hurricanes and school shootings happen because we’re not beseeching Jesus enough to stop them, plus, you know, the gays. Several states have mandated that “In God We Trust,” be painted on the halls of every school within their boundaries, thinking that looking at this prayerful phrase will keep their state’s children from being a grubby lot of unpleasant teenage wankers whose only real interest in their squirmy little lives is sending each other amateur porn on their cell phones.
 
The Catholic Church has been exposed as a pedophile ring the likes of which Epstein could only dream of, but it still has enough real estate and a sweet old Pope that everybody loves, so it will probably survive indefinitely. Meanwhile, the nouveau riche of Christianity, the preachers of the Prosperity Gospel, are rolling in it, thanks to the number of people who believe that giving other people all their money will make them rich, which is as easy to believe in as the Virgin Birth, which these people also believe in. I mean, could finding your target audience be easier? And it’s all tax-free.
 
Rationalism is as taxable as ever, and we get no holidays, despite this column constantly campaigning for Darwin Day, a day on which a kindly old man with a beard flies around the world in a magical sailing ship, giving science toys and puzzles to the clever children of the world, after which families decorate the Evolutionary Tree and eat dinner off the Table of Elements.
 
Even if we get out of bed determined to throw off Christian hegemony every day, how do we do it? Pray for it? Even if, by some miracle, which we don’t believe in, Christianity vanished tomorrow, we would still have every other religion, plus karma, crystals, astrology and lucky rabbit’s feet for people to put their faith in, because nothing is ever going to convince most human beings that there is absolutely no way to influence their unknowable futures, other than taking care of themselves and putting the maximum amount possible in their 401(k)’s. And that only works sometimes.
 
We’re not going to organize rationalist protests, where we carry signs saying SHIT JUST HAPPENS, DEAL WITH IT and RANDOM CHANCE WEARS THE PANTS, because we don’t have a deity commanding us to do useless, pointless things. This is our key flaw. So, Horowitz has conveniently died before his prediction could be proven false, which most prophets, theirs being the most cowardly of professions, conveniently do.
 
Might as well go back to bed.

Waskom, Texas, population 2,200, has declared itself a “sanctuary city for the unborn,” and banned abortions within its city limits, despite having no abortion clinics or plans to open one.
 
“We just felt it necessary to impose a gratuitous tax burden on our citizens by making it dollars-to-donuts certain we would be sued by the ACLU,” said Waskom mayor Jesse Moore. “We’re basing our case on Constitutional grounds that are shakier than those earthquakes that God uses to remind Californians that they are all going to Hell—that any churchy little town in bumfuck can overturn a decision of the United States Supreme Court.
 
“The fact that our all-male city council passed the law unanimously is also pleasing in the sight of Our Lord, because He calls us to instruct women on what they can do with their vajayjays, which is only to use them for reproduction, unless we’ve seen something on Pornhub that we really need to try. Also, if something happens that is manifestly the work of Satan, like my daughter getting pregnant after attending a rap concert, it’s only 800 miles to Austin, where there are plenty of abortion clinics from which we could send that little rap fetus to embrace Jesus in Heaven.”
 
When asked if pregnant immigrants could take advantage of Waskom’s sanctuary city status, the mayor replied, “Are you high? God is only calling us to protect American fetuses, and them unborn Hispanicals ain’t American unless they get themselves birthed here. They get plenty of Jesus where they came from, and they get it in Spanish. If God wanted them in Waskom, He would not have already translated the Bible from English into Spanish so they could read it back home.”
 
Fetal Americans are said to have mixed feelings about the law. Embryos already planning a career in the arts (read--gay embryos) are especially not happy about getting stuck in Waskom instead of a thriving urban sanctuary city like illegal Salvadorans get. “They get San Francisco, and we get Waskom?” one preborn was heard to say, rolling his little proto-eyes. “Even when you’re barely bigger than Trump’s penis, which most of us have achieved by the sixth week, you don’t want to spend the weekend in Waskom.”

Paula White, often described as Trump’s spiritual advisor, was in the news the other day for praying that Trump be protected from the “demonic networks” that threaten his Presidency, and she didn’t just mean CNN. She has also claimed that anywhere she stands is “holy ground,” because of the constant radiating of Jesus through her augmented breasts, which has kind of a spiritual bubble-boy effect and also keeps her from ever getting a jaywalking ticket.
 
Paula preaches the “Prosperity Gospel,” which means that she goes on TV, proclaims the Gospel says that you should send her money and she gets prosperous. She has even "laid hands" on Trump, even though most women say they would rather lay their hands on a freshly removed tumor than on the current President.
 
From this, it is obvious that Trump gets top-rate spiritual advice. Just being in the presence of Paula means that the frying pan of your soul is constantly being scrubbed clean of sin by the Brillo pad of God’s love. Therefore, it seems puzzling that Trump apparently keeps committing the sin of racism, by implying that non-white people should go back to the shithole countries they came from, and stirring up his followers against them, until one or two of them start driving cars into crowds or making pipe bombs in the garage.
 
Myself and my crack research team tracked Paula down and asked her a few questions concerning Trump’s spiritual state, to which she was happy to reply:
 
“President Trump cannot be a racist, because in Heaven, everyone is white, like Jesus and the angels,” she replied crisply. “The first thing people of color realize when they go to Heaven is that they are now white. Naturally, they are extremely thankful about that, not like here on Earth where they constantly bitched about being discriminated against. When they become white, of course, they realize they were the ones discriminating against white people all along, by having rap music and food stamps, and they are ashamed and grateful to whites like they should have been when they were alive.”
 
