More Evidence

The original piece about this is here.

At the time that I wrote that, all I had was the image that Cathy had provided.  Here it is again.


As you can see, Cathy has obscured the year, along with the signature and the routing numbers across the bottom.  I know Cathy did the obscuring here, because that’s how she does it – with that pixelated shit.

At the time, I had no idea how Cathy got that check, or what it was for, or anything much. Cathy, of course, wanted to prove that Carl McIntire was raping her from sometime after she was kidnapped at age three until she was a young teenager.  He was paying Cleo monthly rape money.

Well, I now know exactly what the check was for, why McIntire was paying Cleo money and everything.

Here’s the check, without the obscuring.

See the date? The year?  1966.

That’s why Cathy obliterated it.

This check is clearly marked as “monthly payment thru December 1st.”  That means that the check covers some multiple payments that occurred monthly.  Those payments, those months, would have been prior to December, 1966.

Cathy was born in July, 1964.

She was three in July, 1967.

She was 2 years, five months old when that check was written. Remember, the check covers some number of months prior to December 1966 (five, to be exact).

The check had nothing to do with her. According to her own story, she hadn’t even been kidnapped yet.

I have the rest. I have everything that shows exactly what the check was for.  The signature is that of Maurice E. Bryson, who was the treasurer for the Christian Beacon, Carl McIntire’s newsletter. There was a very good reason for him to be writing Cleo Smith a check. He wrote her a lot of them. (This is interesting to me, because I thought that handwriting was surely a woman’s.  I assume Maurice was not a woman. )

All in good time.

For now, let’s understand that Cathy Harris knew perfectly well that this check was written in 1966 and had nothing to do with her.  She knew this.  She also knows exactly what that check was for, just like I do.

But she obliterated the year and presented the check, knowing what she knew, knowing that she was lying, to paint this stupid story that Carl McIntire was paying Cleo to rape her.

And just for the hell of it, here’s the back of the same check.

Cathy Harris is a pathological liar.

Some Truths

One thing that nurses do is interview patients.  Every now and then, you’ll see a narrative written by the admitting nurse which includes the phrase “Patient is a poor historian.”

This can mean lots of things, but the basic takeaway is that the patient does not know what the shit they are talking about. They either can’t put together a coherent narrative because they are too incapacitated to do so (I would have been like that in those early days after Nathan died, for example), or they’re simply unable to string together events in a chronological fashion with any accuracy (think about the person who tries to give you directions and you know it’s not gonna work).

Joe and Nicole Naugler are poor historians.  I used to give them the benefit of the doubt, but then one day I was involved with Joe Naugler personally.

I found out rapidly that Joe has no grasp at all of the truth of what actually happened, even when he was present and even when he recorded audio of part of it, and Nicole doesn’t mind just making up stuff even when she wasn’t present at all.

And I really do not think they always know they are doing this.  Obviously, when Nicole says that Nathan’s accidental death was really a suicide because I was a dreadful mother and Dave just watched me abuse him and didn’t stop me because he’s a wimp, she’s just plain lying, but sometimes I think Joe and Nicole hear what they want to hear, not what was actually said.

The only account we have, and the only one we’re likely to ever have, of the tragedy that occurred last week is from Nicole.

That means, because she is a very poor historian, that we have to take it all with a grain of salt.  Please keep that in mind. In addition, we have no other historian, so the only thing I can do is take what poor information Nicole shares and then explore the possibilities.

First, let’s deal with the facts, and there are some that we can be reasonably certain about.  We can begin with a piece I wrote in May. It’s a little bit eerie to read it now with hindsight.

Nicole is 41 years old. In obstetric-speak, she’s a very old woman. That in itself makes her high risk.

According to her, she has been pregnant 15 times, with 12 of those pregnancies (at least) going to full term.  That makes her a great grand multipara.  “Para” means birth, “multi” is obvious, and “grand” means more than 5 pregnancies, “great” is added for more than ten.  It doesn’t get grander or greater than that.

What you get in terms of reproductive equipment is genetically determined.  You can’t control it. Your mother can’t control it (unless she does genetic studies on reproduction and mates with a male who carries good genes).

I began my reproductive years with a very small compact car that just didn’t have enough room in it for shit, something like this.

Nicole Naugler began her reproductive years with a Porsche.

Here’s what she has now.

This is not her fault.  It’s a result of combining age and use.  It has nothing to do with grooming dogs, or living in a garden shed, or eating what some folks pick about and call a poor diet.  It’s simply a fact of life.

We age.  Our organs wear out.

And the risk of having the whole pregnancy thing get a glitch goes up the older you are and the more pregnancies you’ve experienced. Shit just gets worn out and there is no way to replace the brake system even if you do it carefully and don’t sit right under the damn thing while you’re working.

So we’re talking risk here.  How much risk?

