The last politician I admired was George W. Bush. Yeah, yeah, I know -- weapons of mass destruction. But I'm talking about the man, not the politician, and W. was and still is a standup guy: a devoted husband, father and son and faithful servant of the Lord, if anyone cares about that sort of thing. Before Bush it was Jimmy Carter, and before Carter it was JFK, until I learned he was an ordinary scumbag like most politicians, having affairs with women in the White House while his wife was busy pretending they lived in Camelot.
These days they all make me sick, and I can't say that Donald Trump is the worst of the lot. After all, who can top Anthony Weiner texting pictures of his, well, his weiner, to young women? John McCain has entered the fray with his announcement, as he nears death from brain cancer, that he doesn't want Trump at his funeral. He's taking their fight to the afterlife, and that kind of arrogance just might keep him out of Heaven. (If anyone believes in that sort of thing.)
A recent New York Times article about the chasm separating the two men included the following paragraph: "Trump cited bone spurs in his heels to avoid Vietnam. McCain, a Navy pilot, had an arm broken and ribs cracked during the torture that he endured while imprisoned by the North Vietnamese." So because he survived imprisonment and got a broken arm and cracked ribs, he's a hero? Is that really all it takes? (I've got to agree with Trump on this one: I like the ones who don't get captured.)
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