By Bill Devol

If you are a highly decorated, certified Air Force pilot hero that has sex with people of the same gender, you have to leave the military, but if you show signs of being a violent Islamic extremist with a bad service record, you get to stay in the military until you kill 13 of your fellow soldiers.

Wow…that really doesn’t make any sense.

Tuesday, the Governor of Rhode Island, Don Carcieri, vetoed a bill that would have given same sex partners the right to…wait for it…wait for it…plan each others funerals. The Republican Governor of our smallest state has proven he has an equally small mind by calling this bill an incremental erosion of heterosexual marriage.

Having your funeral planned by the person you loved is erosion of heterosexual marriage? Even giving gay people posthumous equality is too much.

Wow…Governor Carcieri, you are a real dick.

In Ohio, if I author a legally witnessed document that says my dog Edgar gets to plan my funeral, the State of Ohio can’t do anything about it. My family can sue, but the State of Ohio can’t do a freaking thing.

In Rhode Island, if I was gay and died without a legally binding document naming my same-sex partner as my funeral planner, my Dad could flip my partner off and bury me any way he wanted. In such a case, I’d get a shave and a haircut, I’d be buried in a suit with an “I Love Poontang” lapel button, and there would be strippers at the wake.

How much do you have to hate someone to f**k up their funeral?

I’m glad I asked…

Fred Phelps, Sr., pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, and his parishioners have been f**king up the funerals of gay people for more than a decade.

If you have time (and a strong stomach) let your fingers Google godhatesfags.com. It’s at this web site that you get to share the wisdom of the belief that god wants us to heckle the mourners at the funerals of gay people.

The Reverend Phelps also has decided that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are part of the “fag” agenda. Because of this, any soldiers that fights in these wars are defending the “fag” way of life, so when they die, they are going to Hell. Good old Fred and his flock actually attend the funerals of those that died in combat and heckle the mourners.

Wow…those Westboro Baptists are a bunch of dicks.

Samuel Johnson is oft credited with a line that goes something like this, “Sir, only God has the right to judge us, and he only does it once at the end of our lives.” I don’t know if Mr. Johnson actually said it, but the anti-gay rights crowd can take the sentiment and shove it up their asses…in a purely heterosexual way, of course.

In Maine, last week, the voters overturned a state law legalizing same-sex marriages. Many people were worried that “they would have to teach same-sex marriage in the schools.”

Such a statement is really code for, “they will have to tell little kids what gay people do to each other when they have sex.”

Since straight marriage is legal in Maine and everywhere else, I could argue that “they have to teach straight marriage in the schools.” I could suggest that they have to tell little kids what straight people do to each other when they have sex….“Then Daddy calls Mommy a frigid bitch, and storms out of the house to get drunk at the strip club.”

That is ridiculous, of course, but it’s the same twisted logic that people buy when they need a reason to be so scared of gay people that they want them all to go away.

I don’t know why so many un-gay people are scared of gay people. I have always been of the opinion that they think gay cooties will turn them gay over time.

It has to be fear…doesn’t it? Only fear can drive you to deny the human rights of a whole group of people both before and after death.

Fear of gay people is unfounded, but every time the straight community gets a chance to extend an olive branch to the gay community we manage to let fear mongers screw it up.

I don’t fear gay people…although, there are some lesbians that make me a little nervous sometimes…it’s the ones on the motorcycles…they look really tough.

All kidding aside…some of those biker lesbians have really huge muscles and tattoos, and they look like they want to drag me behind their bikes…hold it…that’s not actually fear…I think it may be a really inappropriate and disturbing fantasy…forget what I said.

By Bill Devol

I was cruising along on a nice mellow…for me, I mean…Gail and I had a couple of hundred trick or treaters last Saturday, and we had fun passing out candy.

My new anti-depressant is working well with my old anti-depressant. Even when the citizens of Maine stripped a whole bunch of people of their civil rights because of the gender of their sex and life partners, I didn’t lose my composure.

When I saw video tape of Michelle Bachmann inviting protesters to come to the Capitol Building today and “scare” Senators and Representatives into burying the healthcare reform effort, I realized that an insane person just says insane things. Sooner or later, the voters in Minnesota will tell Ms. Bachmann to go home for good.

Then I saw video tape of Republican Representative Todd Akin of Missouri ask a crowd outside the Capitol Building to join him in reciting the Pledge of Allegiance because “it drives the liberals crazy.” That has really harshed my mellow.

Todd, you, stupid, combed-over, Show Me State jackass of a human being, The Pledge doesn’t drive liberals crazy. It’s a$$holes like you that drive liberals crazy.

Todd you voted to give the unborn equal protection under the 14^th amendment, but you voted against making it illegal for employers to discriminate on the basis of an employee’s sexual orientation.