A pretty good bit. Grand multips have a three times greater risk of placenta previa, for example (placenta low in the uterus, and it gets caught between the fetus and the cervix  during delivery ).  The one thing I found that gives grand multips an advantage is that they tend to be able to deliver breech babies better.

By the way, one criticism that the homebirthing crunchy crowd makes about studies involving multiparas is that they’re typically done in third world countries. They argue that those women aren’t comparable to American women, so ignore the results.

I’d call this third world.

at shitshack

The bottom line here is that these two factors, advanced age and multiparity, taken alone, increase Nicole’s risk of trouble in pregnancy.

But wait, there’s more.

In addition, she refuses to get prenatal care of any sort.  It’s anybody’s guess as why she does this. Her own explanation is that she eschews all medical attention, period, because it’s all stupid and a waste of money and time and she can study stuff on Youtube and know everything anyway.

I think it has more to do with money.  Prenatal care costs money. Doctors don’t do it for free.  Nicole hasn’t seen any benefit from spending that money, and so she doesn’t do it.

I remember prenatal visits. They seem like a colossal waste of time. You strip, sit on a examining table until your feet swell and you have to go pee yet again, and then the doctor comes in and takes ten seconds and you’re out the door. It feels a little like being one of our calves when we’re lining them up for deworming.

I sort of understand why women begin to get the idea that they don’t need all that. They have shit to do and sitting in the doctor’s office spending money on nothing isn’t on the list.

But not doing it is risky. Don’t get prenatal care and your baby has a 40% greater chance of dying.

Add in going overdue, as Nicole did, and that risk doubles.

Why is that?  Why does going to the doc’s office  and sitting on that examining table make your baby safer?  Hell, they measure you and every time it’s normal. They weigh you and yes, you’ve gained a little weight. You’re pregnant, so of course you’ve gained a little weight.

But they do other stuff. They take those measurements and they compare them with last month’s measurements and they draw some blood and they compare the results of that with what it was the last time it was done and they see danger signals before it becomes a five-alarm fire.

What you’re paying for is a little insurance to reduce that risk. And whether Nicole thinks it’s important or not doesn’t matter.  The risk is there even if she ignores it. Science and biology do not care if  you don’t understand them.

Personally, I’d say that with 15 pregnancies, Nicole didn’t give it all enough thought.

So here’s what happened, according to our poor historian.

She was great. She felt fine.  She was perfectly healthy.  Except when she wasn’t.  She did multiple video rants during this pregnancy and she never really looked good.  Some of that could be attributed to poor lighting but not all of it. She seemed to have a constant cold or sniffles. And I seem to remember her complaining about headaches, but maybe I’m wrong about that.

The bottom line is that we don’t know what her condition was prior to July 21 and neither does she.  She has no idea what her blood pressure was. You cannot feel high blood pressure.  She does not know how much amniotic fluid was present or when it started to go away. She doesn’t know what her blood work looked like.

Anyway, she was fine, and she got up on Friday morning and found time to argue about prenatal care.

They go to the hospital when things are more than they can handle.

Well, things became more than they could handle right after she wrote that.

On her way to work, she says, she had some pain which she thought was “gas or contractions.” She felt dizzy, nauseated and began passing out. She basically collapsed at the grooming facility.

Joe plopped her in the van, raced to the hospital, and she was admitted immediately. They did blood work which was so bad that they repeated it because they thought it was a mistake with the machine.

I can guess that the blood work involved clotting stuff and that’s where they figured out that she had DIC or disseminated intravascular coagulation. Those are big words that just mean that her clotting mechanism was all fucked up. The blood clots but all wrong. It’s a life-threatening medical emergency.

DIC is not a primary condition. It always has a cause.  To cure it, you find and cure the cause.  In her case, the cause was pregnancy related.

She also tells us that she had no amniotic fluid. Amniotic fluid doesn’t just go away. If there isn’t any, and the membrane hasn’t ruptured (it hadn’t), then it went someplace.  It was reabsorbed and no new amniotic fluid was made, which means that the placenta in that old VW microbus was basically out of gas.  Or perhaps it had an alternator that quit. Something was wrong, and it didn’t go wrong on the morning of July 21.  It had been wrong for days.  There is no suction mechanism in the uterus that sucks up amniotic fluid like a wet-dry vacuum cleaner.

Here’s the poor historian stuff. She tells us that she had pain on the way to work.  She then turns around and says that she did not have any pain or “distress.”  I would say that throwing up and passing out constitutes distress, but that’s just me.

At this point, the doctors were between a rock and hard place.  To cure DIC, they had to get rid of the cause. The cause was the contents of Nicole’s uterus. Come hell or high water, they had to get everything out.

Surgery is often the answer in a situation like this because it’s fast. That’s the big plus.

The big minus is that it creates even more trauma (and trauma is one of the causes of DIC) and it also creates yet another place to bleed from.

