// Grizzly Groundswell

by BillWyldfyre

(My apologies to William Shakespeare)

The Scene: Upon a lonely midsummer’s night our hero John McCain sits alone upon a grim sight. We spy a grave, recently unearthed, and a skeleton torn asunder by the lies and destructiveness of the liberal media sits open to the chilled air. Our hero takes the skull in his hand, gazing into the skulls open gaping eye sockets, and remembering how the face that belonged on the pale white bone used to look into the heart of America as a loving leader, a true conservative and one hell of an actor. But alas, his greatness is but dust upon the hands of time, and the damn people won’t let him go into history. In his angst, John throws the skull into the grave, and turns to face the radiant nights moon sitting majestically within the open night sky. John pauses before he finally speaks.

John McCain: To be McCain, or not to be McCain: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler for the “conservative liberal” to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous gossip, conservative blogs, and Right-wing talk show hosts,
Or to take arms against a sea of conservative voters,
And by opposing end them, stomp on them and befriend yon liberals in the New York times? To die: to sleep; or to urinate on the legs of Republicans and tell them it is raining,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, the Iraq War Hatred and the thousand natural caused by Global Warming, if it were but true;
That green technology is heir to, higher gas prices, food prices, and corn cobs shoved into orifices, I see it as hunger for power, devoutly to be loved by all, an office wanted and tattooed in lambs blood upon my chest.
To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream, to hope, to boldly go where no man has gone before and there’s the rub; for in that sleep of political death what votes may come to me?
When we have shuffled off this election coil, what will become of me, my history, my friendship with Ted Kennedy?
I must give the conservatives pause: there’s the respect of not using our opponents full name, his age or his telephone number.
For that makes calamity of so long life, and 50 years of public service, and not be the president?
For who would bear the whips, chains, shaved squirrels and scorns of time, wait, I seem to have misplaced my dosage of Enzyte, ahh there it is.
The oppressor’s wrong, conservative is what I want it to be, but he speaks so well, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, or better yet, throw out the law, who needs law when I am president!
Oh Hillary, how I wish we were the chosen ones. I have such love for you,
The insolence of office and the spurns of the ones who despise illegal immigration, high taxes, socialized healthcare, green technology, and gay marriage, that patient merit of the unworthy takes which is found in campaign finance reform, when he himself might his quietus make words saying one thing, but meaning something else, I shall be…
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, HEY THERE CLINTON! Stay away from my interns! This is my speech damnit!
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, to call others nasty profanities in congressional chambers, those dumb @#$$! mother @#$%^&*(!
But that the dread of something after death, life back in the Senate, or as a greeter at Wal-Mart
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn, or born whichever you call it,
No traveller returns, puzzles the will, denies a fence, denounces tax cuts,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have pissed off with our liberal voting records, our tax and spend ideas, and our tasty creame filled pastries.
Than fly to others that we know not of in Iran, or Cuba,
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; especially when Obamma tells us we cannot use his full name, or call him liberal, or pick on his ear size.
And thus the native hue of resolution, transparent to all who aren’t blinded by the main stream media
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, or misdirection, flat out lies,
And enterprises of great pith and moment, I’m a little tea pot shot and stout, here is my handle here is my spout.
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now and confuse yon voters, should I be in office, am I better than Hillary or Obamma, I can elect Supreme Court Judges, protect our troops and keep 911 from happening again…so pbbbbbbbbbbbtttttttttt!!!!
The fair office of President! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d I will be President….RESISTANCE IS FUTILE!

Cross posted on Political Gravitas!