John McCain: The Seventy Year Itch

John McCain sleeps around? It's like that awful Warhol movie that imagines Frankenstein's monster doing it. And the same week as the Gene Simmons' sex tape, too. How would Michelle Obama put it? For the first time in my country's life, I'm really proud to be an adult.

Adults get it on! They get on the scene. Like a sex machine. A really tragic, gruesome, horrific, sex machine. Like the one in that stabs your sentence into you until you're dead in Kafka's Penal Colony.

Eww. Do you think he calls her "my friend" when they're doing it? Do you think he calls his penis "my friend?"

No, you know it's the "A4 Skyhawk."

And with a young woman named Iseman! You don't have to like puns much to get a kick out of that. Doing it with a man who's barely alive. I, semen, meet I, Robot.

And is there a better name for an old porn star than "Johnny McCane?" "Roger Hickory?" "Rod Leathery?"

And afterwards she has to dress him, because he can't move his arms.

It's all so target rich with opportunities for portentous symbolism and cheap wordplay. And with Norman Mailer too dead to enjoy it, too.

It's like Across the River and Into the Trees crossed with that old guy who chases nurses in Benny Hill.

But did she have to be a lobbyist? I guess you meet who you meet, but it's like Britney doing it with the paparazzi. It doesn't just make you regret every dirty thing you've ever done -- there's also an apparent conflict of interest.

If I was John McCain, though (Kelly pauses, shudders, continues) I'd want to make sure everyone knew it was consummated. Consummated like crazy. He'd better hope she kept a diary where she says he gave it to her like John Henry laying track.

More like the Blue Angels, less like The Blue Angel.

Because most Americans can appreciate a really vigorous act of (admittedly-autumnal) warrior-culture adultery, but no one wants to vote for a crippled old love-struck fool.