Since she started into labor on her own, they decided to let her labor, but she says that they took her to ICU to do that.  I assure you they didn’t do that because they just love to have laboring women in ICU.  They did it because she was really in big trouble.  They were monitoring her progress by the second and they were ready to get her into an operating room pronto if they had had to.

Because her uterus was in fucked-up mode, her labor was also in fucked-up mode, and ultimately she needed a bit of pitocin (it’s a hormone which is made naturally by the body to make the uterus contract) to move things along. I am actually sort of surprised that they let her labor for five hours.  To do that, her labs had to be staying fairly stable after they loaded her up with some plasma and other stuff.

At any rate, she delivered the baby, who had been dead for quite some time.  Not a super long time, but probably overnight.

Their guess at what happened was that the placenta had started to calcify, the baby out grew what the placenta could manage and the amniotic fluid was too low.

Okay, remember we’re dealing with a poor historian here, but this is what she tells us, so I am gonna go with it.

None of this stuff happens overnight, folks.  It simply does not.  This is not a 12-hour deal.  The baby outgrew. . .  The baby was overdue. The VW microbus couldn’t keep up and failed.   But the dials indicated trouble before the sputtering began.

The problem was that there was no one to read the dials.

Not only was there no one to read the dials, Nicole made it clear on the previous Monday that she specifically would not go to the doctor for the very reason that she didn’t want them to read the dials, for fear that they would start labor.

She was monitoring her own health.

Only she wasn’t. She couldn’t.  How could she monitor the amniotic fluid level?  How could she monitor the function and viability of the placenta?  How could she know that her platelet count was falling like a rock?  None of those things cause anything you can feel until you’re in really big trouble.

They said even if they had detected it, we probably couldn’t have saved William.

Remember what I said earlier. Joe and Nicole both have a tendency to hear what they want to hear, not what is said.

The medical personnel involved in this were dealing with a gravely ill woman who had just delivered a dead baby. The last thing on earth they are gonna say to her is, “Oh, yeah, this was entirely preventable.  If  you’d just had prenatal care like you should have, you’d have a living child right now. We’d have probably induced labor last week sometime.”

For one thing, no doctor is going to give you a blanket, “yes, I could have saved the child” statement. They just aren’t. They don’t know if they could have or not because they can’t see what a prenatal visit or visits would have shown.

Since they cannot possibly know what Nicole’s condition was on July 4, they cannot say what they could have done or might have done or would have done on July 4, or on July 14.

What is absolutely true is that Nicole didn’t know what Nicole’s condition was either.  She couldn’t have.  She doesn’t have the equipment or the expertise to know.

So to summarize everything, Nicole’s pregnancy was high-risk.  It would be hard to get more high-risk than she was unless you had some serious chronic underlying illness.  Every pregnancy she had put her at higher and higher risk.

Yet she continued to ignore those risk factors and insist that she would somehow know that something wrong if anything were to go wrong and that her “body” would tell her.

This is sort of like pointing a gun at her baby’s head with each pregnancy.  During the first few, there were a lot of empty chambers and only one bullet.  The odds were in her favor.   She would pull the trigger and hear a “click.”

But instead of understanding that she’d played Russian roulette and beat the odds, she believed that her luck was due to her knowledge, or her experience, or her innate ability, or a combination of all three.

Over time, she was dealing with a gun, still pointed at the baby’s head, only now there were two bullets and few empty chambers.  She still heard “click.”  She had no idea how many bullets were mounting up in those chambers.

But as I said before, it doesn’t matter if she didn’t know.  It doesn’t matter where she placed her trust.  Science and biology give not one shit. They just went on adding bullets to the chambers.

And this time, when she pulled the trigger, there was a live round in the chamber.

And a little addendum:

In that case, Nicole, suck up your moral principles, toss your pride aside, apply for Medicaid and don’t stiff them.  They saved your fucking life, even if your poor choices made it impossible for them to have the slightest chance of saving your baby, and they also have house payments to make, and brakes on their cars that need fixing, and groceries to buy.

They owed you absolutely nothing.  You owe them big time. Pay them.

You know perfectly well you do not have the money to do it. You understand by now that people are not going to donate enough money to pay this.

Go get Medicaid.





Let’s Get Together

One Love! One Heart!
Let’s get together and feel all right.
Hear the children cryin’ (One Love!);
Hear the children cryin’ (One Heart!),
Sayin’: give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right;
Sayin’: let’s get together and feel all right. Wo wo-wo wo-wo!

Bob Marley, One Love

On a national level, the debate continues to rage over health care.

Seventeen years ago. . . WAIT.  It was seven years ago (our current president is a moron, I can’t help that).  Seven years ago, faced with a very horrible health insurance system in this country, Congress passed the Affordable Care Act, popularly known as Obamacare.

It was modeled after the Republican plan put in place in Massachusetts by Mitt Romney.

