Wait, let me correct that. I've never really used it; I dictate my thoughts to my spineless sycophantic toady, Joe Lieberman, and he uses it. And this time I'm not even doing that.
You see, my campaign is in crisis, so I've suspended my campaign to address it. Things just get worse every time I open my mouth so I'm not talking to anyone.
Instead, I'm simply repeating the words Sheila transmits directly to my mind--she's the rat I befriended in Hanoi and whose flattened carcass I now keep in my wallet. She usually just commands me to kill, but now, she's taking over the campaign (which I've suspended).
So, you see. Sheila is telling me what to say and Joe is typing it into the General's electrical typing intertubes pamphlet machine. I have very little to do with any of it. That's good. I like it this way.
So let's get to the meat of what Sheila is telling me to say.
We think my supporters in the electrical typing intertubes pamphletoshere--people like the Confederate Yankee--bring up a great point. Barack Obama is damaged goods, they say, because as a child, he was mentored by a man named Frank Davis, who was later convicted of having sex with a 13 year old girl. Here's how Yankee put it:
Barack Obama's list of known mentors now includes child rapists ("Uncle Frank" Marshall [Davis])...
When is someone going to question how these associations must have warped Obama's views and render him unstable, and unsuitable for the Presidency?
We agree. Molestation is a traumatic experience. It is likely to lead to a kind of emotional instability that is characterized by uncontrollable rage and rash decision-making, the very qualities that should serve as disqualifiers for the presidency.
What's that, Joe? You don't think it's a good idea to talk about post-traumatic emotional instability?
Listen, you god damned little ass-kissing fuck, I spent five and a half years in Hanoi's Guantanamo. I was tortured dammit. Tortured like an unpopular Afghan goatherd, you fuck. I've earned the right to say, do, or be what ever the fuck I want.
Shank him, John! Stab the little ass stain! Shank him, now! Then take me out of your wallet and let's eat his liver!
Come here, Joe! You're done typing, you suck-ass droopy-dog-looking dick weed! We're, going to cut your ass.
Fuck, I wish I had The button!
--President John McCain
[A helmet tip Seattle Bookem Tammy for the photo of Sheila]