Todd, you refused to vote for any economic stimulus money, but you voted to make it harder for citizens to declare bankruptcy.

Todd, you flaming butt wipe, you voted for a Constitutional amendment defining marriage as between a man and a woman only, but you voted against regulating the subprime mortgage industry.

Todd, you voted against enforcing against anti-gay hate crimes, and you voted against shareholders getting to vote on executive compensation.

Todd, you voted against removing subsidies for oil and gas exploration, and you voted against an additional $2 billion for the Cash for Clunkers program.

Todd, you voted for prayer in school, but you voted against requiring states to test students.

Todd, you voted for promoting free trade with Peru, but you voted against assisting workers who lose jobs due to globalization.

It’s crap like that drives this liberal crazy, Todd; it is not the freaking Pledge of Allegiance.

What drives me crazy is the fact that you have your head so far up the ass of corporations in this country that, when the CEO of Goldman Sachs farts, your shoe laces flutter.

What drives this liberal crazy is that a$$holes like you have the balls to pimp Christianity while making sure that you do nothing to feed the hungry, heal the sick, clothe the naked, and house the homeless.

Screw you, Todd! Screw you and all the rest of you smug, white, Christian millionaires up there on Capitol Hill that are making your fortunes by helping the rich to get richer while the poor get poorer.

Go ahead, hang with the Minnesota Madame DeFarge , Michelle Bachmann, and the low-rent replacement for Tail Gunner Joe McCarthy, Joe Wilson of South Carolina. Pal around with Ohio Representative and House Minority Leader John Boehner (pronounced…BONER) who just this week announced the Republican alternative to “Obamacare;” it’s called “WeDon’tCare.” They seem to be your kind of people.

Todd, you and the rest of the great “Party of No” can go to Hell.

Now, if I might have a few words with President Obama…

The Mayor of New York would be a Democrat today if you would have at least gotten the national Democratic Party to support Bill Thompson against Bloomberg. Thompson lost by about 50,000 votes…that is nothing…he ran bare back against $100 million and barely lost…that could have been one in the Obama column.

Joseph Lieberman is no friend of yours. He has been bending you and the Democratic Party over the table every chance he gets. He is a bought and paid for healthcare whore. Kick his political ass and let him be the Chairman of the Senate Flatulence Subcommittee.

Oh, by the way, do you think gay people are stupid? You blew enough smoke up their asses during the campaign to float Balloon Boy all the way to China. So far, you have flapped your lips a whole bunch, but you haven’t come through with one promise to the gay community…the clock is running.

People are still dying in useless wars. I was touched by your show of support last week when you saluted our fallen heroes, but show your support by getting the live ones home, as soon as possible. If you don’t stop this soon, you will never be able to wash the blood off of your hands.

So far, sir, the only change I see is now it is you changing live people into dead people.

This original short story is offered as a Halloween treat and not a trick.

By Bill Devol

Hank Stafford’s bad day had already been one for the record books when the lights on Athens Municipal Airport’s Runway 11-29 blinked out seconds after Hank had broadcast the VHF signal to turn them on.

“Shit,” Hank muttered and pushed the throttle forward and banked his Cessna 350 to the right to gain altitude and come around for another pass at a landing.

“Celeste is going to chew my ass as it is,” Hank thought.

Hank’s two-day business run to Cleveland turned into a three-day trip when his single largest customer, the Cleveland Plain Dealer, challenged Hank and his company Vector Rolled Paper Products to come up with a 10 percent price cut for newsprint.

In the end, Hank gave up. The Plain Dealer was set to publish a series of community shopper newspapers later in the year. He’d have to eat a crap sandwich in the short term, but he’d get to stay for the prime rib.

“Celeste won’t give a damn one way or the other,” Hank said out loud as he lined the Cessna up to the left of and parallel with East State Street and rebroadcast the VHF signal to turn on 11 two niner’s lights. When the lights came on, Hank made final course corrections and busied himself with landing.

The Davis boy, Tim…Thomas…Tony! Tony Davis was rubbing the back of his dark brush cut and looking sheepish when Hank stepped down from the cockpit.

“When is the city going to buy a new Pilot Controlled Lighting unit, Tony? We could have us a spectacular crash some day,” Hank said with mock sternness.

“Hey, Mr. Stafford,” Tony said. “They don’t even buy me my coveralls to work here; they’ll buy a new PCL when pigs fly, besides, in about half an hour the Moon will be up and folks can land by the light of the full Moon. Want some help tying her down?”

When Hank and Tony finished the post-flight checklist and tied the Cessna to huge rings set deep in the tarmac, Hank pressed a $20 into Tony’s hand.