It’s not socialized medicine.  It’s not evil.  It has done a lot of good, and Kentucky is an example of that.

Considered a model for the nation, Kentucky embraced the ACA at the outset, expanded Medicaid and set up its own gateway, called KYnect.  Lots of people in Kentucky did not have health insurance, because Medicaid in its original form didn’t cover every poor person, but mostly children and pregnant women.

One of the immediate results of the implementation of expanded Medicaid in Kentucky was the early diagnosis of a whole pile of folks with diabetes who didn’t know they had it. That meant they got treatment early. Many of them never missed a day’s work. They continued paying taxes just like always, and are being treated for a chronic but manageable condition, instead of presenting to a health care facility at a later stage with permanent organ damage as a result and thus being unable to work for long periods.  Kentucky saw a huge savings as a result.

This was great.

There are also many downsides to the ACA, and it has been criticized roundly by Republicans (oddly, since it’s basically a Republican program). Some of that criticism is well-founded.

The problem, of course, is finding the solution to the problem.

My personal feeling is that the solution is to do what every other first-world nation on earth has done and institute some form of single payer health care. Everyone has it but us.

But that’s a bigger debate than what I want to talk about, which is the basic principle behind health insurance.

Nicole Naugler doesn’t seem to have the slightest idea how health insurance works.  Considering that she’s probably never had it, ever, in her entire adult life, that’s sort of understandable, I suppose, but still, she’s a grown woman who runs a business and is sort of raising 10 children at the moment, so she probably ought to figure this shit out.

Forgive me if I resort to some elementary ideas here, but really, I’m dealing with people who don’t get it.

And you do realize that people with insurance don’t pay their bills. The people who pay insurance do.

That is what she said.  She went on to clarify that a little bit with the numbers, but she just doesn’t get it.

Insurance works just like Bob Marley sang. Let’s get together and feel all right.

Because we cannot foresee the future, and because I have no idea if my house might burn down tomorrow, and I don’t know if I will be diagnosed, like John McCain, with a glioblastoma and suddenly face a zillion dollars in medical bills, and I cannot possibly foresee what would happen if I was driving and had an accident that was my fault and faced a bazillion dollar settlement, I carry insurance. We are not over-insured, but we carry insurance.

Back before Obamacare entered the picture, we were in a bit of a pickle.  We had both retired. Dave, who is older than I am, qualified for Medicare. I did not. That meant that I had to buy health insurance in the private market. And oh, dear me, what a nightmare that was.

It was very expensive, so much so that I really didn’t have health insurance at all.  As President Obama put it so well speaking about the sort of very high-deductible policy I had, I had asset insurance.  Because of that enormous deductible ($10K), I was basically self-insured for anything except a catastrophe. The joy of my life is that I never had a claim during those years.

I also almost never went to the doctor. I didn’t have a PAP smear. I didn’t have a mammogram. I didn’t have a colonoscopy. Nothing.  It was all just too expensive and the best I could do was insure against some horrible thing happening that would force us to sell our house.

On the day that the ACA went live, I was on my computer on the KYnect website applying for insurance.  I got it that day (I was lucky and KYnect worked very well in spite of massive numbers trying to enroll).  My premium dropped by about half and more importantly, I had real health insurance.  I got a physical, the first I’d had in years.

I only had that insurance a short time because I turned 65 and was able to get Medicare, which is far better.

But here’s the deal. We all get together and we feel all right.

We all get together.

That’s what makes insurance work.

We all get together.

Not just sick people. Not just those with diabetes or heart disease or glioblastomas.  All of us.

When we all get together, and everyone pays in, everyone then can rest easy because those ghastly unforeseen events, the ones we cannot help and cannot prevent and cannot see coming, won’t devastate us financially.

What Nicole conveniently ignores is that part about all of us getting together.

See what I mean? She doesn’t get it.

In 1986, Saint Ronald Reagan signed a bill into law that mandated that any hospital emergency room in a facility that got federal funding (and that’s all of them because they accept Medicare payments) had to take any patient who waltzed through the door regardless of their ability to pay.

I remember when this happened. I cannot remember all the details but there was a woman (I think it was a woman) who was taken via ambulance to the nearest hospital and they denied her treatment because she was indigent.  So the ambulance took her to another hospital and if I remember correctly, the same thing happened, and finally she reached a hospital that would take her, but it was too late and she died. This was horrible.  Americans didn’t like it, with good reason.

I mean, think of it this way.  In 1985, had Nicole Naugler been brought to the hospital by Joe like she was the other day, they could have just said, “Gee, I hate it, but you’ll have to go to Louisville to some other hospital because we don’t treat indigent patients.”  Just think about that.  It was perfectly legal and done more frequently than anyone liked to think about, so Congress acted and Saint Ronnie signed on the dotted line.

