My Conversation with President Obama about Health Care

By Ronald Ayers 

When the United States Supreme Court ruled recently that President Barak Obama’s Patient Protection and Affordable Health Care Plan was unconstitutional under the Commerce Clause of the U.S. Constitution, but constitutional as a tax via the taxing authority of the U.S. Congress, Obama called me up, and said he wanted to talk with me about his seminal legislative accomplishment.

Columnist: Ronald Ayers

Obama and I met in the old President’s Lounge on East 75th street in Chicago.

Obama ordered a Lowenbrau beer, and I poured myself a drink of Wild Irish Rose from the wine bottle I had hid in my back pocket.

“What’s up Pres?” I said as I surreptitiously took a sip of my Wild Irish Rose.

Obama had wrinkles in his brow. His face was twisted with a discontented grimace.

“Thanks for meeting with me Ron.”

 “No problem Barak.” I said. “I’m always ready to help a president that has as many problems as you have.”

 “My health care plan—Obamacare—“

 “Yeah, what about it?” I said.

  “It is a poorly conceived and irresponsible piece of legislation.” Said Obama.

 “Damn Man! I’m glad you’re finally seeing the light! You should of spoke up before the Supreme Court weighed in on the matter don’t you think?.”

 “Know you right Ron. But I’m going to make everything right. I’m gonna make the American people happy about my Obamacare.”

“You’re scaring me Barak. What you gonna do?

 “If the voters give me a second term as president, the first thing I’m gonna do is strike down my unjust law.”

  “Hey Barak! You’re really having an epiphany! Here drink some of this Wild Irish Rose. What else you gonna do about your health care mess?”

 “I want voters going to the polls in November to know that if they reelect me, they will not have to face the consequences of my bloated oppressive act,” said Obama.

BARAK I see You! © 2007

BARAK I see You! © 2007 (Photo credit: id3)

 “Barak, my man! Here take another shot of this Rose. You talking my kinda talk now brother!”

Obama pushed his beer aside. He took the glass of Wild Irish Rose I’d poured him, and drank it all down with one gulp.

“Word, Barak.” I said.

“I see the light now,” said Barak with a far away look in his blood shot eyes. “My thousand page law is a monstrosity! It’s not only an attack on our current health care system, It’s an attack on our core values and what it means to be an American. If reelected, my second term will not destroy the American values of free enterprise, and free markets!”

 “Barak, my man! Listen. While you having all these epiphanies and shit, you think you could pass a law that would give me an increase on my SSI check?”

 “Sure Ron. I can do that. It’s the least I can do for man that listens as well as you do,”

“My man,” I said as I poured Barak another glass of Wild Irish Rose.

Boot Allen, the owner of the Presidents was tending bar. He saw me filling  Obama’s glass with wine, and came running down the bar to where we sat.

“Hey Ron. You know you can’t sit on my bar and pour alcohol that you bring in here from outside!”

President Obama raised a hand and waved “Boot” off.

“Ain’t no thang Boot. Ron’s with me.” Said Obama.

“Anything you say Mr. Obama.” Said Boot. “You the man.”

“It sounds like you’ve taken a page out of Mitt Romney’s campaign book with this repeal Obamacare epiphany you’re having,” I said.

Barak grabbed me by the collar, pulled me up out of my seat and punched me in the head.

“Romney ain’t got nothing to do with this!” screamed Obama. “I’m gonna repeal my health care plan because it’s the right thing to do. You hear me!”

“Hey bro Barak! Whatever you say. You the man!”

“I’m going to say it in plain English where even a dumb son of a bitch like  you can understand! I will not let Obamacare stunt job growth, drive up the cost of health care, and cripple the economy! I simply won’t let it happen!

“Come November, should I be reelected, it will be my great pleasure to walk into the Oval Office, take my pen in hand and sign a big get the fuck outta here repeal of that bullshit health care law the Supreme Court said was a constitutional tax!

“My man.” I said. I poured President Obama another glass of Wild Irish Rose.

“While you’re repealing health care, don’t forget to sign an increase in my SSI check.” I said. 


Start Now


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Clothes Make The Woman

By Ronald Ayers

Columnist Ronald Ayers

Columnist Ronald Ayers

Men and women are doing more things the same in our society these days. However, there is still a big difference in their attitudes toward clothes and the way they dress. You never know what a woman is going to wear. You always have a good idea what a man is going to wear.

