John McCain hates me,
This I know to be true,
Because he hates the bloggers,
In the name of red, white and blue.

The weekend is nearly over,
Back to work I must go,
Well, back upstairs anyway,
Because my checkbook tells me so.

The grill-master was at it again,
Whitefish, brushed with olive oil,
Spinach, with garlic and onion,
Asparagus, roasted in foil.

And now I sit with my wine,
After three days filled with bliss,
Blue skies, gentle breezes, family,
Feeling that nothing’s amiss.

Oh, that thing about Mr. McCain?
You know I’m not political, dear,
But I think he’s afraid of all of us,
And he gives me something to fear.

—- Seriously? “JOHN MCCAIN: “Now we’ve got the cables. We’ve got talk radio. We’ve got the bloggers. I hate the bloggers. We’ve got all kinds of sources of information.” The Pony Express! Telegraph! Smoke-signals! Why do we need more than that? —-