Congress mandated that all people have to be treated, at least for emergencies. Mandated treatment. The ER doctor cannot say, “Gee, I like being paid. I’m not doing this.”

All the ACA did was say this: If all people must be treated, then all people need to get together and we’ll feel all right.  All people need to contribute.

That is one of the cornerstones of getting insurance premiums down to something reasonable.  We all get together. We don’t just get together with other people who are sick, or other people who are older than dirt like me and probably facing illness sooner rather than later.  We all get together.

We all pay in when we’re healthy and don’t have any physical problems, and then when one of us has a car wreck and breaks a leg, or develops a glioblastoma, or is nine months pregnant and has a dead baby and develops DIC, we get treated and since we all got together, nobody is bankrupted by it.

It’s not difficult, she says.  Just do it yourself, she says. Watch Youtube videos.  It’s easy.

Is it still easy, Nicole?  Is it easy to recognize and treat DIC, Nicole?

The following few screen shots left me with whiplash.  Here Nicole tells us that they did not apply for Medicaid and “chose voluntary aid over coerced.”  What she means is that they are choosing to beg online instead of applying for the financial help we all have donated toward.  She wants us to donate again, on top of that, because she’s special and wants to feel superior to everyone who donates. They are all “rats in a cage” while she has true freedom.

But apparently nobody told Joe about how they didn’t apply for Medicaid. He clearly says here that they have insurance. They do not have insurance unless they got Medicaid this past weekend.  Nicole confirms that in the same thread at the bottom.

Up till last Friday we have covered every bit of our medical expenses ourselves.

That means no insurance. That is what that means.

And again, Joe asserts that they have insurance.

They do not.

Up to this point we have been 100% responsible for ALL our medical needs. . .

Ergo, no insurance.

I especially like his characterization of $10,000 as “measly.”

And yes, Joe, what it took to save Nicole’s worthless life was something that normal people are, in fact, prepared for. They have insurance. They work – you know, a job – and they pay for it.

And as I and the Nefarious Please have shown quite clearly, Joe, all you have are “trying times.”  Hence, all you do is beg. Again and again and again.

But you know, Nicole and Joe illustrate so beautifully the reason why we need single payer health care in this country.  They thought they could wing it. They thought they were invincible, that nothing really bad would ever happen to them. They thought they were smarter, healthier, luckier than the rest of us stupid statist jerks, and that they’d just skate on by.

They thought they would never need any help with medical expenses until they actually had medical expenses and then Nicole insisted that her principles were too damned lofty to accept aid, and she would just beg online instead, because it worked out so well last time.

But see, that’s the trouble with voluntary shit.  It’s voluntary.  You ain’t gotta if you don’t wanna.  We can all sing, “Let’s get together and feel all right,” but they will just opt out and we’ll all pitch in and help them out when and if they get in a bind (which has been almost continuously for the last several years), only this time it is not happening.

They are not collecting thousands and thousands of dollars. Not even a “measly” $10,000.


See how she doesn’t get?

And one day it may be necessary.  We could manage a small incident, but something like cancer would bankrupt anyone.

We all get together does not mean “wait until you have a problem and then it may be necessary to have insurance.”

What if everyone did that?  I am a very healthy 68-year-old woman. My doctor says I am his most boring patient.  So far, we have almost nothing to talk about regarding my health, so we discuss all sorts of other things, like treadmills and cruises and driving the Blue Ridge Parkway. I have Medicare.  I pay a monthly premium for it.  If I added up that monthly premium for all the time I’ve had Medicare, it is far more than I have spent going to the doctor, even factoring in a colonoscopy and a couple of mammograms (I am so old I don’t need any more PAP smears, thank you very much).  So basically, right now, I am a Medicare donor.  I pay in more than I get.

That may be the way it is for the rest of my life. Some very lucky people manage to live in good health right up until the day they go to sleep and never wake up.  I hope I’m one of them.  But I’m covered and I cannot be placed in a situation where Dave is left with a zillion dollars in medical bills that he cannot pay if that’s not the case.

And because we all get together, we feel all right.  Not only are my neighbors and friends and relatives and fellow citizens, if they have insurance, covered so that health care costs can’t devastate them, but I rest easy about it.  I don’t worry about “how in the hell am I gonna pay for this” if Dave has some bloody urine and needs to go see why (bladder stone, blasted and gone) or if his doctor says, “You need to have these cataracts removed” (done both eyes, marvelous).

Looking back over my 68 years, I believe I could have self-insured the entire time, including Nathan’s birth, and never had any insurance at all.  I bet if I added up all those bills, and then added up all the premiums I’ve paid, the premiums would total more than the benefits.

And I don’t regret a single penny. Some of that money that I paid in went to pay for our dear friend P J Garrett’s treatment for renal failure. (Renal failure is covered under Medicare regardless of your age.) I’ve always liked to think that some of my dollars bought a bag of dialysis fluid for him.