On any given day a jock man will have on a baseball cap, a football jersey, a pair of jeans, and some kind of designer gymn shoes like Air Jordan’s.

A business man will wear a double breasted Edwardian suite, with a matching tie that sports a diamond stickpin, a handkerchief in the suite coat pocket, and a pair of highly polished Edwin Clapp Alligator shoes.

You could safely say that clothes make the man. I mean, you can know a man by the clothes he wears. I mean if you saw a man walking down the street with his pants hanging off his butt and his underwear showing, you’d be right in saying there goes a punk, a thug, a gangbanger.

With women, things are always different.

Today, clothes don’t make a woman. I’d say it’s the lack of clothes that makes a woman.

Alexis Texas on Stage in Her Silver Booty Shor...

Alexis Texas on Stage in Her Silver Booty Shorts at the Adult Expo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Take for example Booty Shorts. You’ve seen them. Booty Shorts are those really, really short shorts some women wear that barely cover the cheeks of their behinds. I just love them. Any woman that wears Booty Shorts in public is bound to get attention. Booty Shorts are just the kind of lack of clothing that for me, makes a real woman. Booty Shorts are for the outgoing, aggressive woman whose not afraid to let the world take a long look at her as she’s walking away.

Then there’s the thong.

Thongs are clothing for shy women. Thongs are for women who can’t make up their minds about whether or not they should wear underwear. Shy women, who can’t bring themselves to wear Booty Shorts in public, wear thongs in private. I bought my girl friend a pair of Booty Shorts. She refused to wear them. I got her a thong, and she was happy to parade around the house in her hot pink thongs for me. Wow! A pink thong panty on the ass of a black woman is something wonderful to see! Man! I thought I’d see pigs flying backwards before my girl would agree to put a piece of pink string up her ass.

English: Sunrise, Florida, USA Deutsch: Junge ...

English: Sunrise, Florida, USA Deutsch: Junge blonde Frau in einem weißen, ultraknappen Bikini (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Women. You can’t figure them out.

Have you ever noticed how many panties women have? Women have many more panties than men have underwear.

I have three pair of underwear that I change during a week. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t come in contact with a lot of women’s panties but I do read the ads in the Sunday paper like everyone else, and I’m amazed at the variety of panties women have to choose from. It’s no wonder it takes a woman longer to dress than for the average man. Just for a woman to decide which panties to take out of her drawer would use up two hours. I could have my underwear, shirt and pants on in ten minutes.

Here’s the thing that confuses me about women.

Why is it that women nowadays will spend a fortune on clothes like long skirts, coats, and boots—clothes designed to cover them up from head to toe?

When a woman comes out of the house she knows she’s going to put on a blouse that shows gapping amounts of succulent cleavage. She knows she’s going to wear a mini skirt so short, that she can’t afford to bend over without exposing her family jewel. She knows she’s going to sport a pair of Booty Shorts that will expose the corpulent beauty of her backside.

A women knows all of this right? So why don’t women  cut their clothing budgets in half? Just come out the house half naked and give me the money she saves on clothing so I can spend most of my working day under a cold shower?


Start Now

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Sister Gertrudes Trip to Chicago

Columnist: Ronald Ayers

By Ronald Ayers

When I was a cadet at St. Benedicts Military Academy in Altoona Wisconsin back in 1955, Sister Gertrude, one of the nuns at the academy told me one afternoon about a trip she tried to take to Chicago.

Sister Gertrude said she went to the airport in Eau Claire Wisconsin where she sat down and waited for her flight. When she looked over in the corner of the waiting room, she saw one of those machines that tells your future.

“I’ figured I’d give it a try…you know see what the future held,” said Sister Gertrude, “just to see what the machine would tell me.”

So, Sister Gertrude goes over to the machine. She puts her nickel in the machine, and a card came out.

“The card said ‘You’re a nun, you weigh 128 pounds and you’re going to Chicago, Illinois.’”

“I sat down, and thought about that. I figured the machine told everybody the same thing. I figured I’d try the machine again.”

So, Sister Gertrude goes over to the machine again and puts her nickel in it. A card comes out that reads.

“You’re a nun, you weigh 128 pounds, you’re going to Chicago, Illinois and you’re going to play a fiddle. I knew that was wrong”, said Sister Gertrude. ”I’ve never played a musical instrument in my life.”