“Holy shit,” Tony said. He blushed bright pink and added, “I mean, thank you Mr. Stafford.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hank called over his shoulder as he carried his bags to his black Porsche Cayenne parked next to the white clapboard house that served as the terminal. Hank pointed his key at the Porsche and clicked the button that opened the rear hatch.

“Full Moon in 27 minutes,” Hank said out loud as he tossed his things in the back of the Porsche.

Hank fished in his left pants pocket and pulled out a small brass key. He used the key to open a panel in the floor of the SUV. After looking both ways, Hank took off his denim jacket and pulled a double shoulder holster from the floor safe.

Hank slipped the rig on, shrugged his shoulders to make a few adjustments to the fit, and put his jacket back on.

Hank reached back into the safe and extracted a TeleDart RD406 tranquilizer pistol. He turned a dial on the side of the weapon and saw the pressure gauge turn red when the pistol was fully charged. Hank loaded a tranq dart into the breech, flipped the breech shut, loaded five more tranq darts into a clip on the front of the right shoulder holster, and jammed the TeleDart into its spot.

“No safety, no safety, don’t shoot yourself in the balls if you have to use it,” Hank said to himself as he pulled a Desert Eagle Mark XIX .50 caliber automatic out of the gun safe in the floor of the Porsche. Hank slapped a clip into the butt end of the hand cannon and put the pistol into the left holster. He put three extra ammunition clips into the pockets of his denim jacket, relocked the safe, buttoned the bottom two buttons of the jacket, and looked at his watch.

“Shit,” Hank hissed. He had less than 25 minutes until Moon rise and he had to do his best to get home to Chauncey in about 20 minutes or there could be hell to pay.

Hank knew there was no way to get over Peach Ridge on Route 33 and take Route 13 to Route 293 and get up Utah Ridge Road to his compound before the Moon popped over the ridge top. He knew it, but he drove like he could make it…he wasn’t even close.

“If the FAA let me put in my own landing strip, I’d have been home 30 minutes ago,” Hank thought as he slid around curves on Route 13. What good was money if you couldn’t do what you wanted with it?

He had to stand the Porsche on its nose when a good old boy in a late 60s Chevy pickup pulled out in front of him about a mile from beautiful downtown Chauncey.

“Move your ass, you old fuck,” Hank screamed at the old man in the Chevy. Hank wondered for the thousandth time why he agreed to move to the wilds of Athens County, Ohio.

The answer was, of course, he loved Celeste. He would do anything for her. When she agreed to marry him, Hank had promised to make sure nothing bad ever happened to her. He hoped tonight wasn’t the night he’d break that promise. Most of the time, Celeste was the most beautiful woman Hank had ever met, and she was sweeter than she was beautiful. It was hard to believe she had come from such a weird family.

The Moon was up before Hank turned on to Utah Ridge Road. He knew he was too late, but he didn’t take his foot off of the gas peddle until he slammed it on the brake peddle at the gate to the compound. He slid to a stop sideways in the driveway.

Hank pushed a button on the dashboard, and the two halves of the gate opened slowly at him. He drove quickly through the gate and pushed the dash button again: the gates closed behind him.

He drove the Porsche around the first bend in the tree-lined driveway before he put the car into Park. He pushed the button that slid the window down, turned off the ignition, and listened. There was nothing to hear at first except the tick of the cooling engine and the breeze in the trees.

The first howl rose up from somewhere on the south side of Hank’s 50-acre property.

“Shit, the pine trees,” Hank said out loud. If she was in the pine trees, she was closer than he liked. He wasn’t going to make it up to the house without running into her.

Hank put his right hand on the butt of the Desert Eagle and opened his door with his left. After he slid to the ground, he eased the door shut with barely a click. That’s when he heard the second howl.

She had heard him. Her ears were like directional microphones. He could picture her turning her head at the sound of the car door closing. She would have thrown her head back and howled a warning. She wanted her prey to know she was hunting. Spooking the prey into a mistake was just the thing she loved to do.

The good news was she was coming to him. The bad news was she was coming to him. Without hesitation, Hank sprinted off the driveway and into a small knot of brush off to his left. He had the Porsche and the open road between himself and Celeste.

Hank reached into his pants pocket with his right hand and pulled out the Porsche key. He stuck the button end of the key between his teeth where he could bite down on the trunk-release button and keep both hands free.

Without making a sound and with deliberate slowness that belied his hammering heart, Hank transferred the Desert Eagle to his left hand and drew the tranq dart pistol with his right.

Celeste would be on his scent now that she was coming. She would follow his scent right across the road and into his hideout if the trunk release trick didn’t work. Hank was going to have to be at least 30 feet away from Celeste when the dart hit her, or she’d still be able to get a paw or two on him before she went to sleep.

Hank shuddered thinking about the damage Celeste could do.

