Tag Archives: cindy mccain

Champions of Savagery

We’ve got a new wolf-hunting ad out from some PAC today.  I don’t have a problem with hunting, so long as some level of skill is employed.  Aerial hunting is for twits.  If we’re talking about being a skilled woodsman, then Michelle Obama has Sarah Palin beat by a country mile.  But if the issue in question is one of savagery, well, it’s not really fair to hit Palin on this point, simply because I know Michelle Obama to be far more brutal and vicious than Sarah Palin.

I went hunting in the woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula not too long ago, and I rang up Michelle, asking if she might like to come along. We rented a cabin up there together for a week, just the two of us.  Michelle’s a crack shot, especially for a city girl.  Hell, on our first day there she blasted a Barn Owl Nest near the cabin clear to hell from a range of 150 yards using 12-gauge birdshot, “just to wake up a little bit.”

Being in the woods brings out some sort of deeply suppressed primordial viciousness in her.   When she has a gun, her deep dark eyes become extremely sharp and cutting.  She is in a state of total alert.  Anything that moves in the woods around her gets blasted to hell.  She travels with lots of ammunition and only top quality firearms.  I never felt in danger around her, per se, but the savage look she takes on when she is armed and prey is about forces you to think twice about making any sudden movements.

Midway through the week we were stalking a herd of caribou when some crows took to squawking away behind us, revealing our position to the caribou.  You could see the frustration and rage bubbling up in her eyes as her will was being thwarted.   She finally pivoted around and unloaded five furious pump-action blasts at the crows, falling scores of them.  It completely spooked off the caribou, but she didn’t care at that point: something had crossed her, frustrated her from her objectives and she dealt with that as only she knew how.

We did finally bag a caribou on our last day.   Michelle put two .50 caliber rounds in it’s neck from a range of 400m, nearly severing its head in a fine pink mist.  She took no visible joy in the kill and was silent as she walked up to the carcass and used her jack boots to kick away the twisted cartilage and shards of bone fragments in the neck, exposing the Caribou’s adrenal gland.  She reached in and wrenched it out, ripping it from the still-warm body. She held it with a firm grip, quizzically looking it over before sinking her teeth into it and sucking out the still warm caribou adrenaline and then throwing it into the snow.  Her body shivered for a moment and her eyes glazed over. “Fuck,” she said after a minute, “I need to get back to Chicago.”

Cindy was never like that.  Cindy and I used to snuggle with a bottle of shiraz and three or four Vicodin near the fire on those cold Sedona nights.  We would start a raging fire, curl up on the bearskin rug John received from some tribal lobbying concern, and play Mario Kart until we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore, collapsing on one another in a fine cozy haze.  In the mornings we would go back over to the main residence to play pinball while the butlers cooked us eggs.  Those were fine times.  I miss them dearly.

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The Vice Presidential Debate

Here’s how it goes… John McCain is in a Colorado Springs hotel room, watching the VP debate with a stiff gin & tonic, surrounded by campaign manager Rick Davis, Cindy, and Lindsay Graham.  It’s been a long day for John and his travelling coterie.  It started in Kansas City, followed by Cincinnati, Denver, and now here, to the home of NORAD and the largest used car dealership west of the Mississippi.  John is agitated and clearly on edge.  It has not been a good two weeks for him and now he has to sit here in the Marriott and watch Sarah go live on national television, to an audience of 100 million panicked Americans, mono-a-mono against Joe Biden, a man who has made a career in the Senate by outwitting and outflanking opponents with much more robust IQs than Sarah’s.  Biden is a trained shark, one who has made an entire career out of sneaking up behind political enemies and shanking them in the jugular.  He is merciless, and he is in his element.   John knows this well, and the room is on edge.

“Well John, I think she’s going to hold her own tonight, I’m optimistic,” says Cindy while she pokes lazily at a chicken cesar salad.

“”We’ll see,” John grunts back from the sofa, slowly twirling the glass tumbler in his hand and pensively watching the ice go round.  He’s counting on this.  He needs a momentum change.

Rick Davis has been looking very waxy of late.  He is leaning against the far wall, away from the TV, and has the look of a scared teenager getting dropped off a boarding school for the first time.  He’s the one who was responsible for assembling Palin’s prep team, for drilling talking points in her head.  “Well, she’s got the talking points down. Hell, W beat Ann Richards in a debate once, all she’s gotta do is hold her own.”

Quickly, it becomes clear that the night is not going to be a good one for the GOP.  Palin looks fine, her body language projects confidence and she is clearly not afraid of Biden.  The problem is that it is clear that she has no idea what the fuck she is talking about. She is hesitating, tripping over words, has no grasp of the issues, and yet continues to smile the smile of someone who has used beauty and guile to get where they are… a place where those traits no longer cut it.

John is simmering through the first five minutes, and everyone knows it’s a matter of time before he erupts.  Lindsay hands him another gin.  The two Senators share a brief, knowing glance, before Lindsay turns briefly to the tv, shakes his head softly and leaves the room without saying a word.

John takes a sip of the new gin, before very slowly and deliberately turning to Rock Davis, a man whose face has now turned to silent, quivering jelly.  He realizes full well what is going on: “Rick, we need to drop her.  Now.  Make it happen.”

Rick bows his head and takes a deep breath.  He knows what he is about to say will have a very profound and real impact on his immediate future.  He knows his boss and he knows he has put himself in an impossible position.  Dump her, and he loses the base.  Keep her, and he risks putting an utterly incompetent political hack into the White House.  Something has to give.