Sister Gertrude said she sat back down and this Cowboy who, according to her looked just like John Wayne, comes and sets his fiddle case down next to her. Sister Gertrude picks up the fiddle and just started playing the most beautiful country barn dance music you could ever imagine.

“When I stopped playing the fiddle, I looked back at the machine. That little fortune telling machine was incredible. It was telling me about things I could do, before I could do them. I had to try it again.”

Sister Gertrude goes back to the machine, puts her nickel in, and another card comes out.

“You know what that card says?” says Sister Gertrude. “It says, you’re a nun, you weigh 128 pounds, you’re going to Chicago, Illinois, and you’re going to break wind.
“Cadet Ayers. I knew that was wrong. I’ve never broke wind in public a day in my life.”

Well, it seems as though Sister Gertrude tripped over the hem of her habit, fell off the fortune telling machine’s scales and FARTED like a jail house nigger that’s been eating pork and beans for the past six months.

Sister Gertrude said she sat back down and looked over at that machine again.

“That fortune telling machine was truly unbelievable.” Cadet Ayers. “I had to try it again.”

Back she goes to the machine. In goes another nickel. Out comes a card.

“This time the card tells me that ‘You’re a nun, you weigh 128 pounds, you’re going to Chicago, Illinois and you’re going to have SEX!’ That did it!” said Sister Gertrude. “I knew for sure the machine was the devil himself! I’m a nun. I knew I’d never had none, and I knew I was never gonna get none!”

Well, right about then, a huge electrical storm swept through the Eau Claire airport. The electricity goes off and Sister Gertrude gets raped in the darkness by the one legged beggar with the tin cup that always sat on the floor by the airport’s front door.

“After the rape, I sat back down and I got to thinking about all that had happened to me in that airport. Everything that had happened was truly, truly incredible. One thing I knew for certain. I had to try that machine again just to see what was going to happen to me before I left the airport.”

Sister Gertrude said she went back to the machine, put in her nickel. Pulled out a card.

“You know what that card said Cadet Ayers?”

“I’m afraid to imagine what was on that card Sister.” I said.

“The card says—You’re a nun—you weigh 128 pounds. You have fiddled, farted, fucked around and missed your flight to Chicago.”

Sister Gertrude never did make it to the Windy City.

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Nymphomaniac Convention

Participants at a recent nymphomaniac convention in Chicago.


Columnist: Ronald Ayers

By Ronald Ayers

I boarded an airplane this past weekend for a little rendezvous I had cooked up with Audrey Williams a high school girl friend of mine. We were to meet at a Bed and Breakfast just outside of Boston, Massachusetts.

When I took my seat and settled in, I glanced up and saw the most beautiful chocolate soul sister I’ve seen in my life boarding the plane. I soon realized she was heading straight towards my seat. As fate would have it, she took the seat right beside me. Eager to strike up a conversation I blurted out.

“Business trip or pleasure?”

She batted her big beautiful brown eyes at me, smiled and said.

“Business. I’m going to the Annual Nymphomaniacs of America Convention in Boston”.

I damn near fell out of my seat! Here was the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen sitting next to me. Her skin was the color of a Milky Way candy bar

English: A US Milky Way candy bar, broken in h...

English: A US Milky Way candy bar, broken in half to show contents. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She had on this green dress with a V-neck that stopped at her navel. Her succulent looking voluptuous breast did all they could to tumble out of her clothes onto the floor, and when she crossed her legs I got a glimpse of some fecund black foliage that made me want to dive head first into the abyss! I put my balled fist into my mouth to stifle my scream.

‘Damn!’ I said to myself ‘She’s going to a meeting of nymphomaniacs. Am being blessed or what!

I began to calculate how I could call my date in Boston, cancel my meeting with her, and set up a rendezvous with this self proclaimed nymphomaniac. Struggling to maintain my composure, I calmly asked.

“What’s your business role at this convention?”

“Lecturer,” she responded. “I use information that I have learned from my personal experiences to debunk some of the popular myths about sexuality”.

“Word?” I said. “And what kind of myths are those?”

“Well,” she explained, “one popular myth is that African-American men are the most well-endowed of all men, when in fact it is the Native American Indian who is most likely to possess that trait. Another popular myth is that Frenchmen are the best lovers, when actually it is men of Jewish descent who are the best.

