Poor Baby Alex. John McCain can't have him. Mom's not going to let the child make that choice. We know the kind of Mom the child has and the kind of man Baby Alex is going to make:
The military's never going to be a career choice for Baby Alex, because Mom's against war and stuff. He's never going to drive a tank, fly a helicopter, land a C130 on a patch of dirt, or stand watch on a destroyer on a stormy night.
He'll never become a policeman because they deal with all sorts of sordid people: tacky, low-class people who are really oppressed by the system, but, well, you wouldn't want them in your home would you?
He'll never hang around the firehouse with the guys, polishing a truck and waiting for an alarm. He'll never drive an ambulance, never stop somebody's bleeding, never crack somebody's ribs administering CPR, though he might have a class in high school, if it's a required course.
Baby Alex will never experience the pleasure of hunting, because guns are dangerous and they kill people and why would Baby Alex want to kill Bambi? Or even Thumper?
He'll never spend an afternoon fishing, never pull in a big 'un, because fish have feelings, too, y'know. How would you like to be pulled into the water with a hook in your lip? And he might fall into the drink and drown.
He'll never play football with the guys because he'll prob'ly get hurt. Maybe some touch football, but only if the Kennedys are playing. Nor will he play hockey, because getting a mouthful of puck might ruin his orthodontic smile.
He's never going to spend a day baling hay and squirting sweat, never going to enjoy the smell of cow shit, chase a shoat, or ride a horse without wearing a helmet.
He'll never spend a summer working on a construction crew. He's never going to slave for a bricklayer, mixing mortar and learning bad language while watching a few pallets of bricks become a building. He's never going to fish wire or pipe a house or even shingle a roof. He's too good to work at minimum wage or barely above. And lots of those kinds of people are Mexicans or Guatamalans or other foreigners.
Baby Alex is gonna be misdiagnosed with ADHD while he's in pre-K. He'll spend the years between 4 and 11 in a prescription drug-induced haze and then he's going to turn 12 and develop acne. He's going to spend his teenage years sitting in front of the teevee playing video games and complaining to his Mom about how tough his so-called life is.
He's going to attend junior college, eventually majoring in modern dance, where his English professor is going to help him resolve the youthful crisis of his sexuality and then he's going to spend a couple years hanging around Gay Pride gatherings. Sometime around the age of 23 or 24 he's going to meet a muscular black woman named Sylvia and discover he's not really homosexual and never was.
He's going to end his days an attempted suicide, the barrel of a .38 in his mouth. He's going to lose his nerve at the last moment but still manage to blow his lower jaw off, drowning in his own blood. His mother is going to have him buried in the cheapest coffin they make and sue the paramedics for not getting there sooner or being more interested.
He'll live and die without ever knowing that John McCain actually doesn't want him.
