Salvation in a Veteran's Grilled Cajones

I find the kitten story quoted by Val to be both touching and a bit fishy. Aside from its dubious source, I believe this all-too-perfect tale could easily have a hidden meaning - perhaps it's a code decipherable only by the domestic terrorists to whom B. Hussein Obama has acknowledged ties. Before you dismiss this idea entirely, I would caution you that the writer attends the University of Chicago, making him a likely member of Senator Obama's radical cabal.

Am I implying that Val, too, is a terrorist? Of course not, because that would be rude.

And so what if this teary-eyed fable is true? What then? It is well known that in the 1930s, the Empire of Japan used smallpox-infected kittens, puppies, and other "cute" animals to decimate entire villages in Southeast Asia. What if our messianic young hero - inadvertently or not - had unleashed a deadly epidemic on the fair state of Hawaii? For this reason, I would not be the first to say that an 11-year old who traipses onto a stormy shoreline to rescue feral kittens lacks both the judgment and maturity required of an American president (not to mention experience).

I will tell you a real story. Once there was a noble air warrior who was shot down over a distant, barbaric country. He was captured and held for five and a half years, and despite having his testicles electrocuted with a car battery, he never surrendered an ounce of usable information to his captors.

This, my friends, is the man who should be our president.

Yes, America is careening fast into a crisis. Average Americans will suffer. We will all have to make sacrifices. Leadership in these trying times, however, will come in the form of straight answers, independent thinking, and balls - balls that have already taken thousands of sizzling volts for our Freedom. This is something that the wine-and-arugula socialists cannot offer the American people.

Over-educated liberal elitists like Barack Obama are content to sit back and dispense anthropological drivel about the plight of the ordinary small business owner (they call him "tax base"), or the noble military contractor ("mercenary"), or the cue ball-headed plumber ("planted lackey and impostor"), shamelessly denouncing them as "bitter" and ridiculing them for exercising their most sacred rights to a fire-breathing God and fully automatic weaponry. They are quite adept at this - Harvard's tweed jacket brigades prepare them well for it. But where have their balls been all these years? No doubt they have been resting idly against their silken Dolce & Gabbana boxer shorts, basking in unrivaled comfort and security, oblivious to the struggles of their less-privileged peers. These symphony frequenters are so far alienated from Real America that their pitiful attempts to connect with these voters should offend and disgust anyone who has ever taken one in the family jewels for our great nation.

John McCain didn't go to Harvard. The son of a mere soldier, he fought, smashed, and firebombed his way to the American Dream, as both a pilot in Vietnam and as a tax cut-toting foot soldier in the Reagan Revolution. His story could have been anyone's, although his has a happy ending: for his cunning, hard work, and grit, McCain has built himself a modest, $100 million fortune with help from his loving wife and the company she inherited. Americans should celebrate his success; after all, wouldn't his path have been accessible to anyone?

McCain believes in America, and in ordinary Americans. His selection of Sarah Palin as a running mate, an adorable woman from Main Street who attended not one, but four middle-American colleges (compare this to Sen. Obama's two - I think it's clear who the real intellectual is), demonstrates this unique, heartwarming faith. In absolutely everyone. He believes in every American's fundamental right to start his own unregulated investment bank, to take his children hunting with dynamite if he so pleases, and to harvest precious fuel from sea to shining sea. John McCain knows that the backbone of America is our innovation, our perseverance, our armaments, and the sweet, gushing oil beneath our waters.

Ordinary Americans aren't looking for a lofty-minded socialist dictator with smooth, unblemished gonads that have never known the agony of freedom's struggle; they want a leader who has been fighting for them from day one. They want a warrior president, an axe-swinging thunder god who isn't afraid to bash the skulls of America's enemies to bloody little pieces, an honest miner (and sometimes driller) for straight answers and real solutions. America has received enough "guidance" and "expertise" from effeminate, anti-American east-coast elites from Harvard and Capitol Hill. It's time for our country to pass the torch to a battle-hardened maverick, a man of the people, and a patriot. It's time to elect John McCain president.

Kevin Weltmann is a Classics and American Literature major at Brown. He enjoys contact sports, cooking, and fascism.