The Outlook wasn’t brilliant for the McCain Campaign that day:
The score stood fairly even, with but some swing states more to play.
And then when Phil Gramm got the hook, and Fiorina did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the Wingnuts at the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to delusion which springs eternal in the Wingnut breast;
They thought, if only Johnny could get but a whack at that -
Exxon would put up even money, now, with Johnny at the bat.
But Huck preceded Johnny, as did also Mormon Mitt,
And the former was a zealot, and the latter full of shit;
So upon that stricken multitude grim, still his cronies sat,
But there seemed but little chance of Johnny getting to the bat.
But Huck let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Sarah, the much despis-ed pinch-hitter, fooled millions despite her gall;
And when the dust had lifted, and old men saw what had occurred,
There was Sarah safe at second and some Nut a-hugging third.
Then from 40 Million throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled the Ohio Valley, it rattled Wisconsin’s Dells;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Johnny, POW Johnny, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Johnny’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Johny’s bearing and a smirk on Johny’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he broke into a yarn,
‘Bout War Heroes entitled to power, and organizers not worth a darn.
Millions of eyes were on him, despite Rich Cindy’s dress;
And for every time he had no answer, he blamed it on the press.
Then while the opponent spoke with grace, and intelligence to wit,
Defiance gleamed in Johnny’s eye, a sneer curled Johnny’s lip.
And now a question on the economy came hurtling through the air,
And after some classic flopping, he stood silent in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the Arizonan, the question unheeded sped-
“I don’t know that much,” said Johnny. “Strike one,” the nation said.
Blaming liberals and black people, there went up a muffled roar,
From Malkin the self-righteous, to Rush and the alarmist whores.
“Muslim! Flag Pins! Rezko!” shouted many from the stand;
And Johnny heard the message, sending ads across the land.
With a smile of faux-Christian charity, Johnny’s pale visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He winked right at the pitcher, some rube named W;
Remembering their thick embrace, the nation said, “Strike two.”
“Fraud!” cried indignant conservatives, “we’ll need vast voter-fraud”;
And after one race-baiting speech from Palin, the Wingnuts were all awed.
Some said, he’s still ’Just Ol’ John,’ a ‘Maverick’ he remains,
And they knew that Johnny wouldn’t let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Johnny’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
And Trusty Joe whispers in his ear, words John regurgitates.
And though W still holds the ball, and soon he’ll let it go,
The air remains shattered by the force of what Johnny doesn’t know.
Oh, everywhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere troops come home, and kids with health care shout;
But there is no joy in Nutville – mighty Johnny has struck out.