The House With the McCain-Palin Sign That I Passed En Route to the Train Today.
You’re a smallish white house on a decent corner lot on the corner of Memorial Drive and Atlantic. You’re essentially non-descript, except for the blue McCain-Palin sign in the middle of your front lawn.
Dude, it’s over. McCain went down in a frothing jangle of desperate cries of “socialism!” and “Joe the Plumber!” almost 11 weeks ago. Despite the valiant efforts of your little sign, shivering in the 10 degree chill as I hustled toward the Hummerville station for the 8:16 this morning, the senator simply won’t be sworn in in front of the frenzied masses next week.
Perhaps you’re thinking, as long as the sign remains in the lawn, the salty old flyboy–and his telegenic deputy who spies on Putin from her veranda–still has a chance. Maybe it’s like the bedroom of a deceased loved one that sits untouched years after said loved one’s departure–to box up the books, the clothes, the photos would be to admit they’re never to return. And so another day passes, and personal effects remain untouched.
But it’s just not happening.
So please, house on Memorial Drive (such a fitting street name!), remove that dated sign from your lawn and retire it to the place where campaign signs of losing candidates go.
I’m sure you’ll be fast friends with Kerry-Edwards.
Tauntingly,
Trainjotting