Because if we all get together, we can feel all right.



Just in Case

Just in case you haven’t seen this before, or want to send some potential victim over here and want this to show up all handy right on top, here’s a bit of a record of the online begging history of Joe and Nicole.

And I’d totally forgotten about this one, because I didn’t write it. It was done by the Nefarious Please, who as a little committee managed the blog while I was away last year.

Go Fraud Me

I am not going to link to this. If you’re so stupid that you want to throw your money away, that’s fine, but I am not going to help you do it.

Everyone, I think, expected this. It’s what they do. It worked beautifully for them last time, netting them a minimum of about $50,000.  They blew the money in a matter of weeks.

Joe Naugler is a grown man. He is perfectly capable of working. He simply refuses to do so.  Instead, he wants you to send money to support the ten children he has left at home, the ones he and Nicole chose to bring into the world and refuse to support.

Jacob has learned well from his unschooling. He’s learned that online begging nets a windfall.  That’s what he means by “In the past we have seen great blessings from people’s generosity. . .”  He’s learned all the code words. He calls their life a “faith-driven journey.”  He doesn’t mean faith in some extra-corporeal entity like “God.”  He means faith in the Naugler ability to get people to donate money.

I, too, believe that great and amazing things can happen when people join together.  They call it “insurance.”

And that will be my next subject.


Dealing with this weekend’s tragedy has been difficult. Obviously, it was massively difficult for the primary individuals involved, but it’s been hard as well for those of us on the outside looking in.

I’m actually a little bit surprised at how much many of us are emotionally invested in all this Naugler stuff.  I’m not sure why, but I know we are.

I’ve spent hours trying to figure out how to respond to it.  My gut instinct is to be merciful and kind, and that’s why I opted to write about the funeral.  On the other hand, being sappy would be transparently fake, and I can’t be dishonest.

So I have vacillated wildly.

And while I’ve been vacillating, I’ve also dealt with some really nasty shit from Naugler humpers who have piled on with the old “why don’t you do something else with your time” and “crazy old bat” and “why don’t you take up knitting” and all the rest.

But in the midst of the sorrow, and the emotional roller coaster, and the struggle to stay in the realm of honesty while at the same time exhibiting at least a bit of compassion, I got this.

One donation is not better than another simply due to the amount. I do not want to imply that. Everyone has different means.  Some folks can’t donate at all right now. Others have donated a little bit. Debra is working her little self to death doing this.

But this sure did brighten my day.  It helped remind me why I do this, why it’s important that I do this, and why knitting is not a good substitute.

My sincere thanks to all of you for reading.

A Funeral

This is not going to be about what you think it’s going to be about.

However, please read it anyway.

Many years ago, when we were still Christian and attending the Fundy Church From Hell, there was a large family with a new baby.  If I remember correctly, the new baby was number nine, and I thought that was a massive number of children.

He was a little boy.

He died from SIDS when he was just a few weeks old.

It was tragic and awful and sad and horrible.

We went over to their house, I remember, and they had the baby there in the little casket that his father had made for him from a tool box.

That sounds awful and it was repeated around town and sounded even more awful the more it was repeated, but the reality wasn’t awful at all. It was actually quite beautiful.  He had sanded it, spray painted it, and then padded the interior and lined it with velvet.

We met at their house for the funeral because nobody knew where the cemetery was. We went in a motorcade, but informally, not one of those formal funeral home things.

My nephew helped dig the grave. He was already there when we arrived, sweaty and dirty from digging.

We all stood around the grave site.  The child’s father spoke, and I think maybe a couple of other men did. I can’t remember now, and certainly don’t remember what was said, although I know it included the requisite religious stuff.

But I remember how I felt.

It felt right.

It felt like love.

All the people who were there were people who wanted to be there. Nobody was paid to do anything. There were no somber-looking guys in black suits driving black limos. There was no smarmy preacher who’d been paid to say nice things.

Instead there was my nephew with his dirty jeans and his shovel.

We all cried, and we all laughed, and we were all friends supporting our friends in their sorrow.

Over the years, I have found myself defending that family’s choice more than once. There is nothing at all that I would agree with them about now when it comes to our worldview. I would not make a good dinner companion for any of them.

But on that day, at that time, we were friends and I was there for that reason alone.

And it all stayed with me, so much so that when our son died, that experience came flooding back to me. Dave already didn’t want to have a formal funeral, and certainly Nathan’s friends didn’t want one, so it wasn’t like I had to convince anyone.  But that little baby’s funeral was so lovely and loving and memorable that I couldn’t help make the comparison.

We chose to have memorial celebrations instead of a funeral. We had them (more than one in three different cities in two states, a total of four) in bars, because that’s where Nate played and worked.  Burial was not an issue because he was cremated and we put his ashes everywhere you can imagine, including both the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean.

