I defy categorization!

Unless, apparently, you are a public-school child in a state where Republican politicians have decided that the classroom needs more state-sponsored scripture and less, you know, food.

In Texas, Bible passages have been added to the state’s mandatory public-school reading list. In Oklahoma, state leadership ordered Bible instruction for grades 5–12. Louisiana can now enforce its law requiring the Ten Commandments in every public-school classroom. Utah has added the Ten Commandments to the required list of historical documents for school curricula.

Let’s be clear: children are free to read the Bible. Families are free to practice Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, atheism, or any faith—or no faith at all. That is what religious freedom means.

It does not mean the government gets to pick one religious text, install it in public classrooms, and call it “education” while treating every child who believes differently like an afterthought.

And while these politicians are busy turning teachers into reluctant Bible-study coordinators, millions of children could lose access to free school meals as SNAP cuts and rule changes ripple through schools. Losing SNAP can end a child’s automatic eligibility for free meals and can also push schools out of the programs that let them feed every student. One analysis estimates 18.3 million students could be at risk of losing access to free school meals.

A family with two kids could face roughly $2,200 more in food costs over a school year if free school meals disappear. But sure—tell us again how the urgent crisis in America is that there aren’t enough Ten Commandments posters on classroom walls.

Maybe before legislators demand that every child memorize scripture, they should try reading the parts about feeding the hungry, caring for the poor, and not using religion as a prop for political power.

Because taking food from children while forcing religion into their classrooms is not moral leadership. It is cruelty with a Bible verse taped to it.

And now he is the Secretary of Health and Human Services.

Let that sink in.

The guy tasked with overseeing the nation’s health, public-health agencies, medical research, vaccines, food safety, Medicare, Medicaid, and the future health of our children is a man with no medical degree, no clinical training, no public-health credentials — but a truly astonishing courtroom résumé: “Your Honor, the brain parasite situation has impacted my ability to earn.”

Apparently, it did not impact his ability to fail upward into control over institutions staffed by actual doctors, epidemiologists, scientists, researchers, nurses, and public-health professionals.

Just think about the standard being set here. If you want to work in a hospital cafeteria, you need food-safety training. If you want to administer medication, you need licenses and qualifications. If you want to lead a local health department, you need expertise, experience, and a record of understanding public health.

But if you want to run the entire federal health apparatus? Apparently all you need is a famous last name, an endless supply of conspiracies, and enough political usefulness to powerful people who think expertise is elitist.

And before the inevitable whining begins: no, this is not making fun of someone for having a medical issue. It is pointing out the breathtaking absurdity of elevating someone who himself cited serious cognitive impairment in court into one of the most consequential health-policy jobs in the country.

He argued that his earning capacity was diminished. The Trump administration looked at that and said: Perfect. Put him in charge of the agencies that determine whether millions of Americans can access health care, whether disease outbreaks are handled competently, and whether scientific reality gets to survive the next four years.

Because in MAGA America, qualifications are apparently suspicious. Science is “corrupt.” Doctors are “the establishment.” And the guy whose brain-parasite story became part of his divorce litigation is somehow the grown-up in the room.

This is not government. This is a satire writers’ room that got a federal budget.