John McCain Has 12 Things To Do Today

1. Wake from a nightmare to start another day reviving presidential campaign, also a nightmare.
2. Breakfast leisurely while caught in a moment of self pity. What’s the point in wolfing down another crumpet? Why can’t a morning cup of juice be more enjoyable? Obama isn’t so special, is he? Why must everything be so unfair?
3. Arrive at the office late, noticeably disheveled. Instruct advisors to call Jon Stewart again; command that this be done every day until another appearance on The Daily Show is secured. Remain oblivious to unmistakable silence when insisting, “I’m a big hit with the younger generation. They love me.”
4. Sit at desk and pretend to work while staring at a picture of the President, a shot taken during the 2004 campaign. Have trouble tearing gaze away from the stupid grin on his stupid face.
5. Call the President and congratulate him for standing firm against the increasingly loud calls for withdraw. Compliment his thoughtful language, his courage, his strength of will.
6. Review latest poll numbers. Whip coffee mug at low-level staffer during an abrupt fit of rage, screaming, “That fucking Mormon? Are you joking?”
7. Return to desk to regroup. Take deep breaths. It was a good idea to make peace with Falwell; that was the best way to shore up support from the base. Walk to restroom and dry heave for several minutes.
8. Skip lunch. It doesn’t matter. Roll up sleeves and try to figure out what’s gone wrong. It can’t be the well-established efforts to reform campaign finance law, it can’t be firmly stated disapproval of harsh interrogation techniques, it can’t be the Straight Talk Express, it can’t be the Gang of 8, it can’t be the veteran angle. What, then? What is it?
9. Spend afternoon detailing latest trip to Iraq with remaining staff and any aides that have yet to quit. Show pictures proudly, pontificate about the significance of the struggle, outline a strategy for success, trail off in silence. Sigh.
10. Walk to restroom and lock door. Stand in front of mirror and shout, “Shut up! Shut up! Shut your filthy mouth! I told you to lay off, now shut your trap!”
11. Pick up a random office phone and dial Rove’s number. Hang up.
12. Wander out the door as evening approaches. Don’t bother telling staff, don’t bother looking over the campaign’s travel schedule--can’t afford gas for the Express anyway. Buy a pair of hot dogs from a street vendor and smother them in mustard. Who says retirement is boring? I bet I’d be around for more sunsets. Maybe move to Florida and take up fishing. I like hot dogs. I really do.