So, everyone is transformed into Caucasianess at the start of their eternal bliss?
 
“Naturally. How could it be Heaven if you were still a person of color? And conversely, if you were white here, how could you enjoy Heaven if you knew that people with accents, clothes and politics you found disturbing on Earth were also there?
 
Politics? Is everyone in Heaven a Republican?
​
“There are no politics in Heaven, although the answer to your question is probably yes. When I pray to God, I think of Him as a male, gun-owning American from a Southern or Midwestern state, so He’s a Republican for sure. But He probably lets Democrats who vote for Trump in, especially the ones who avoid the temptation of the accursed Biden, the former Vice Antichrist. But no socialists. Everyone in Heaven is equal and all its glories are shared together. A socialist wouldn’t understand that, so they all go to Hell.”
 
What about foreigners? Does God admit them?
 
“Yes, but He probably puts them in special foreign sections, so American saints don’t have to think about how they beat us in the trade wars or spend eternity trying to learn to speak other languages.”
 
So, each country has its own Heaven? What about those shithole countries?
 
“Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as shithole Heaven. That just doesn’t make any sense.”

Trump’s trade war with China may claim more Trumpanzee victims than the broke soybean farmers of Iowa soon, as tariffs are bound to raise the price of Bibles imported from China, which is, surprisingly, just about all of them.
 
Yes, the busy Chinese, apart from stealing intellectual property, spying on us through Huawei, building extra islands in the Pacific and making everything in Walmart, also find time to print most of the planet’s Bibles. God-fearing Bible-printing companies outsourced most of the Bible market out to this nation of industrious atheists long ago, and they can’t take it back—it has to be printed on especially thin Chinese paper because of the big-ass nature of the Holy Word. The Bible is nearly 800,000 words in English. The Quran is a mere pamphlet next to it, at 77,000 words, and Muhammed managed to wad in the whole of Sharia law and the prohibition against bacon-wrapped shrimp in it besides. The guy was terse, if not much more interesting, than the Bible’s authors.
 
But replacing the nation’s Bibles with Qurans is not likely to sit well with Trump’s base, and they are soon going to have to pay more for a book nobody actually reads. “BFD,” I can hear you saying. “Everybody who wants to own a Bible in the US probably already has one. And they hardly ever need replacing, because if you scroll down on Facebook enough, you’ll find plenty of stories about how multiple generations of a family were burned to death in a house fire and first responders picking their way among the charred corpses found a Bible in the cellar still miraculously whole, which proves that God is merciful.”
 
That’s probably true, except for the part about God being merciful—it’s merely apparent He doesn’t like to see His word toasted up, just His followers--but estimated Bible sales in this country are at twenty million or so a year, which means twenty million Americans annually are gifted with a book they don’t want to read. “So what?” I hear you saying again. “Almost all books are given as gifts to people who don’t want to read them.”
 
But the Bible is a special gift. It may be given to elderly religious relatives—“Just give Grandma a Bible for her birthday—she won’t be able to bitch about that”—or teenage boys caught spanking their noodles in front of the computer—“Next time you’re tempted to open that Pornhub tab, you open this instead, son.” It is often inflicted on hungover hedonists being visited by Christian missionaries on Sundays. Bibles have even been air-dropped on illiterate tribes isolated in the jungles of South America, where they probably use them for poison-arrow practice.
 
The cost of all these Bibles is going up, though, inevitably. They may have to be more carefully parceled out temporarily—you may have to chose between a hotel room with a Bible in the drawer or one that just has hotel porn, instead of both, in the future. Politicians may have to be sworn in on stacks of National Geographics, which will remain abundant.
 
Or Trump can just stop the trade war, and the Chinese will continue to supply us with cheap Bibles so the Bible-believing masses can continue to search its pages for reasons to hate gays, abortions and China. But he probably won’t.
 
It’s not like they’re Ivanka’s handbags.

Last month, pop icon Madonna announced she wanted to have a conversation with the current Pope about abortion, which she said Jesus was in favor of. The Pope ignored her, so she is now raising the stakes by challenging Francis to a dance-off.
 
“And he can pick the music,” Madonna offered. “I mean, Like a Virgin is obviously appropriate for him, but I’ve danced to that before, surrounded by hunky gay men, so it wouldn’t be fair to him. When he wants to be surrounded by gay men, he has to call up the College of Cardinals, and they can’t dance worth squat. But I mean really dance, though—not hum along to some Gregorian chant.
 
“He can also pick the outfits as well, although I reserve the right to wear fishnets underneath whatever dress he selects. I propose a maximum size for crucifixes as well—you can’t really hoof it with a gigantic cross hanging from your neck, although, frankly, he has a slight advantage in his collection of crucifixes. Mine will be swinging in front of my still-tempting breasts, though, and he’d be wise to keep his old gray man-boobs underneath his cassock. And if he wants to twerk, I'm down with that.
 
“St. Peter’s Square is the obvious venue for the Pope and I to cut the rug competitively, but if he wants a more intimate venue, I know any number of clubs that would kill to host it. A Vegas residency isn’t out of the question. Eurovision, anyone? I don’t expect Jesus to return to judge it, but wouldn’t that be a show-stopper? And for Him, great practice for the Apocalypse.
 
“Afterwards, when I’ve danced him into the dirt, Pope Francis will admit that abortion is cool with God, especially in cases of rape, incest and when the baby-daddy situation is complicated. He’ll join me for a rousing finale—oh, yeah, for sure it’s gonna be Papa Don’t Preach—and I’ll be back on top of the pop music, and also Catholic worlds.
 
“And that bitch Gaga can kiss my ass.”