If there’s a God, he waited too goddamn long.
u.$. eques, and Grand Ole Man of the carpet bombing, John McCain, has been diagnosed with (hopefully terminal) cancer.
The Butcher of Belgrade, the Crown Prince of Kabul, the Benefactor of Baghdad, the plutocratic/plutonium pencil-pusher extraordinaire, who has for decades appropriated monies for, cheered at, and justified every u.$. intervention, every life destroyed by u.$. aggression, is finally meeting his maker (which one might be forgiven for mistaking for a taffy-puller and a nest of yellow-jackets, ’cause how else do you just look like that?) and sadly not at the hands of the world masses (unless hating people to death is a thing, in which case I may have killed Joan Rivers).
The Mayo Clinic announced Wednesday that the 80-year-old (and therefore unlikely to survive, thank the fucking saints) was diagnosed with a glioblastoma, a “very aggressive” type of brain tumor (stop, you’re making me giddy!) Naturally, all the parasites and baby-killers poured out their get-well-soons, from the Obamas to the Orange Duce himself, but I assure you, dear reader, it wont work. Evil as they are, they aren’t literal necromancers, which is about the only thing that can save Johnny B Dead now.
While we’re at it, why doesn’t McCain take that ghoul Carter, who actually has repeatedly defied my (and the progressive worlds’) hopes several times, kicking and screaming down to hell with him? Who’s next? Oh, there are so many aging imperialist scum-bags, virtually every week from now on will be a bonanza. Kohl kicked the bucket last month. What’re the odds on Kissinger? Come on, Bush Sr.!
Of course, waiting for nature to pull the rug out from under these flesheaters cannot compare to their meeting justice at the hands of the broad masses, but we take what we can get.
The only question that remains is what circle of hell the powers that be had to dive to in order to find a disease more malignant than the man himself.