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."

George Santos, the first Congressperson publicly booted from the House in twenty years, will make the leap to reality TV by appearing on Dancing with the Stars.
 
It is not easy to get expelled from Congress. According to precedent, two-thirds of the House have to pinch their noses shut and say, “Yick,” when you walk into its chamber.
 
Whether Santos will dance as himself, or as his drag queen alter ego, Imogene Puff-Puff, has not been hashed out between Santos and the show’s producers.
 
Santos is far from the first disgraced or loser politician to appear on DWTS. Sean Spicer came out of the White House shrubbery to do it. Rick Perry sashayed across show’s stage in between stints as a goofball Presidential candidate and placeholder Secretary of Energy. Tom DeLay, former Speaker of the House, showed off his moves on DWTS between his several indictments.
 
What about Sarah Palin? you ask. She appeared on The Masked Singer, you easily confused person, and almost destroyed an entire category of music, rap, when she did. It was her daughter, Bristol, who cut the rug on Dancing. Bristol popped out three kids of her own in an unwed fashion while being a public abstinence advocate and dance contestant. The Alaskan bush banger has two baby daddies, the second of which, Dakota Meyer, is named after two states and a toothpaste manufacturer.
 
Santos presented himself during his candidacy as a Fellow of the Long-Winded Council of Groupthinkers, and a graduate of the Daytona Beach School of Veterinary Medicine and Wind-Surfing, when he really spent those pre-Congress years as a transexual singer in a calypso band in Brazil, and a towel boy at a nude beach in Trinidad. These facts may not be exactly precise—a man gets tired of Googling shit.
 
That misrepresentation was fine with House Republicans, but when Santos was indicted for spending campaign funds on Botox, a used Maserati for an ex, and anal bleaching, it was too much for them, and Santos got the heave-ho.
 
He will probably not be the last Republican pol to prance across the stage at DWTS before fading into irrelevance. Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene are thinking right now about how good they’d look in sequins if they lose re-election. Matt Gaetz, too.
 
And Tom DeLay may not even be the last former Speaker to prance in the spotlight. You listening, Kevin McCarthy?

The election of Mike Johnson, ultra-religious election denier, to the office of Speaker of the House was utterly unexpected to most of us, but insiders are saying that the choice was inevitable, since Johnson has the smallest penis of any Republican member of the house.
 
“And that’s saying something,” whispered one source. “We’re talking about old white guys. Lot of small shillelaghs in that demographic, if you know what I mean. But even known micropenises like Jim Jordan and Matt Gaetz are hung like herbivores compared to Johnson. Even Marjorie Taylor Greene has it hanging lower, sadly enough.”
 
How small is small, exactly?
 
“I’m not at liberty to disclose exact dimensions, but look at his hand size. Even Trump’s got bigger paws than Mike’s meathooks.”
 
The relation between hand size and penis size has only been established by rumor, not by science, you know.
 
“Well, there’s also Mike and his wife being extreme Christians. That’s a religion that’s particularly attractive for guys with pitiful penises, since their wives are told they will go to Hell if they seek out a wang that would actually satisfy them.”
 
Again, a solid argument, but not a solid proof.
 
“I know he’s tired of the House groupies telling him, ‘Mike, is that a small-caliber bullet in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”
 
You’ve heard this?
 
“Many times. I mean, that’s why we elected him Speaker. Everyone feels sorry for him, so when we make his life a living nightmare as Speaker, he’s gotten all the sympathy he can handle already.”
 
You still haven’t convinced me…
 
“Even Lauren Boebert refuses to rub it.”
 
Okay. Say no more.

This Republican Congress has done nothing but screw itself for two weeks, ever since they cut loose their pandering liar of a Speaker and haven’t settled on another one.
 
Is this the greatest clusterfuck of all time? It is a massive one, a great, moaning orgy of incompetence. It is a cluster of clusterfucks. A Star Clusterfuck. A circle jerk inside of a clusterfuck. A shuddering heap of aroused white men straining to ejaculate a new Speaker from their midst.
 