Since Celeste wanted him to know she was coming, she wasn’t shy about letting out excited yips and barks as she came across the property on the dead run. She was heading directly for Hank and she was already tasting him with her mind.

The light-brown werewolf broke from cover about 20 yards in front of the Porsche. She froze for a moment to sniff the air. She could smell his fear; Hank was sure of it.

She growled deep in her throat and started slowing loping toward the Porsche. She leapt from the road to the roof of the Porsche and rose on her hind legs and surveyed her surroundings.

Celeste’s muzzle was long and slender. Hank could see the breeze flutter the soft fur at the nape of her neck. Her ears twitched in unison and then separately. Her black nose wrinkled as she turned slowly.

She knew where Hank was. She could smell him and she could hear his heart hammering against his ribs. Celeste was playing; she wanted to get him to break from his hiding place. Jesus, even as a werewolf, she was beautiful.

Celeste dropped back down to all fours and dropped to the road behind the Porsche. She would charge him any second.

Hank bit down on the trunk release button. The trunk clicked open a few inches. Celeste turned to check for an ambush. Hank leveled the tranq gun and pulled the trigger.

Celeste turned back toward the hiss of the CO₂ cartridge just as the dart struck her in the right side of her furry neck. She howled and charged, but she dropped after three halting steps.

Hank heard the growl from behind him. He flattened himself to the ground and had the sense of something just passing over his back. He heard the clack of empty jaws slamming together where his neck would have been.

“Aw, crap, two of them,” Hank screamed as he rolled to his left and pointed the Desert Eagle at the Porsche and pulled the trigger until the automatic was out of bullets.

Two of the hot brass casings had ejected and ricocheted off of a small tree and down the open neck of Hank’s shirt. They burned white hot against his neck and chest, but Hank ignored the pain, reloaded the traq gun, and jumped to his feet.

The second werewolf was flat against the road. Hank had never meant to hit it. He just wanted the boom of the .50 caliber and the sound of breaking glass to give him a few seconds to get a fresh dart in the gun.

The second werewolf leaped from the ground. Hank pulled the trigger. He didn’t hear the hiss of the dart and the whump of it hitting its intended target. He was momentarily deaf from emptying the Desert Eagle into his Porsche. Hank did feel the jarring thump as the werewolf hit him square in the middle of his chest.

Hank went down in a jumble of biting, snapping werewolf. It was trying to tear his throat out, but missed on the first two tries. The third try would have been perfect, but the werewolf collapsed on top of Hank fast asleep.

He wanted to rest. He had the wind knocked out of him and his ribs were killing him, but Hank had only a couple more minutes before the first werewolf would begin to come around.

Hank got plastic cable ties out of a bag in the Porsche’s floor safe. He got to work quickly, and, when he was done, he had two hog tied werewolves. He finished just as the first werewolf started to twitch and stir.

He still wasn’t going to put them in the Porsche and take them to the house. They were far too heavy and they could still bite Hell out of him. They’d be safe out here until dawn when they would turn back into Celeste and most likely her Mom.

Sarah was a handsome woman for a 45-year-old, but Hank didn’t want to see her turn back into his naked mother-in-law.

Hank saw the damage to the Porsche was cosmetic. He tossed the key on the ground where Celeste could see it in the morning. Celeste and Sarah would shrink back to normal size when they changed, and the plastic ties would slip right off.

“God damn,” Hank said to the thinner of the twitching werewolves on the ground. “I hate it when your family visits.”

By Bill Devol

Pakistan has nuclear weapons. I don’t think they need them, but no one ever asked me about it.

India has nuclear weapons. I don’t think Gandhi had that in mind when he practiced civil disobedience against British rule.

India and Pakistan are the meat in a really scary nuke sandwich. To the east of our two nuclear powers is another nuclear power, the People’s Republic of China. Somewhat removed, but to the north, we have Russia and all the new countries that formed when the old Russia bit the big one…they all have nukes.

Just north of Pakistan is Afghanistan where the Taliban gave safe haven to the folks what blew up the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. That same Taliban currently is up to no good in Pakistan.

To the east, Israel has nuclear weapons. We have nuclear weapons, and we are in Afghanistan and Iraq. England has troops in Afghanistan and they have nuclear weapons.

The only world nuclear power not within spitting distance of India and Pakistan is France.

Here in lies my dilemma. Normally, I’d say screw ‘em. It’s not because I’m a pacifist; I’m a realist. Back in the day, we had mutually assured destruction keeping fingers off of nuclear buttons. The United States, Russia, and China all knew that if the balloon went up, only the cockroaches would survive.

It was all about economics. There was no money to be made from blowing each other to kingdom come. There was no percentage in nuclear war.

