A Yutz Tells America that he wants it known that Donald J. Trump is not invited to the grand planting of America's most repugnant American.
And I am fully prepared to engage the jackass McCain for a woman's scorn is nothing compared the barbequed ass you would feel when I go from a proponent of yours to finding you to be the nastiest piece of shit to ever grace the face of the earth.
And so it goes that I wish to tell all of my feelings for that piece of dog shit Republican Senator from Arizona while he still has a pulse, has a body temperature above freezing, and consumes oxygen that could have been better used inflating a flat tire on a GM vehicle.
At this present time, I have the sad news to report that John McCain still lives. And while we await his brain cancer to do its job and to take this clown from us so that he can spend the rest of eternity in hell where he belongs, I want to illuminate on why McCain holds a special place in my heart where I store contempt and outrage for America's most deliciously repugnant people.
John McCain has fashioned a fictitional life story out of being a prisoner of war - for most people this would be something that we should recognize and appreciate the sacrifice of such a brave man enduring torture during a war that spineless rat bastards made sure we lost. Up until McCain's release, he had the perfect narrative of being an American hero who had sustained a hand injury that could be best used to hold pencils while he was seated at a desk.
Unlike real heroes though, John McCain exploited his life as a professional prisoner for political gain all while showing his family and his wife that his honor was as thin in makeup as an outer layer of skin prior to lighting it on fire. And make no mistake here, John McCain cannot be considered a hero because his life didn't end in Vietnam; he has lived and breathed a life afterwards that is repugnant by any standard; and since he's made it his life's mission to be holier than thou, chronicling his malfeasance, dishonor, and treachery is a delicious dish too wonderful on which to pass.
John McCain had once pledged his commitment to a woman named Carol and they were married. Carol had no reason to suspect that John would be the lowlife of all lowlifes on that moment on Christmas eve 1969 when her car slammed into a telephone pole and smashed her pelvis and an arm with significant internal organ damage. John McCain loved his swim ware model wife, Carol, that he tied the knot with her and used her for his sexual gratification like any normal and honorable husband would be want to do.
Unfortunately John had these feelings only for a fully functional swimware model, and Carol was no longer the thing of beauty that he had married. Upon his release from prison of war captivity, John McCain was having second thoughts perpetuating a life bond with the woman who was now his wife after enduring her life threatening ordeal.
"When Carol was discharged from hospital after six months of life-saving surgery, the prognosis was bleak. In order to save her legs, surgeons had been forced to cut away huge sections of shattered bone, taking with it her tall, willowy figure. She was confined to a wheelchair and was forced to use a catheter. Through sheer hard work, Carol learned to walk again. But when John McCain came home from Vietnam, she had gained a lot of weight and bore little resemblance to her old self." (Daily Mail)
Poor Carol. Her essential crime was having a will to live and to overcome her numerous physical maladies. John showed her his level of commitment for someone other than himself by divorcing the damaged goods held together with screws and additional human fat.
It is thus that any amount of consideration for the Turd McCain should be immediately thrown away, flushed down the shitter, or stuffed in a trunk of a Honduh or Toyoduh and then set on fire.
To Carol's credit, she is above the level of John McCain's low rent amount of compassion for others and she still adores John. It is truly remarkable that someone used for a semen receptacle for a few years would be so kind to harbor love for a man who treated her like a used Kotex.
It is truly without dignity to discard such a human in such a rapid fashion earlier in one's life and then to have the audacity that you don't want someone at your planting.
But we are talking about John McCain.
And he spent the rest of his years as a politician stabbing his party members in the back to advance himself and to attempt to get the love of the Third Estate that quickly ceased to exist and became only the propaganda wing of the Democrat Party. McCain was so loved by this enemy of the State, the media, that he earned the title of "Maverick" for daring to place several daggers in the backs of his fellow Republicans and then to come back and to severe Achille's tendons when the knives failed to do achieve his complete adulation by the press. This Maverick became known for walking across the aisle of the Senate (because Democrats never make that same trip in the opposite direction). With the trait of being the traitor of the Senate, John McCain soon found that his malformation of his hand that once only worked for holding pencils, could easily be turned to grip a dagger and there was enough arm-strength to plunge that dagger between ribs of his fellow Republicans.
In the post Father Shrub Republican party era, Republicans never sought real candidates for political office that could actually win. Rather, the Republicans became the party of finding a near cadaver to run for President and then they'd look like they were sending the old fart off with a wonderful parting gift of love. Robert Dole was diverted from a funeral pyre to run for President and when his candidacy bit the big one, out trotted the Maverick himself whose hand suddenly was filled with Daisies instead of daggers because John McCain was a kinder and gentler backstabbing asshole and would not dare challenge the half black candidate, Barack Hussein Obama, in a way that would seriously challenge his enormous character flaws and his profound hate for America and white people.
It should be noted that I was having anxiety attacks while standing in the rain on the election day that gave us King Pimple of a Man. Knowing what I did then about the man, there was no way I'd vote for his kind of vision for America where race would be an exploitable commodity to punish whites who had nothing to do with slavery; and I'd certainly never vote for a marxist ideologue who spun his hatred toward white people to a degree where he could sit in a black separationist church for 20 years and not be influenced while inhaling the air at the Reverend Wright's temple of bigotry, chicken roosting, and boogering of the flock.
And then I had an option for voting for a man of such high quality like John McCain. I contemplated wondering if he would dump me as a citizen when it suited his need for adulation from the press; and John McCain was no overt gay lover. But then again, it is so hard to love someone else when you only love yourself and separating you from your mirror could be grounds for a life sentence.
John McCain could never bring himself to confront King Pimple in a way that would highlight the King's profound and disgusting brand of bigotry (almost making Anita Bryant seeming a gay lover by comparison); John never challenged the soon to be King and promised to those of us who'd contribute the paltry sum of $25, we'd get an authentic Obama Energy Policy tire pressure gauge. Like so many things about John McCain, he never delivered on this promise to his supporters and never bothered to return a single email, letter, or phone call by yours truly as to where my fucking tire pressure gauge was after I gave $25 to his mother fucking campaign.
Apparently John McCain and Donald Trump aren't much of friends. The Donald didn't much appreciate that John McCain was held prisoner (I'd have preferred that Donald would have exploited the dumping a damaged goods wife); but McCain took offense to some one equating his prisoner of war status as a black stain on his otherwise remarkable and honorable life (sarcasm). And so it is that the wonderfully considerate and works well with others John McCain (dripping with sarcasm) now has a hard on (rumored to be two blue pills and a popsicle stick in fabrication) for Donald Trump.
And with the pettiness of a damaged wife dumping asshole, John McCain has declared that he does not want Donald Trump at the deposition of McCain's at a special place at Mount Trashmore in Virginia Beach when the time comes for the hazmat disposal incident.
I implore all Americans of all creeds, political origins, gender and cultural misappropriations, and identifying as a rock, a tree, or a gerbal to give John McCain a funeral procession where no one lines the streets - where no traffic can impede a rapid and timely planting of his sorry ass into the ground.
And we should then forget this piece of shit ever existed and thank his malformed and defective wife for being the only person to hold him in regard after we've all be raped and assaulted by him since he did her dirty.
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