From an online dictionary:

bo·lus noun
1. a small rounded mass of a substance, especially of chewed food at the moment of swallowing.
Other definitions include “a type of large pill used in veterinary medicine” and “a single dose of a drug or other medicinal preparation given all at once.”
Add to these “a bitter pill who won’t take his own medicine.”
Upright Citizen, Convicted Felon and Trump Fetishist Bob Bolus was back before Scranton City Council Monday night with an encore to last week’s homophobic address on behalf of “da good peeple of Scran’n.” Aroused by the excellent possibility that Jessica Rothchild — an LGBTQ activist, physical therapist and American human being with Constitutional rights — may win a council seat in November, Bob has made it his mission to keep Scran’n straight.
Bob believes a lesbian on council would subject the city to a “queer agenda” that could inspire spontaneous gayness in the city’s impressionable youth. Worse, such an historic change might lead unsuspecting straight citizens to forget how much they’re supposed to fear, hate and ostracize anyone different from themselves in any way.
Bob’s diseased diatribe from last week went viral and drew the attention he craves and the mistaken association innocent bystanders named Bolus have suffered for years. Bolus Trucking issued a statement reminding the public that the business has no association with Bob or his fetid comments and beliefs.
I blogged about Bob’s performance, which I knew he would read as both a hostile attack and a loving gift from an old friend. The backlash guaranteed an encore. The blog ensured I would wind up in Bob’s crosshairs. I hope that doesn’t sound gay.

 

“Chris Kelly calls me stupid, well how stupid is he to get drunk and drink and put himself in rehab?” Bob barked, keeping it classy.

It’s true. I am a recovering alcoholic, I’ve been honest about that since returning from rehab. I have a progressive, fatal disease I am treating the best I can. While Bob was blasting me at the public podium, I was celebrating six months of sobriety with people who share my condition and my gratitude for every day I live without alcohol. Life is good one day at a time.

Much like last week, council told Bob to take his sideshow on the road. When he kept rambling, the councilmen left the room. Some applauded the gesture, but for me, ceding the room to Bob sends the wrong message.

I suggest a return to the days when a police officer was present at every council meeting. When a speaker refused to follow the rules, he or she was warned several times to dial it back. If the offender persisted in disrupting the people’s business, he or she was escorted out by the officer.

This was not censorship, but a necessary remedy to the behavior of showboating goons who abused the public podium for their amusement and the abuse of anyone they deemed unfit to share their rarefied air. Similar behavior led to the five-minute limit on each speaker. Before these steps, council meetings were marathons dominated by rambling morons. Bob Bolus was a regular.

Bob has a Constitutional right to believe any ugly thing he pleases, and to say it — under the rules of the forum he is in. He is not entitled to be listened to or taken seriously. Nor is he immune to the consequences of his words.

Give Bob his five minutes. Then give him the hook.