Now, I’m stumped for an overall plan because many of the players in this nuclear hot spot hate each other because they disagree on who runs the universe and what happens after you die…religion!

When you add religion to what used to be economic suicide, you turn everything ass over elbows.

I worry about people that will kill themselves to kill other people to get to what they think will be an afterlife of bliss and joy. I worry about people so nuts that they would blow huge chunks of Israel off the map knowing full well that Israel would return any attack to the tenth power.

I worry that religious people have the fate of the world in the palm of their hands and that most of them think the greatest gift they can give their God is bunches of dead people from another religion.

I want all of our troops home from Iraq and Afghanistan. Those poor men and women have gone way above the call of duty with multiple deployments which mean separation from their families and maybe getting dead.

I also want the religious crazies over in the nuclear zone to not blow each other up and pollute the atmosphere with fall out and other stuff that could kill the rest of us.

How can we do both?

I don’t know if we can keep the nut cases from blowing each other up. If we take over the whole area, including Israel, Syria, et.al., and go house-to-house looking for nukes…NOPE…that is impossible.

I have long said that you can’t make people do what you want them to do; you can just make people sorry they didn’t. That isn’t control; that’s punishing bad behavior…sorry, it’s all anyone has. We should use it.

We need to bring everyone home and get them rested up. Then we can revamp our military so that we can put huge hunks of it on the ground anywhere in the world in just a few hours.

Once we get that all done, we then tell the idiots around the world that if they shoot off a nuke we will come to their country in a big old hurry and blow lots of stuff and people to smithereens.

Remember, however, that religious nuts think dying for their God is just about the best thing they can do. That means that they can get to their heaven and move to the front of the heavenly rewards line if they can get us to kill them.

So, if we threaten to do to them what scares us the most, they would think we were doing them a favor. These people are nuts. How do you stop people that are nuts?

Killing them all just makes more people that want to kill us. Ignoring them got us to where we are today. I have a friend who believes liberating their women and giving their children MTV would be the best revenge.

I say we try being nice. We could reward good behavior with things their people need like potable water, schools, medicine, and food. While we are at it, we could try that here as a pilot program.

I know it sounds crazy, but we can always go back to shooting people and blowing stuff up if being nice doesn’t work.

By Bill Devol

Last Sunday, there was a Tea Party on the courthouse square in Chardon, Ohio. My town is the County Seat of Geauga County, and the only thing we got more of than Republicans out here is raccoons.

As far as Democrats go in Geauga County, Ohio, besides me and a lady with 500 cats, there are a few thousand of us. The official results in the last three Presidential elections were:

• 2008 – John McCain beat Barack Obama 29,096 to 21,250
• 2004 – Dubya beat John Kerry 30,370 to 19,850
• 2000 – Dubya beat Al Gore 25,417 to 15,327

Local Republican leaders are mulling over strategies for curtailing the steady increase in Democratic voters, but thus far they haven’t hit upon any real winners…although a Hamden Township Trustee came close when he suggested arresting registered Democrats for being “fag lovers.”

Our Tea Party was complete with signs demanding the immediate return of America from the bastards that stole it away by that old trick of…WINNING THE F**KING ELECTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let’s go over this AGAIN…

We had an election…it was in all the papers. Barack Obama and a whole bunch of other Democrats got elected. These folks won because more people voted for them than for their Republican opponents.

Mystery solved! There was no coup. There was no revolution. No one took power by any other means than by getting more votes than the other person.

That crazy Michelle Bachmann beat her House opponent up in Minnesota. Bachmann makes many schizophrenics look sane, but they had an election and she won. She didn’t steal anything. She is the legitimate Representative to Congress from her district…I don’t get it, but I have to admit it.

When people look into news cameras with tears running down their cheeks and say, “I want my country back,” what are they talking about? Their country hasn’t gone anywhere.

They may have gone around the bend a little, but their country didn’t go anywhere.

I do understand how they feel, however. During Dubya’s two terms, I felt like many people had lost their minds and were willing to put up with anything as long as it helped capture or kill Muslims. I didn’t so much feel that I had lost my country, as I felt lost in my country.

Any of my six regular readers will remember I had some pretty harsh things to say about our last President. I may have suggested that he was guilty of negligent homicide. I may have suggested that Big Oil had purchased itself a President. I may have thought he was dumber than a bag of hammers. I may have thought he was capable of nearly any trick to try to remain in power past his second term, but I knew there was only one way to stop him and his kind…winning elections.

That’s all Barack Obama and the other Democrats did. They won elections. The voters liked the pictures they painted…OR…the voters were so sick and tired of the Republicans that they wanted a changing of the guard.

Tea Party people, never fear, there are more elections coming. If you folks run good candidates, they will get a shot at this thing we call governing. It is a messy process, but the process works.

