On Devastation

My friends, it is a sad day in American history. A day when even a fierce patriot such as myself refuses to acknowledge his American citizenship. Yeah, my friends, though I walk through the valley of death in my regular fights for these United States, were one to ask me today from whence I came, I would say, "You're on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know."

Friends, how could this happen? How could the American People fail to recognize the courage, strength, and born-to-lead qualities in Senator McCain (or, as I like to call him during our intimate walks, "The Mac")? How could they instead elect a gun-hating, baby-killing, community-organizing, crooked Chicago senator (or, as I like to call him when I, ever-vigilant, keep him under constant brindle surveillance, "That One")?

My friends, I can't even go on. This morning, when a Commie-Loving Irish Setter passed in front of My house, I did not bark. I did not whine. I merely slept. In fact, this is the activity I plan for the next four years and two months: sleep. Maybe when I awake, it will all have been a bad dream.

P.S. Any ladies wishing to attempt to help me out of my post-election slump may send their used PoochPants® to or arrive flags at the ready at:

William John Gavin
America 91101