Dear John McGrumpybritches…

John McCain; Official Senate Photo

John McCain; Official Senate Photo

McCain Campaign Office, P.O. Box 16118, Arlington, VA 22215

Dear Maverick,

  I got your message asking Me to watch your debate thingy and to tell you what I thought of it.  Truthfully, though, Mav, My old pal Baugi was in town and I was really only watching with one eye.  That’s a trick Odin taught Me, by the way.  Funny story; that’s who introduced Me to Baugi in the first place… but you don’t want to hear about that.  It’s really kind of a tedious story.

  Oh, speaking of tedious stories, there were a couple or three things I did notice about your little televised grumpy spat.  See, Baugi and I always go to see They Might Be Giants when He’s in town, so we were pretty involved in making plans for the show the next night.  But, eventually, you succeeded in interrupting our chat by constantly invoking the name “Ronald Reagan”.  I mean, you must have called on St. Ronny ten-dozen times.  You do know he’s dead, right?  You can wish for it all you want, I guess, but Zombie Reagan is simply not going to rise from the grave and eat your opponent’s brain.  Secondly, out of the corner of My ear, as it were, I could have sworn I heard you say that you have been Little George’s toughest adversary.  Now Mav, that’s… well, that’s not exactly “Straight Talk”, now is it?  In fact, I can’t count the number of postcards from Junior thanking Me for your votes.  I will give you points for balls, though.  When you compared the other guy to Junior I thought, “There’s a Maverick who’s going to go far in American politics.”  The sheer, unmitigated ballsyness of that was breath-taking.  So, as I say, points for that.

  The next night, in the cab downtown to see The Giants, I got to thinking about your little TV scuffle, though.  I turned to Baugi and I said,

 “I’m really an amazing Gawd, you know that?  Here I am, getting ready to move to Canada, dumping My soon-to-be-worthless dollars and hooking up with you and your backstage passes to the concert – all without turning on My omniscience.  All it took were the subtle clues of a stock market crash, a visiting Norse Giant and Maverick’s bald-faced lies on national television.”

  I amaze Myself, I really do.

  But look, Mav, I want you to do Me a favor now, okay?  Once the suckers vote you in I want you to have a little golden plaque made up to attach to the presidential telephone.  Then, every time you reach out to call Me for a favor, you’ll see this:

  • Gawd is on fucking vacation!

Wish You Were Here,


P.S. – Sorry you missed They Might Be Giants.  Those guys really know how to make music unto the LORD.


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