That doesn’t mean that a formal funeral is wrong or bad or not a good choice.  It just means that doing it differently is not any of those things either.

And before I get asked the question I’ve been asked about eleventy-million times today, “Is that legal?” (to have a home burial), the answer is yes, it is.



Frequently Asked Questions

This is my web site. Not yours. I get to pick out the stuff I want to talk about. You are completely free to go get your own website and say whatever you wish, but I don’t have to pay for your megaphone. Not all questions deserve or require an answer, even if asked frequently.

Why are you doing this?

This is often accompanied by phrases like “picking on a poor victim,” or “can’t we all be happy and get along” or other such sentiments. Mostly, if you have to ask this, you don’t know enough about the situation to understand what is happening in the first place.

I’m tired of the deceit. That’s really all.

Who is in it with you? Isn’t this a huge conspiracy consisting of you and “name of whoever you don’t like goes here”? Aren’t you just the public face of an evil cabal of wizards behind the curtain?


Are you “Defending”?

No. Nor am I collaborating with Defending. Defending makes such outrageously idiotic statements that I am convinced s/he is a POE. And I think I know who is doing it. And no, I don’t think it’s Richard Harris or any of his biological children.

Come on, now. You’re working with the Harris family.

No, I’m not. I do not know, nor have I ever been in touch with anyone from the Harris family. [As of 7/22/2017, which is today, as I’m moving this page over to its new home, this is still true. I do not know, nor have I ever been in touch with any member of the Harris family.]

As my mother used to say, I got it at the Gettin’ Place. But what is interesting to me is that Cathy is here confirming that the email is real. It is actually from her actual email account and from Richard Harris. This means that “Concerned Pastor” is almost certainly not Richard Harris. Thank you, Cathy, for that.

Let me put this as simply as I can. I do not believe that you, at age about 11, were raped by Carl McIntire while Bob Jones Jr watched and then refused to pay the bill for watching, and infuriated Cleo to the point that she poured boiling water all over you, burning you over 60% of your body, after which, with just a few months recovery, you were required to do all the farm chores including milking multiple cows and feeding multiple horses and mucking out stalls, etc., as well as caring for an incapacitated man all by yourself. Now you go figure out why I doubt that story.

And here we have more confirmation that the email from Richard Harris is real.  Beyond that, Harris mentions the doctor’s name. All that means is that Cathy told him she was seeing the man. It doesn’t mean that Cathy was telling the truth about it.

Someone else told me that Cathy was married to a police officer who was killed in the line of duty and had a daughter from that marriage. Should that serve as “proof” that either of those things are true?

Why do you hang out with a woman who believes in faith healing?

Why do you?

Linda was greatly impacted by the ministry of Pastor Benny Hinn, internationally known for his miracle crusades. He prayed and prophesied over her on many occasions. His prayer that “Jesus Christ would make you whole from the top of your head to the soles of your feet” became the name for her ministry “I Am Whole, Inc.”

Seriously, this is a really silly question coming from people who believe in talking snakes, virgin births, and a guy who camped out in a whale’s mouth.

In addition, the person in question is a friend of mine on Facebook. I have almost 300 friends on Facebook. I have no idea what percentage of those people also believe in talking donkeys and people who walk on water. I haven’t asked them. If they don’t mind the stuff I do on Facebook, we’re good. If they irritate me, they’re gone. I assume it works the same way with them.

The Ten Claims of the 2nd Edition Page

The page in question was removed, but I keep these here for a reminder.


I never claimed anything like this. Maybe somebody else did. I don’t remember, frankly. Whether or not Cathy is helpful and loves kittens is not the issue here.


Well, here is what I have explained in great detail. As far as what “these people” might have done, or tried to do, or even who “these people” might be, all that is irrelevant.


I am aware that BJU doesn’t teach critical thinking skills, or anything that even approaches logic, but I’ll try this anyway. If you can catch me in a lie, even a huge whopper, that doesn’t make the Tozar page real. And if you catch somebody else in a lie, even a terrible awful very big lie, that doesn’t mean that Beth “abandoned” DJ. See how that works? Think about it a little bit.


I never claimed anything at all about any fiction book (except Cathy’s blogs, which I believe are almost entirely fiction), but let’s talk about the money exchange thing. Cathy produced a photo of a check and a hand scrawled list. I addressed both here.

We’re back to that pesky critical thinking thing again. Whether The Christian Beacon paid Cleo some money for something or not in no way proves that Carl McIntire raped Cathy, with or without Bob Jr. watching. Seriously, go read the page.

Burns, yet again

Please scroll up and read about the burn thing. Twice if you need to. And by the way, one person is not “many.”

Awful Things


One reason I made this web site was that the accusations were being flung around like sand in a playground fight. I wanted to get away from “she said/she said.” I wanted to deal with facts that could be verified. Should you have any such facts, that are verifiable, feel free to send them to me and I’ll evaluate them (and really, I will try to be fair). If I’ve got anything really wrong, I’ll correct it. So far, it’s been “Pittsburgh.”