“Senator, I think we need to think about this.  Let’s see how the overnight polling-”

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT, RICK,” screams McCain rising up out of his chair.  “She just whiffed on the name of the president of Afghanistan!  She fucking met him two fucking weeks ago!  What the fuck did you do to prep her?  Is this a motherfucking joke?  She’s out there humiliating this campaign!  She just contradicted everything I’ve been saying for the past month and a half! How the hell did this happen?  How the FUCK did this happen? We’re fucking getting rid of her and that’s the way it is!”

Davis knows there’s no hope of changing the Senator’s mind, but he’s got to try. “Look, Senator, if we drop her now, it’s suicide.  Everyone will see right through it, they’ll know that we picked someone incompetent for the job and had to go back on it when our position got untenable… and forget about the Hillary voters.  We might as well gift-wrap Pennsylvania and Michigan after that.”

“Don’t give me that shit, you little pussy-footed freak!  This is your god damn fault.  I wanted Lieberman, and YOU talked me out of it, you treacherous little shit!  Hell, she just said on national-fucking-televison that she favored more deregulation to correct the credit crisis, she’s contradictig every message we’ve been trying to get out for the past two month!  We need to drop this bitch right fucking now!  I made this a campaign about experience and judgement, so what the fuck does it say about me when my campaign can’t even make her look fit enough to run a GOD DAMN BASKIN ROBBINS?  Biden is eating our fucking lunch! This is fucking horseshit, this is a soup sandwich, she’s out.  Find a way to drop her.”

“Senator, with all due respect you were in favor of more deregulation two months ago.  These are messages, they’re not hard to change.  We’ll spin it.  Besides, our base is with is while she is with us.”

“I don’t give a damn at this point.  She is making fools out of us!”

“As long as she keeps saying ‘lower taxes,’ that is all we need.  Hell, she could turn it around, she hasn’t even gotten to the pit bull line yet, she can turn it-”

“John, honey…”

“Not now, Cindy.  This is not the fucking time.”

Silence falls over the room.  John glares quietly at the TV set as Biden sinks his teeth into her leg yet again, drawing huge applause from the on-site crowd in St. Louis.  Biden is one man who is clealry enjoying himself tonight.  John takes a big swig from his gin and twirls the glass around again, scanning his brain, one seasoned by a 26-year congressional career, searching for the answer.

He slowly turns back to Davis: “Now you listen here Rick:  You schedule a press conference with her at 9 am Monday morning.  She is going back to spend more time with her family in Alaska and that is it. She would love to be vice president, but she just can’t stand to see her kids grow up without her and she would like to return to see to the business of Alaska.  That is it, make it happen.”

“What if she plays hardball, refuses to drop out?”

“Fuck it, tell her we’ll give her an ambassadorship.  If she still won’t do it…” his voice trails off.

Cindy is staring quietly at the TV with an open mouth, the look of someone who can’t believe what she is seeing.  Davis knows that’s the way its going to be, and his seasoned political mind is already churning over the playbook.  He turns to look out the window at the glow of the Chevy dealership across the street.  Palin’s voice is the only sound in the room,  filling the air with senseless gibberish.  “Who are we going to replace her with,”  asks, not turning around.

McCain pauses for a moment, looking gravely at the TV.  “Santorum.  Get Rick Santorum on the phone…”

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Cindy McCain is Hotter than Sarah Palin

Jill Biden, sultry, sultry Jill Biden

Jill Biden. Sultry, sultry Jill Biden

 

Here’s a neat party trick: If you happen to be sitting around with a bunch of self-assertive women and you feel like kicking things up on the interesting scale, just go ahead and let slip that “I would jump on Cindy McCain so much quiker than I would Sarah Palin.”  It’s like getting an audience with the Queen of the Netherlands and then farting in front of her- the outrage is that bad- the girls will turn to each other in excited manners, proclaiming “I can’t believe he really thinks that, pffftt… ” “Sarah Palin is a babe, NO WAY, what’s wrong with you?” and so forth.  Don’t stop there though, keep piling it on, you’ll be surprised at how offended normal women get when you profess to like some old blonde botox repository over the sassy, new & fashionable GOP VP pick.  Use reason to bolster your arguments:  Be like “look, if the choice is between a 44-year-old Jesus nut who has popped out five kids and a 54-year-old beer heiress who has had three, I’m going with the beer heiress,”  or “Look, It’s just that I fancy a fading 9 over a fading 8.”  I’m not sure I even think Cindy McCain is hotter than Sarah Palin.  But I’m pretty sure I do.  

 

Cindy McCain...

Cindy McCain...

Don’t get me wrong, this is a conversation of relativity: Cindy looks like the blonde, botoxed aunt of the Cryptkeeper- with those weird, jeweled eyes and plastic face.   But she’s rich, went to USC and if YOUR wife looks that good at 54, then you could reasonably consider yourself a fairly fortunate fellow.

But, fucking hell, look at Palin’s Vogue cover.  They can make anybody look hot on the cover of Vogue that is what the cover of Vogue is for, making people look hot. So presumably this is the best they could do for Palin:  She looks like some kind of glamorous troll… her face looks like a block of overly cheerful pastry strudel (albeit with a fine chassis).  

Sarah Palin's Vogue Cover

Sarah Palin

Off the cover of Vogue, she looks like any other suburban housewife librarian, they are a dime a dozen in the dairy section on any given Wednesday afternoon.  But people seem to have this notion that giving a speech that comes out somewhere to the right of Mussolini makes her this supermodel personification of women’s empowerment.  Which is fine, I guess, hell she was even Miss Alaska… but she wouldn’t have a chance at grabbing that title in Mississippi or Tennessee.  

Anyway, the key to stirring up this controversy with women in your life is to actually start believing Cindy is hotter than Palin.  First convince yourself of this and then go spew it around.  You’ll be surprised at the results.  (Note: Jill Biden is certainly hotter than both these women… but nobody knows who Jill is…)

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