I suppose Daniel Akaka coming down all hard on Cokie Roberts’ deranged spit-bubble blowing won’t have any measurable effect besides having her mother remove all the pineapple based entrees at her quasi-insidery DC restaurant; but seeing old fish-eyes trying to nastily reassert herself in American politics at this late phase in her dementia reminds me that all flesh must rot, and it starts on the hoof.

One begins to wonder if McCain publicly soiled himself if Cokie and her ilk would regard it as a somber reminder of his unflinching prisonertude for the 48 real states of the US, when he was homesick for the consumerist allures of Myrtle beach, and the aromatic company of the proles for whom he dedicated his young life.

It could even become a feature of his campaign. He could carry (or get Joe Lieberman to carry ) a big sloshing bucket of the stuff. The DC press corps could examine it daily for omens of our military future. Cokie could then intone soberly about America’s debt to John McCain. How he saved them from the Asians, and the ignominy of riding those little scooter things to work every day.

And if John and Cokie happened to accidentally brush hands during the taping of a show, might it lead to something even more emblematic of the whole notion of selfless public service?

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