These are not just people clusterfucking. Goats, (Scalise) hogs, (Jordan) and even some reptiles (Gaetz) are involved. The bleating, grunting and slithering echoes through the halls of Congress, to no purpose. The barnyard mass of Republican chickens tries to blame the Democrats for their habit of pecking at each other. The anointed idol of the GOP, the Tangerine Drama Queen himself, is taking time out from clusterfucking his own criminal defense to pull off his golf pants and leap into this oily orgy of incompetence, by anointing favorites and nay-saying others who are tugging and grasping at the slippery pole of Speakerhood.
 
But is it the greatest clusterfuck of all time? Traditionally, military adventures, from Troy to Afghanistan, have produced clusterfucks that shone like supernovas. Capitalism has had its own trousers yanked down on many occasions, from the panics of the 19th century to the Depression of the last one to the bank failures of this one. Big, mindless, gape-jawed occasions of group stupidity have plagued humanity throughout its history.
 
So, this may not be the worst. But, again, it may, for these Congressfolk are not mindlessly bloodthirsty militarists or insanely greedy capitalists, although there may be a few of those among the Republican numbers. These people were elected to lead the country. True, most of them were elected in gerrymandered districts by people who think the country would be perfect if their neighbors weren’t allowed to be immigrants or get abortions, but they were elected to lead nonetheless, and probably not to do what they’re doing now,  collapsing into a writhing mass of greasy, self-inflicted political sodomy, where the fucker becomes the fuckee in an eyeblink.
 
Nothing much we can do about it, though, except watch. I’m making nachos, if you want to come on over. Bring beer.

The Tangerine Drama Queen, while attacking the mental acuity of his prospective opponent in 2024, current prez Joe Biden, claimed that if Biden was to be re-elected, he’d be too much of a farting old drooler to prevent World War II.
 
As most of you are aware, nobody prevented World War II, which ended just a couple years before Trump was born, just as nobody prevented World War I, which started after the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Austria.
 
You ever want to see a blank look on Trump’s face, ask him who Archduke Ferdinand was.
 
Trump went on to claim that he’d beaten Barack Obama in 2016 and threatened to execute his former head of the Pentagon, Mark Milley. He also threatened to prosecute NBC for criticizing his makeup. Then he continued to complain about Joe Biden’s limited grasp of reality.
 
It’s true that Joe misspeaks occasionally. Republicans jump on every verbal error as proof that Biden is a slack-jawed senescent, and would endanger the US by being a geriatric vegetable rooted in the most powerful office in the land. Then, they say he is a clever crook, a mastermind capable of sucking bribe money out of Eastern Europe through a thousand devious shell companies, aided only by his coke fiend son, Hunter.
 
You say, “Probably they should make up their minds,” but don’t count on it happening. We have other politicians who are doddering towards the exit while still juggling the problems of the world, as this New Yorker cover illustrates. Besides Trump and Biden, Nancy Pelosi and Mitch McConnell are depicted. It’s lucky for the New Yorker that they left off Diane Feinstein, who actually was clearly down to her last few neurons and died very recently, long after the art had been drawn and the cover decided for that issue.
 
Yes, they dodged a bullet there. Mitch McConnell belongs there, having recently developed an unfortunate habit of, besides resembling an amphibian, of standing there, blinking and silent, like a frog that’s just sucked down a fly, while being questioned in the corridors of the Capitol. I don’t know about Nancy—besides seeming to have all her marbles, she is no longer Speaker of the House, but a mere Representative, although an honored one. If her brain cells start to atrophy, well, she’s just another nutty Congressperson, like Lauren Boebert, Handjob Queen of Colorado, or Marjorie “Gazpacho” Greene. The nation’s had many of them. We’ll survive.
 
Besides, how are the “young” politicians faring? Bob Menendez, 69, Senator from New Jersey, despite a previous criminal trial, was indicted again because he can’t keep his hands out of the cookie jar. James Comer, 51, is leading an impeachment inquiry into Biden, despite the fact that there is more solid evidence that the craters of the Moon are filled with candy corn than there is of Biden’s committing high crimes and misdemeanors.
 