“I have also discovered that the lover with absolutely the best stamina is the Southern Redneck.”

Suddenly the woman seemed to become a little uncomfortable. She blushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t really be discussing all of this with you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Geronimo,” I said, “Geronimo Epstein. My friends call me Bubba.”

REMEMBER! A mind is a terrible thing to use!

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No to Big Government! Yes to Freedom!

Columnist: Ronald Ayers

By Ronald Ayers

Thirty five year old Otis Killingsworth, a black man with  one child, and a pregnant girl friend walked into a local welfare office, marched straight up to the counter and said.

“Hi. I hate that me, my baby, and my baby moma is drawing welfare. I would rather find a job.”

The man behind the counter replied:

“Your timing is amazing. We just got a listing from a wealthy man who wants a chauffeur/bodyguard for his nymphomanic daughter. You’ll have to drive around in a big black Mercedes. Your suits, shirts, and ties are provided. Because of the long hours  meals will also be provided and you will also be required to escort the young lady on her overseas holiday trips. The salary package is $200,000 a year.”

Otis said,

“You’re bullshitting me man!”

The man behind the counter said,

“Well, you started it! Government don’t give out jobs. We give out welfare checks. You want yours?”

There in lies the great polemic that is going on today in this country. A great cultural and political battle is under way in America between people like the man behind the counter in the local welfare office who want government to take care of you and me, and people like Otis who want to take care of themselves.

The former covet their neighbors’ goods and want government to redistribute the nation’s wealth. The latter believe government exist primarily to protect the God given rights of individuals, including not only the right to life, freedom of speech and free exercise of religion, but also the right to own and use the hard-won fruits of their labors.

In asking for a job, rather than a welfare check, or government mandated and operated universal health care, Otis Killingsworth has said NO to big government and YES to freedom.

Recent polls indicate that even though Barack Obamawas elected President in 2008 running on a platform that appealed to the former, the latter still account for the majority of Americans.

English: Barack Obama delivers a speech at the...

English: Barack Obama delivers a speech at the University of Southern California (Video of the speech) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Washington Post-ABC News poll asked more than a thousand adults this question:

“Generally speaking, would you say you favor smaller government with fewer services or larger government with more services?”

Fifty-eight percent said they favor a smaller government with fewer services. Only 38% said they favor a larger government with more services.

Public Policy Polling, a firm that boasts a client base of Democratic politicians, also conducted a poll of more than a thousand adults—in this case likely voters in a l U.S. Senate election in Massachusetts. The poll asked those likely Massachusetts voters:

“Do you think that congressional Democrats are too liberal, too conservative, or about right?”

Fifty –three percent said congressional Democrats are too liberal.

The same pool asked:

“Do you support or oppose President Obama’s healthcare plan?”

Only 40 % of these Massachusetts voters said they supported it.

Another poll of likely Massachusetts voters found even less support for Obama’s healthcare plan. WHDH Channel 7 news in Boston and Suffolk University asked 500 Massachusetts voters:

“Do you support the proposed near-universal national health care law?”

Only 36% said yes.

Yet even though voters in Massachusetts—one of the nation’s most liberal states—have unmistakably rejected Obama’s national healthcare plan, this does not mean Obama and the liberal leadership in Congress won’t keep trying to make this unpopular law palatable to the American people.

Obama and the Democrats may look at their new healthcare tax as a move that might be politically costly in the short-term, but pay off handsomely in the long term by helping to fundamentally change American culture and permanently transform American politics. They may see it as a tool they can use to invert the numbers from the Washington Post poll; to change America into a nation where only 38% want a smaller government and 58% want a larger one.

The Affordable Health Care Law–Obamacare is designed to breed dependency on the federal government among the middle class. The law subsidizes health insurance premiumns for families making up to 400% of the federal poverty level.

For example, a family of four making up to $88,200 per year would get money from the government to buy insurance. They would become another class of welfare recipients—not in their childhood or old age, not in poverty, but in the prime of their lives when they are otherwise making a decent living.

In exchange for this subsidy, middle-class Americans will surrender control over their healthcare to the government. They will be required to buy the type of healthcare plan the government wants them to buy and only from health insurance providers the government approves. Government will decide what treatment they can and cannot get.

By Americans surrender ing their property right in their healthcare to the government in this way, they are also  giving the government leverage over decisions they will make involving life and death and profound questions of conscience.

