My Ill-Gotten Gains

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“How he affords his Italian suits and his diamond-studded walking stick, his Ferraris, the enormous gems that glitter on his fingers, or the caviar, I will never know. Neither is it any of my business. I will never forget motoring up the cedar-lined drive to his manse overlooking the Shenandoah, and wondering how he could have purchased that stately domain on a blogger’s salary — and with all those children. The missus greeted me politely in the foyer before whisking me to the gallery, where were gathered notables from government and media corporate bigwigs, all enjoying his excellent armagnac whilst McCain regaled them with tales of high hobnobbery. The dinner was sumptuous, and I omit detailing it only for brevity’s sake. Later, he bested me deftly at his regulation snooker table in the billiard room, and offered me a fine Cubano from a box given him by Leon Panetta, and showed me his library, populated top to bottom with leather-bound first editions of classics in various languages, not only of Europe. We sat on the veranda and conversed on lofty themes, before I retired to my room, put up by the sweetly attired maidservants, whose decolletage I shall never forget. . . .”

30 comments

  11. Lemmen has his McCains confused. The Other other McCain who is indirectly refered to is the elitist not the Other McCain, who just happens to share the name.

  18. He married rich, so he doesn’t have to. And John’s been the dutiful Dad to his special needs daughter, although he could keep her in the attic and away from the interwebs.

  19. A few might out-write Stacy. A few might out-investigate him on a story. Many can dodge deer better.

    But nobody does butt-hurt better. You can feel the sting, hear the gnashing of teeth and the renting of hairshirt, imagine the wringing of hands, and feel the dampness of the tears and suffer the breathless sobbing.

    Paul needed to do his time in a Mississippi jail, build his own guitar out of scrap wood and catgut from strays, get strung out on heroin and booze and pills, lose several wives and maybe kill one or two, and hone his craft in encounter groups, church basements, and sleazy nip joints before he would be qualified to take the class on butt-hurt from Stacy.

    But his effort is appreciated, nonetheless. As my late mother often observed, “He will either get over it, or die from it – but it’s up to him, not me.”

  22. Holy crap! You mean Lemmen was SERIOUS when he wrote this? I thought it was a humor piece, or some kind of satirical praise. Hey stacy, can I have a picture of some of that decolletage that fella’s talkin’ about?

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