Kevin McCarthy, 58 and Matt Gaetz, 41, are locked in a battle for command of the House of Representatives, despite both being Republicans. McCarthy is mentally suspect for wanting the Speaker job in the first place, and Gaetz would be on trial for sex trafficking if the testimony against him wasn’t being offered by an even seedier teen girl groper than he is.
 
It’s not the age of the politicians. It’s just that they’re politicians. Vote if you can, but afterwards, just pop some corn and enjoy the show.

Ron DeSantis has promised to invade Mexico “on Day One” of his still putative Administration. The Tangerine Drama Queen has already threatened military action to that friendly, warm, tequila-producing neighbor of ours to the south. The rest of the GOP field is yittering about it as well.
 
We are not talking about marching to Tijuana and then driving through Rosarito all the way to Cabo, drinking margaritas all the way. I’ve done that personally, but not in the company of a hundred thousand heavily armed soldiers.
 
No, both Meatball Ron and Defendant Don are talking about Special Ops missions to surgically take out Mexico’s cartel kingpins, who are pumping the USA full of fentanyl, which is killing US citizens.
 
Naturally, Mexico is averse to this theoretical occupation. Why, you ask? Shouldn’t they be grateful the US is putting its criminal warlords out of business, because they don’t seem to be able to do it?
 
Consider an alternative scenario. Mexicans are getting fatter, and that is killing some of them. Some people blame that on American fast food, franchises for which are spreading throughout that sunny land. More rational minds note that Mexicans could easily get fat without the help of KFC and Pizza Hut, because their own food is delicious, but a future Mexican President decides that American junk food is to blame for the deaths of Mexican citizens, and launches surgical strikes using Mexican Marines on McDonald’s headquarters in Chicago, Wendy’s in Dublin, Ohio and, for good measure, the castle of the Burger King in Miami, Florida, even though their fries suck.
 
Would the US respond by saying, “Thank God! All those Double Quarter Pounders and Whoppers were giving us heart attacks, too. Praise the Mexican Marines! Too bad they left so fast in those black helicopters instead of sticking around to have sex with our daughters!”
 
Um, NO. I imagine the US would respond by laying waste to the Mexican land, from Mexicali to Cancun, killing thousands in the process. Mexico is not going to be able to return that favor, but they are going to be miserably unhappy about it.
 
Let’s face it, people love to suck down cheeseburgers and get high, although not necessarily in that order, and no amount of covert or overt military action is going to change that.
 
Mexico is our #1 trading partner. It’s true China sends us all the cheap shit in Walmart that breaks as soon as you try and use it, but that doesn’t make them number one. Every tomato in every American supermarket in January was grown in Mexico. Every bottle of Modelo was brewed there. I could go on, but mostly I oppose military action in Mexico because it is my favorite place para comer, beber y pescar.*
 
Most Republicans are afraid to go to Mexico. This is another of the pleasant wonders of this beautiful country. Republicans think that Mexicans hate us, and are liable to shoot us on sight. This is the opposite of the truth. Mexicans are the most hospitable people on earth, and you are much more likely to be shot at an American mall than on a Mexican street.
 
That would change if the Meatball or the Don started sending Navy Seals into the Mexican jungle. I would have to live out my days entirely north of the border, deprived of cervezas and pangas, misty-eyed over the loss of my favorite vacationland.
 
And it could happen. Besides using military force against our neighbor because Americans won’t give up drugs, Republicans could point out that the Mexican Supreme Court just legalized abortion.
 
That’s another reason to invade. Just ask Marjorie Taylor Greene.

*Eat, drink and fish.

Country music has been in the news recently, which means that someone like me can feel on top of the country music scene, without actually listening to country music. So that’s a good thing.
 
I’m not saying that country music doesn’t have its uses. If you walk into a diner and hear a country song playing in the background, you can order grits with pork chops and eggs confidently, without even glancing at the menu. If you go on a first date with a woman that switches your car radio to a country station the minute the engine starts, she has already decided to have sex with you. I don’t eat grits and there is only one woman in my dating pool, so this info is not relevant to me, but feel free to use it if you need it.
 
