“My friends,” said Mr. McCain to a gathering of 70-somethings at a barbecue on his Arizona ranch, “the evidence is clear, and we can only come to one conclusion. Facts are facts. Before Mr. Obama came along, my hair loss was limited to just a few silvery strands on my hairbrush. Now, it’s coming out by the handful. Before Mr. Obama came along, you could set your clock by the regularity of my bowels. Now my system is as slow as a clogged drain. Before Mr. Obama came along, I was a reliable as Old Faithful in the boudoir. Now my spouse is as disappointed as a tourist from Arkansas staring at a gimpy geyser.
“So I say to you, my good and patriotic friends, that the cause of all these disasters is as plain as the nose on my face, the sunburn on which is also the fault of Mr. Obama, who got me so mad when he sunk that three-point shot in the army gym over in Iraq that I forgot to put on my usual triple layer of sun block.”
The barbecue guests nodded knowingly, and from the looks on their faces it was obvious they were connecting all that was wrong in their own lives with the ascendancy of Mr. Obama. Harold Nagel, a major contributor from Omaha, experienced the sensation of a light bulb switching on inside his head (the metaphor he came up with when describing the experience to his wife Harriet), and he said to himself, “Yes, now, it all makes sense. The other day in the grocery store, when I couldn’t figure out how I came to be holding a stalk of asparagus in the toothpaste aisle, I blamed my failing memory. But now I know that Barack Obama is to blame.”
Mr. McCain continued to lay out his case. “My friends, before Mr. Obama came stylin’ on to the scene, I never used to mix up countries, like I did the other day when I mixed up Afghanistan and Pakistan. Mr. Obama is now messin’ with my game, as he himself likes to say. It’s got so bad that I can’t even keep Miley and Britney straight. And this damn twitch in my left eye, I never had that in the old days. Now people say I look like that crazy Captain Queeg claiming that someone stole his strawberries, and I bet if you go back and look at that movie you’ll find that Barack Obama was the guy responsible for filching the strawberries.”
Over by the tub of ice keeping the beer cold, Mort Skousen, a wealthy party bigwig now living in Rancho Bernardo, was overcome by the realization that Barack Obama was the force behind people nodding off when he revealed his secret system for organizing his garden tools. Worse, it was Barack Obama who was to blame for the way his wife rolled his eyes whenever he opened his mouth.
“My friends, Barack Obama is not just behind all the disasters, misfortunes and catastrophes that have been visited upon mature citizens like you and me. Look what’s happening with our young people, and then come back and look me square in the eye and tell me that Barack Obama is not responsible. Why are kids today always fiddling with their iPods? Barack Obama! Why are kids today getting Chinese tattoos on their necks and flower tattoos on their asses? Barack Obama! Why are kids spending all their spare time having oral sex? Barack Obama!”
Next to him on the patio, Mrs. McCain could be observed rolling her eyes, and then she got a dreamy look that said, “I’d like to become an Obama girl!”
“Finally, my friends,” said Mr. McCain, biting off every word as if it were a tough piece of beef jerky, “Barack Obama has brought not only disease into the world, like that salmonella outbreak, but also death itself. Before Barack Obama came along, I lived on the sunny side of the street, fully assured that I would live forever. Now, my friends, it’s sad to say, I see the shadow of the Eternal Footman waiting at the door, holding my jacket.”
Everyone suddenly looked grim, except Mitt Romney, who smiled seraphically. tttt