Monday, March 23, 2009

Meghan McCain Can't Get No Satisfaction

I was trolling through a while ago and came across this revelatory bit of prose about Meghan McCain, daughter of John and Cindy. In it, she invites the world to ponder the gross injustices visited upon her social and dating life by her father's failed presidential bid:

If the reader would prefer not to be enlightened on that particular topic (and believe me I would totally understand) then let me just summarize and say that Meghan seems to think the unholy nexus of Secret Service coverage, incessant media scrutiny and general post-election weirdness have all come together to have a severe dampening effect on her attempts to get her freak on. And while I have no doubt that her dreams of a multi-orgasmic Saturday night (or Friday night. Or Thursday night. Or Monday afternoon, for that matter) have been adversely affected, I would submit that it's due less in part to the aforementioned inconveniences, and more to the fact that she is the daughter of a supremely creepy, loathsome old geezer and a poorly-constructed Cylon skinjob.

In fact Cindy McCain has always made me think of what the first Cylon skinjobs must have looked like when they were built long ago on pre-nuclear-attack Caprica, before their creators got serious about quality control. I can imagine the scientists looking at her rolling off the assembly line and saying, "Whoa - this one doesn't look right, what the hell happened?" or "This one isn't going to fool anybody." It is against this unenviable backdrop of an icon of overwhelming creepiness and the genetic equivalent of a cheap Gucci knock-off that Meghan McCain finds herself trying to make sense of the nuclear wasteland of her social life. I was going to say "sex life" instead of "social life" but doing so would tie that concept back to a member of the McCain family, and I still cannot bring myself to do such a thing.

Not to say that I'm completely unsympathetic to young Ms. McCain, not at all. Back when I was her age I too was relentlessly bemoaning the fact that I wasn't getting laid every twenty minutes. Now, not so much. Also, you can't entirely blame the child for the fact that their parents are completely and utterly repellent and vile. Just because you're related to someone doesn't mean you're responsible for them and have to continually apologize for their general ickiness, I know that from my own freak-show of a family. To her credit, Meghan did have some unpleasant, if totally accurate, things to say about the execrable Ann Coulter, whose very existence continues to be a festering canker-sore on the butt of humanity. You can read that lovely little screed (and it is worth reading) here:

If all this indicates to you that I have way too much time on my hands and I should be worried about more important things, then I am guilty as charged. However, as our economy wiggles its toes over the edge of the abyss, it would give me a modicum of comfort if I knew that John McCain's daughter would have it off, at least once more, with some unwitting and slightly disinterested sperm donor.

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