There are about three country songs I like, and Dolly Parton is a national treasure. Apart from that, I didn’t have much use for the genre, until country went Republican. Country has always been a little bit Republican, of course, being listened to primarily by white guys who can’t dance, but are lured onto the dance floor anyway by leggy white girls who favor short-shorts and cowgirl boots. Often these types are staunch Republicans, until one of those cowgirls needs an abortion.
 
The serious Republicanation of country, though, started with Jason Aldean’s “Try That in a Small Town,” a song which threatens anybody from a bigger town who wants to attempt a carjacking or mugging in some mythical tiny burg. Of course, committing these crimes is a shitty idea in some hamlet where everybody knows everybody else. “Gollee, Clem, I ain’t seen you since you dropped out of fifth grade. And you grew up to be a carjacker! Wonders never cease!”
 
If you want to commit crime in a small town, it’s better to stick to small-town type criminal activities, like niece-fucking or being a closeted gay phys-ed coach who eventually gets busted for patting the wrong boy on the rump. Jason Aldean could have written a whole other verse about crimes you can get away with in a one-stoplight town, like smacking your woman around or embezzling money from your congregation. He didn’t, though.
 
Then came “Rich Men North of Richmond,” a song by former nobody Oliver Anthony that got to be number 1 on the country charts, which complains vaguely about wealthy snots who control the lives of poor, honest people like Oliver Anthony and his kin. Of course, this relationship between the haves and the have-nots has existed since about 6,000 BC, so Anthony is a bit late to this party.
 
Republicans seized on this ditty, and even played it at their debate in Milwaukee. That pissed even Oliver Anthony off, because while he and his friends bitch about shadowy forces that control their lives, the Republicans that were onstage in Milwaukee are those shadowy forces, trying to get Anthony and his ilk to worry about bilingual signs in Walmart and transgender hootenannies in the holler while their bridges rot and their healthcare gets ripped away.
 
Also, Milwaukee is well north of Richmond. You don’t believe me, get out your Mercator and a straightedge and see for yourself.
 
John Cougar Mellencamp, who really grew up in a small town, wrote a song about small town life that was neither racist, vaguely threatening or whiny, back in 1985. You can listen to it here.
 
Or not. I don’t blame you. Fucker sounds like a Democrat.

The indicting is done, the convicting is yet to happen, but already professional prognosticators are examining the question of what future President could accumulate at least 92 formal legal accusations of felonious behavior.

Some, of course, scoff at the idea that any President, no matter how far in the future, could top Trump for sheer criminality. "He or she would have to sell the moon to man-eating aliens and rule the Earth from an orbiting White House to even come close," said one distinguished future foreseer. "There will never be anyone like Trump for unparalleled venality."

Others are not so sure. "The US is full of criminals," said another. "Prior to Trump, none of them had even considered then Presidency as a vessel for their crimes. But, for sure, their eyes are open now."

"Certainly Trump's record can be beaten," asserted a third. "Just look to his kids. Who's more of a slippery, teeny-peeny grifter than Jared Kushner? All he needs is Ivanka in the Oval Office and he'll be renting out Rhode Island to the House of Saud. Eric is obviously oblivious to nearly everything, unless he can feel it in his underwear, and the law is no exception. Junior, though, is the heavy hitter of the trio. Utterly soulless, murderous, and self-centered. If he ever gets 270 electoral votes, the United States is a frog and he's the blender. And, bonus, his girlfriend, Kimberly Guilfoyle, would have a real shot at being a worse First Lady than Melania.

"And nobody knows how Barron will turn out, but his background just drips with potential."

Of course, the panel had to include at least one Republican clairvoyant, but when it was his turn to predict, he didn't elaborate. "Two words," he said. "Hunter. Biden."

It’s no secret Trump’s in big legal trouble. I saw somewhere on the Internet that, if you take all the crimes he’s been accused of, and add up the maximum sentences for each, it totals 541 years in prison.
 
The evidence against him seems strong, as it’s mostly of Trump committing crimes on a recorded line, or videos that he tried to erase but didn’t have minions technically competent enough to do so, or even innocently inquiring if he could get his swimming pool emptied into his servers.
 