Nobody illegally (or any other way) accessed Cathy’s personal email account. And nobody got that email from the Harris family.  Note that it is a printout. You know, like on a printer. Like real paper. Think for a minute about what that might mean. And thanks again for yet another corroboration that the email from Richard Harris is the real deal. I thought it was.


Defending. Not me. Not anyone I know. Nothing at all to do with anyone I know. I expect, though, that it’s someone you know. [Note: I think Defending was actually Cathy herself.]

Here’s an experiment. I dare you. Have a private conversation with somebody. Pick almost anyone who went to BJU. During the course of that private conversation, say, “I don’t believe Cathy’s stories.” Sign off and wait. See what happens.

Or just read this.

She doesn’t have to “put up a page.” You do it for her. She just sits back and watches and feeds you bogus crap about Beth.

Something about GRACE, I think

GRACE. Here you go.

And remember? Critical thinking skills? Scroll up?

Mental Health

It is never a good idea or accepted medical practice to support delusional thinking. There are only two exceptions to this that I can think of. One is an Alzheimer’s patient – smile sweetly and go along with them if that helps deal with the situation. The other is a drug-addled loony in the Emergency Room as you’re trying to give him a sedative and he’s trying to rip off your arm. I assume Cathy is neither of those.

Friends don’t let friends think totally nutty stuff.

This was just hilarious. Thanks for the laugh.




Romancing: Links to Related Material

In reading about all this, I keep finding articles and web sites that are interesting and at least to some extent related to all this. This will be an ongoing effort to collect them. I won’t apologize for including the occasional link to my own blog.


I am politically very liberal, and tend to rarely agree with stuff coming from Reason, which is voice of Libertarian politics. However, occasionally, I find myself in that position, and this is one of those times. In an article entitled “Guilty Until Proven Innocent,” Cathy Young addresses the problem of alleged sexual assault on college campuses.

Much of this reaction was well-intentioned. Yet in the end rape-culture feminism promotes not only a toxic view of relationships but a skewed and dangerous view of justice. Its key tenets: 1) Women almost never lie when they report a sex crime, and to doubt them is to perpetuate rape culture; 2) rape is any sexual act in which the woman feels violated-unless she suffers from false consciousness and needs to be educated about her violation; 3) rape includes situations in which the woman agrees to sex because of persistent advances, “emotional coercion,” or intoxication-or because she doesn’t have the nerve to say no; 4) no matter how willing the woman appears to be, it is the man’s responsibility to ensure explicit consent-or he may be guilty of rape.

Professional Victim

A pretty sorry side effect of all this is that I know citing Dwayne Walker’s blog will result in accusations of conspiracy. So be it. Think whatever you like.

A few might be critical of this new path saying I should concentrate on the first abusers. However, as I see more and more ‘advocates’ utilizing the same techniques as those who cover up the deeds of the first abusers, it’s only a matter of time before a major scandal hits and reveals that so-called survivors are just as guilty of covering up the dirt as those fundamentalists they have accused.

The Lying Disease

This schmucky feeling is a byproduct of the internet. Our natural bullshit detectors are muted online; we can’t rely on facial expressions and other physical cues for sensing lies, and studies suggest that without those cues, we’re prone to generously fill in the blanks.

Cienna Madrid, from The Lying Disease

Are there emotional no-go areas where logic dare not show its face?

Are there kingdoms of emotion where logic is taboo, dare not show its face, zones where reason is too intimidated to speak?

It is utterly deplorable that there are people, including in our atheist community, who suffer rape threats because of things they have said. And it is also deplorable that there are many people in the same atheist community who are literally afraid to think and speak freely, afraid to raise even hypothetical questions such as those I have mentioned in this article. They are afraid – and I promise you I am not exaggerating – of witch-hunts: hunts for latter day blasphemers by latter day Inquisitions and latter day incarnations of Orwell’s Thought Police.

Richard Dawkins

Followup short piece

Crying Rape

Our focus on getting justice for women who are sexually assaulted is necessary and right. We are still far from the day when every woman who makes a rape accusation gets a proper police investigation and a fair hearing. But seeking justice for female victims should make us more sensitive, not less, to justice for unfairly accused men.

Cathy Young

The New Yorker

An excellent overview of the foibles of memory, and how inaccurate it can be.

R. T. was far from alone in her misplaced confidence. When the psychologists rated the accuracy of the students’ recollections for things like where they were and what they were doing, the average student scored less than three on a scale of seven. A quarter scored zero. But when the students were asked about their confidence levels, with five being the highest, they averaged 4.17. Their memories were vivid, clear—and wrong. There was no relationship at all between confidence and accuracy.

Maria Konnikova