That brings me to the Republican leadership.

If you encourage the Tea Partiers and the Birthers and the Deathers in some vague plan of enlisting the crazies to help knock the Democrats back into the minority, you can’t complain when the inmates take over the party.

Republican Senator Lindsey Graham of South Carolina was raked over the coals by voters back home because he has exhibited some disturbing behavior lately. He voted for Justice Sotomayor’s confirmation to the Supreme Court and claimed that Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck don’t speak for the Republican Party.

Republican Senator Olympia Snowe from Maine is getting great flack from the nutty side of the Republican Party for having the gall to vote to allow the Senate Finance Committee Health Care Reform bill out of committee. That’s right, she didn’t vote for the bill; she voted to let the bill go to the Senate for further consideration. That evil woman…can death threats be far behind?

We had an election. The Democrats came out on top (ok, partly because the Democrats had better ideas and mostly because the Republicans sucked so bad).

We re-elect the entire House of Representatives in 2010. We also re-elect one third of the Senate that year. I would suggest that Republicans actually do things for voters between now and the mid-term elections.

I don’t think your current slogan is going to inspire confidence…

“Vote Republican in 2010…we kept anything from happening, but at least we brought you the Tea Partiers, the Birthers, and the Deathers.”

By Bill Devol

The private health care insurance industry will gain millions of new customers when “Health Care Reform” is finally passed.

The Democratic and Republican whores in the Senate and the House are going to make private health care insurance mandatory for everybody that has insurance today and for more than 20 million people currently uninsured.

If you are poor enough, the government may help subsidize your purchase of private insurance. If you aren’t quite poor enough, you can be fined up to $1,500.00 if you don’t buy whatever piece of crap policy you can afford.

If that isn’t bad enough, the bastards in the insurance industry have the balls to complain that the $1,500.00 fine isn’t high enough to prevent people from not buying insurance. The incredible bastards that have purchased the entire national legislature of the United States of America want that fine bumped up to at least $3,800.00.

You bastards…you already make more money than God. You are on the brink of making hundreds of millions of more dollars from those of us that can pay and the government, but that isn’t good enough?

You want to make sure none of us wriggle out from under your boot heel by making the fine for non-compliance higher.

It is time for all of us to say, “NO!”

We aren’t in danger of having government run health care…we already have health care run government.

We are all getting screwed. Liberals, conservatives, the right and the left, Godspato agents, and all other permutations of American citizens have been set to knocking each other about, yet again, while the rich people get richer so they can buy more politicians.

Wellpoint, the nation’s top medical insurance company (based on the number of people they insure) laid off 1,500 workers recently and cut the health benefits of its remaining employees. They did this because profits are down due to so many Americans losing their jobs and their health insurance.

Unless we are forced to buy insurance and the government agrees to subsidize poor people getting insurance, the health care industry could be in trouble in the long term.

That’s why this particular health care reform is sooooooooooooooo important right now. They need our own government to bend us other the desk so they can jam their insurance deep where the sun don’t shine.

Your government is delivering you into the hands of the health care industry for a lot more than 30 pieces of silver.

That leads me to this week’s second group of bastards.

The banking industry drove our country to the brink of disaster with get-rich-quick schemes from which only executives got rich. The resulting credit crunch ruined personal finances and corporate finances. People lost homes; corporations laid off millions.

In 2008, the American banking industry made $24,000,000,000.00 in overdraft fees. You bastards made all that cash for doing nothing but helping to ruin us.

Here’s some more fun; the American banking industry is on track to make nearly $40,000,000,000.00 in 2009 overdraft fees. It is free money.

My bank, Charter One, gives me free overdraft protection. If I try to buy a Whopper Jr. with my bank card and I don’t have $1.00 in my bank account, Charter One pays Burger King the $1.00 and charges me the $1.00 and a $39.00 overdraft fee. My Whopper Jr. costs me $40.00.

Charter One, doesn’t deny the $1.00 charge, thereby alerting me to the fact that I am a dumb ass that can’t do math and making me aware that I am out of money. If I purchase a Whopper Jr. for $1.00, an Orange Julius for $2.89, a Twinkie for $1.29, and a Diet Coke for $1.50 when I am broke, Charter One charges me $162.68.

At Charter One and other banks, you can’t opt out of this free overdraft service; you have to purchase “special overdraft insurance” that will pay your overdraft fees for you. Banks look at this special overdraft protection as a line of credit, so they won’t sell it to customers with bad credit ratings…TA-DA!…more fees! People with great credit ratings qualify for this special insurance, but seldom use it…TA-DA!…more free money for the banks!