Inevitably, during the course of one or more of his trials, Jack Smith or the Atlanta DA is going to offer a plea bargain, and Trump’s lawyers are bound to listen to it and present it to him.
 
What kind of a deal would Trump accept? Obviously, one with no prison time. Trump wants to hang out with people like Hannity and Maria Bartiromo, not guys with nicknames like Sweaty Ben, the Redneck Rammer, or other lifer types that have acquired a taste for big butts, especially old and pimply ones.
 
He’d have to go to a prison big enough to house his Secret Service crew.  Boy, would those guys hate to pull that duty, instead of accompanying Biden to party countries like Belgium and Bora Bora.
 
The Big House for Trump would probably be Mar al Lago, with some modifications. First, a name change for the length of Trump’s sentence. Slammer Por El Mar would be nice. Then, an ankle bracelet. It would have to be the biggest, best ankle monitor ever, so he could brag about it on social media. Maybe one for each ankle, so they wouldn’t knock his golf swing off balance.
 
Conjugal visits? Does Melania want to have to slap his hand away once a month? Will others be permitted to service the mushroom? I foresee tense, disgustingly intimate legal wrangling before this issue is settled.
 
Staff? The most important felon in US history can’t be expected to handle the burdens of his office alone. How about an Unindicted Co-Conspirators Wing, just south of the pool shed at el Slammer, where Rudy Giuliani, Roger Stone and random gardeners and valets can try and overturn the results of his criminal convictions. At least they can help him add up the days left in his sentence, by Magic Markering four vertical strokes with one slash on his cell wall for every five days served, the traditional hard-timekeeping method.
 
Food? Prison food is part of the punishment. He might have to eat Burger King, or even Wendy’s, instead of McDonald’s. The sogginess of his fries, the flatness of his Diet Cokes will only fuel the bitterness of his confinement.
 
He could still brag on polls showing that at least 50% of Republicans still think that he would be the best choice, if they had to pick a convicted traitor for President.
 
He could still call into Fox News, but it would have to be collect. And there would be that little recording, telling whoever answered the phone that the caller was incarcerated, and would they accept the charges?
 
And Rupert Murdoch would have to say yes.

"If you're coming after me, I'm coming after you!" Donald Trump, last Friday.

This terrifying threat, issued by the Tangerine Drama Queen himself, has all of us shaking in our flip-flops out here in Libtard Land. Should we be constantly looking over our shoulders, fearing for a glimpse of his enraged orange visage, or at least wary of hearing the rumble of the mighty wheels of the Golf Cart of Vengeance?

Being "come after" by Trump seems like an idle threat to the most insouciant of us. How can an obese 77-year-old, a man who looks like running a hundred feet would give him a brain aneurysm, catch up to us comparatively fleet-footed Democrats? The answer is, of course, that Trump himself does not have to chase us down. His army of supporters, men armed with automatic weapons and powerful trucks flying anywhere from ten to fifteen Trump and "Don't Tread on Me" flags, depending on bed size, are standing by, waiting for his command to blast away at our treacherous bodies or run our pitiful Priuses off the highway.

These men, people with birth names like Lew, or Booney, or Cled, are willing to leave their loved ones and their catfish ponds behind to respond to the clarion of Trump's voice, echoing over hill and holler, commanding them to save real 'Murica' from Marxists, transgender athletes competing in any sport from track to pickleball to cornhole, pregnant immigrants and little old lady Democrats harvesting ballots.

Except maybe not. The specter of the last citizen army Trump tried to raise sitting in DC jails, awaiting long prison sentences, deprived of all human companionship besides Marjorie Taylor Greene's, is causing a drop in numbers of MAGA's willing to physically fight for Trump. That's the speculation, anyway. But when Trump calls, and people who bought hats and flags and yard signs from him sigh and say, "Love to be out there with my gun and pepper spray for our real President, but my catfish look hungry and my old lady took the keys to my truck away," who is going to come after Jack Smith and the rest of us?

Trump has even begged the Supreme Court to "intercede" for him. Nobody knows what that means, but, rest assured, it's nothing Brett Kavanaugh is going to put down his beer to do.

So, who will come after Trump's enemies? Possibly nobody. Lock him up.

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.