Douglas Whaley

[Click To Enlarge] My husband observed the other day that it looks like Ben Carson is always stoned when he speaks.   That made me laugh because it’s true.   Ben’s soft, measured delivery is perfectly consistent with having just had a couple of deep tokes from a banger joint, and then struggling for coherence as he expresses deep thoughts.   It would also explain some of those messy musings.  Witness his take on the total absence of homeless people:  “Nobody is starving on the streets.  We’ve always taken care of them.  We take care of our own; we always have.  It is not the government’s responsibility.”  You see?  In Ben’s world there are no starving people, so government shouldn’t create a problem where, by golly, none exists. Or his take on homosexuality, which he says must be “chosen behavior” since men go into prison straight but come out gay.  And on gay marriage, which he conflates with bestiality and the practices of the National Man/Boy Love Associ

Yes, they did, and I assume they threw it away.  That Monday was, just like today, the Monday before Thanksgiving, the November 23 rd of 2009.  I was dying of an enlarged heart, and had had atrial fibullation for over a decade, sometimes wondering if the irregularity of my heartbeat would cause me to collapse in front of my law school class. I was of course hoping not, but, you have to admit, it would be a hell of an exit.  However on that Monday I was still up and breathing after ten months on the transplant list, and happily sitting at my computer at 10:30 in the morning when the phone rang.  The pleasant female voice on the other end calmly said, “Mr. Whaley, we have a heart for you.” Now, readers, that was the most startling sentence I’ve ever heard in my life, and my old heart started thumping in my chest as if it weren’t going to wait for the transplant, but escape immediately, say through the throat.  The doctors had said that I wasn’t likely to get a new hea