Banks allow you to spend more money than you have so they can clean up on overdraft fees. If the banks refused to pay for that first purchase that puts you over the line, you’d know you were stupid and you’d stop spending…BUT the banks would be out tens of billions of dollars.

The bastards have us by the short and curly hairs, but we keep trying to knock each others’ blocks off. We keep falling for it. Perhaps we deserve it.

Good luck!

By Bill Devol

Pornography was harder to get when I was a teenager. There was Playboy, National Geographic, and the Sears catalog. Oh, there was other, harder-core stuff, but nothing that the average 14-year-old boy could get his hands on.

Times were so tough that I had to use carbon paper and Archie comics to draw pictures of Betty and Veronica naked. Between that and walking uphill barefoot five miles in the snow to go to the bathroom, the late 1960s and early 1970s were really rough.

Had I known that all pornography turned your sex drive inward and pretty much guaranteed you’d turn gay, I still would have looked.

I must have had really weak, sad pornography, because, other than a real thing for show tunes, I turned out pretty much heterosexual. Sure, something off the shoulder and in red velvet will sneak into my closet every once in a while, but my Facebook page says I’m straight.

The revelation that all pornography makes you gay was made two weeks ago at the Value Voters Summit in Washington, D. C., by Michael Schwartz, Chief of Staff to Senator Tom Coburn (R-Oklahoma).

At first, I thought, “Chief of Staff is a rather gay job title.” I then showed even more maturity by thinking, “Chief of Staff Michael Schwantz.” I started giggling like an 11-year-old boy.

Mr. Schwartz’s theory goes like this…pornography makes young men grab their units for some self manipulation…self manipulation directs your sex drive inward toward your own unit…that fixes your sexual enjoyment on units in general…ipso facto, you can’t wait to start grabbing other people’s units…ta-da…looking at pictures of topless Tahitian women in Grandpa’s National Geographic turns any boy into a card-carrying homosexual agenda-wielding sissy boy gay person.

I’m not nearly as clear on how it works for lesbians, but, I’m sure there is some unit grabbing (accounting for the differences in plumbing) involved and then somehow Doc Martens, Indigo Girls, and flannel.

Mr. Schwartz suggests that if you tell 11-year-old boys that unit grabbing leads to understanding all the gay jokes on reruns of Will and Grace and the desire to dress in drag as Cher or Diana Ross, the boys will stop looking at pornography and stop grabbing their units.

Mr. Schwartz…we used to tell boys they would go insane, go blind, and even GO TO HELL if they didn’t leave their units alone, but none of that did any good. You can try, “Naked pictures of women will turn you gay,” but it’s going to be a tough sell.

Here’s my problem Mr. Schwartz…sooner or later, after falling in love and getting married of course, sex between a man and a woman is going to come down to some unit manipulation. Both sides will then learn that manipulation of units feels good and manipulation of their own units feels extra good. Their sex drive will still get turned inward and they will still turn out gay…or bisexual.

How do you feel about bisexual Mr. Schwartz? It is only half gay, after all. Or, if you are an optimist, it’s half straight. Is bisexual better than gay?

Once again, I ask why people like Michael Schwartz get so caught up in who we screw.

I don’t care who Michael Schwartz screws. I might feel sorry for them, but I don’t care one way or the other as long as Michael Schwartz is screwing consenting adults.

Hell, Michael, there are gay people in places they don’t have pornography. There are gay people that have been blind since birth…there are gay people in places where they kill people for being gay.

The bottom line (he, he, he, I said bottom) is that sex involves unit manipulation. Once we learn that unit manipulation is fun, we then find out who we wish to do the manipulating.

Some of us end up drawing pictures of Betty and Veronica naked. Some of us draw pictures of Archie and Jughead naked, and some of us find ourselves drawing pictures of Archie and Betty naked. No one knows exactly why, and frankly, no one should really care.

Why do people like Mr. Schwartz waste their time and energy trying to find the anti-gay silver bullet? Is that the key to world peace?

Michael, some nut or another has trotted out this “Don’t look at naked people and don’t manipulate your unit” idea several times in every era of human existence.

Any plan to solve any “problem” that starts with…”Step 1 – Get human beings to quit manipulating their units” is going to fail. Even with rules like, “If you get caught manipulating your unit in an unapproved manner, you will be put to death,” people are going to manipulate their units.

E Pluribus Unit!

By Bill Devol

Down in Kentucky they is hangin’ census workers.

Back on September 12, they found a 51-year-old, part-time census worker hanging from a tree in the Daniel Boone National Forest with the word “Fed” written on his chest.

Now, it is Kentucky, so they might have been trying to spell almost any word that began with an “F” and it just got too hard…or the geniuses that run crystal meth labs and grow marijuana all over that area of Kentucky figured they was getting’ rid of a damned old revenuer.