Not long after the Bill of Rights was ratified, James Madison wrote an essay insisting that respect for property rights was indispensable to protecthing other human rights.

“In a word,” wrote Madison,” as a man is said to have a right to his property, he may be equally said to have a property in his rights. Where an excess of power prevails, property of no sort is duly respected. No man is safe in his opinions, his person, his faculties, or his possessions.”

The majority of Americans still know in their bones that Madison was right. They correctly see Obama’s healthcare law as a tax, and as a threat to American liberty. In louder and louder voices, a majority of Americans like Otis Killingsworth are saying:

“NO to big government and YES to freedom!

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Sperm Bank Donation


Columnist: Ronald Ayers

By Ronald Ayers

When I was a young cub reporter for the Harvey Star Tribune back around 1979 one of the weirder journalistic assignments my editor Mike O’Neal gave me was for me to go undercover to the Harvey Sperm bank, pass myself off as a man hard up for money, and desirous of depositing my sperm into the sperm bank for a few bucks.

I was to gather information about my experience at the sperm bank and develop a hard-hitting investigative news article about the pros and cons of sperm bank donation.

I was happy for the assignment. This was just the kind of story I needed to get nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for excellence in Journalism.

I must say, that jacking off in a small private cell that’s a cross between a bordello and a hospital room was both erotic and surreal. Aiming my man seed at a small plastic cup also made for attention grabbing conversation when I told my boys down at the old President’s Lounge on E. 75th street about how I made love to a plastic cup, and the cup had an orgasm.


Now it’s official. I’m a wanker.

When you’re a cub reporter, you’ll do just about anything to have a story you’ve written published under your byline. But, my quest for the Pulitzer Prize was not my only reason for donating my seed to the sperm bank. You see I had this altruistic notion of granting childless couples the gift of life. Sacrificing myself, cuming in a cup, creating life for others was well… God like.

If my masturbation for money doesn’t make me God like, you’ll have to say that I’m at least a saint. Jacking off for the good of humanity so that others might have children puts me right up there if not next to God, at least next to Gandhi, Mao se Tung, or maybe even Barak Obama.


London Sperm Bank

London Sperm Bank (Photo credit: Stéphane Moussie)

At the time I laid hands on myself for the sake of a story, sperm donors in the United States earned up to $150.00 a sample. At the Harvey Sperm Bank couples could choose from donors whose information included their profession, education, race, blood, eye, hair and skin color. A girl I was dating at the sperm bank told me that my sperm was in high demand because of the high quality information on my data sheet. The way I figure it, there’s about three hundred mini-me’s walking around in the world. My nightmare is that one of my hand created babies will walk up to me on the street one day, call me daddy, and ask where the child support payments have been all these years.

But, that’s another story.

According to research, about 20% of couples in America are infertile. There are roughly a thousand men on the books of fertility clinics around the country. Obviously demand for semen outweighs supply.

Anyway, jacking off at the Harvey Sperm bank got to be a good thing.

In the first nine months of my undercover work I was paid $100 for every 5 donations. The sperm bank would only let me donate 4 days a week. I made $400 bucks a week for nine months. I didn’t quit my job at the newspaper, but with my extra $400 a week, I bought my boys a lot of beer down at the Presidents Lounge.

Hey guys check this out. We’re in an economic recession right?

Imagine this. You’ve lost your job. Your wife wants her hair and nails done. The five rug rats you have running around the house all need a new pair of shoes. You’re holding a letter in your hands from the Wells Fargo Mortgage Company, telling you your house is in foreclosure.

You see an advertisement in the local paper.

HELP WANTED WANKERS. The Harvey Sperm bank is seeking sperm donations from healthy male applicants. Short hours. Excellent pay. Pleasurable fringe benefits. Must have your own tools.”

You go to the interview, you pass the exam, and you’re offered 20 bucks every time you jack off. Come on now guys. If you had a chance to get that kind of work, wouldn’t you take it?

Well, after nine months, a thousand pages of notes and calluses on both of my hands I turned in my sperm bank story. Mike gave my story one column inch on page 77 of the Sunday edition of the Star-Tribune. I wondered at the time if the size of my story in inches was Mike’s way of making a sarcastic comment on the possible size of my life creator?

Here I am more than thirty years later. The calluses on my hands are gone. I’m still writing, and I’m still in the hunt for the Pulitzer Prize.

God is good.


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