I will wait for more information before completely leaping to conclusions, but let’s hope the census worker wasn’t killed because some dim-bulb Kentucky cracker believed Minnesota Representative Michele Bachmann when she said that she wouldn’t fill out her census form because she was worried about being rounded up and put into internment camps like Japanese-Americans during WWII.

I hope to be back to my 800 word glory next week.

My day job is kicking the crap out of me with some vicious deadlines. Since the job pays the bills and this blog strokes my ego, the job wins this week.

I would like to say that Jimmy Carter still rocks. Glenn Beck is still a penis breath motherf**ker. Rush Limbaugh needs a KKK hood. The health care reform bill that came out of the Senate Finance Committee sucks dead donkeys…Max, you are a true health care whore, and I heard Kanye West loves fish sticks.

See you next week.

Love,

Bill Devol

By Bill Devol

Whoa! What’s with that Joe Wilson guy yelling “Liar” or “You Lie” at the President on Wednesday night during Barack Obama’s address to a Joint Session of Congress on health care reform?

We will get to that in a minute.

If “personal mandate” means President Obama is OK with making a law that requires me to buy medical insurance no matter how crappy or expensive from a private insurer, then he can forget my vote in 2012. I know I’m only one vote, but that’s all I’ve got.

The Pussycrat leadership tried to put a good face on the gist of President Obama’s speech on Thursday morning, but here is the truth…insurance companies will get richer and people will still get screwed.

Don’t waste time telling me about how it’s not that bad. It’s that bad because the private health care industry has apparently purchased the entire government. Barack Obama looked into the giant maw of the cash-fattened health insurance beast and peed in his chinos.

Well, what did I expect? I think I’m so damn disappointed because I forgot for just a brief time what my high school government teacher Lenore Sickles (God Rest Her) taught me about the purpose of political parties…they exist to win elections.

Lyndon Johnson got Medicare passed back in the middle 1960s because he had been the Senate Majority Leader for about 100 years and he knew where all the bodies were buried, he knew who was sleeping with whom, and he was willing to physically knock the crap out of his former colleagues to get his way.

Of course, LBJ got more than 50,000 Americans and untold millions of citizens of Southeast Asia killed for what turned out to be nothing, but he got Medicare passed in the House and the Senate.

If things don’t change, President Obama can help kill Americans and other foreigners and not even have a decent health care program at home to offset the body count abroad…Hooray!

“Hey,” you say. “It could still happen. It isn’t over yet.”

I suppose that’s true except for the people that are already dead in the wars and because our national health care plan is, “I sure hope I don’t get cancer.”

“Bill, Bill, Bill,” you say. “As long as you are still alive, you have a chance.”

“Kiss my fat white ass,” I say.

Now, about this Wilson guy from South Carolina.

He’s from South Carolina…we are lucky he was wearing pants. He cleans up pretty good for an in-bred hillbilly with a comb over. Hell, where he’s from, they used to hang uppity Black folks and not just call them liars.

Joe Wilson hails from the land of Strom “Sleep-with-‘em-but-don’t-let-‘em-vote” Thurmond. Hell, Joe is a real upgrade from Strom and his pals. Strom and the boys would have met president Obama on the Capitol steps with axe handles and German Police Dogs.

Joe is a real gem of a guy…a credit to his state. Joe is from South Carolina where the Governor, a devout Christian guy with family values out the ass, was banging that news woman from Brazil at taxpayer expense.

Last week. I was ranting about the criticism of President Obama’s plan to “indoctrinate” America’s school children as being motivated by racism.

A young friend of mine got very angry with me and said you could disagree with President Obama without it being racism, “Not everything is because he’s Black. I’m tired of being called racist when I disagree with the President.’

My first thought was, “I got tired of being called unpatriotic for disagreeing with President Bush.” While a great put down, it wasn’t an explanation.

Disagreeing with Barack Obama is not racist. What I’m saying is that those folks leading the fight against Barack Obama understand the deep vein of racism just under the surface of America and are using it to activate the “white people what scare white people.”

If President Obama actually planned to do what he was being accused of, he’d be a gigantic dick. The racism isn’t reasonable people disagreeing with the idea of indoctrination…the racism is people believing that Obama’s was foiled only because his secret plan was uncovered.

If you plan to secretly indoctrinate school kids into the world of socialist, Marxist, anti-whitey, pro-Obamacare terrorism, releasing the speech and classroom materials in advance is a horrible way to pull off your plan.

Oh, the answer to my original question is…Joe Wilson is a racist, cracker bastard with no respect for Black people, nope, not even if they are President.

It’s that…or…Joe Wilson is such an unscrupulous bastard that he’d exploit the racism of his constituents to look like a hero in front of them.

Take your pick…either way he’s a prick.