Meghan McCain’s libido has dried up – a tale of woe-is-me

Oh, dearie me, the rich spawn of a political loser is having trouble dating.  Apparently, Meghan McCain finds both fans of Obama and fans of her own father repellant:

Once I went out with a guy who said the food I had ordered was a “maverick choice” and proceeded to tell me, “Wow, straight talking must run in the family.” It’s like someone taking Lisa Marie Presley out on a date and singing “Hound Dog” in the middle of dinner.

Poor Miss Thang can’t date liberals, can’t date McCainanites, and just seems to have one wacko date after another.  Awwwww… 

Well, we here at They Had It Coming are fucking glad her love life sucks ass–anyone who openly and fervently supported a Republican candidate after the quagmire and illegal illegitimacy of the Bush administration should have his/her genitals sewn shut and be forced into a mendicant monastery, where he/she can make me some Trappist Ale and charge me half-price for being a much better person than any bullshit Republican stooge.  And I don’t care if your dad is a fucking candidate–my dad teaches finance, and you don’t see me at seminars going apeshit over Keynesian economics.  Actually, that doesn’t sound half bad… fuck, I’ve wasted my life.

Anyway, my favorite part is when she’s shocked that some guys might fetishize her for looking just like her mother:

One extreme fan of my mother’s recently told me I could be “his Cindy.” And then asked me if I ever wore pearls because they probably would look as good on me as they do on my mother. No, I’m not kidding. Any guy that has a fetish for older women in pantsuits and large pearls obviously only finds my last name attractive about me.

Don’t you get it, Meghan?  It’s not the last name, it’s the PILLS!  Clearly your family has access to high-grade pharmaceuticals that only my friend with kidney stones and my other friend who just got out of jail have access to on a regular basis.  I guarantee, if you and I could just get together and break into your mother’s stash, we’d both forget all about our dating frustrations.  We could ascend into the astral plane, above libido and the needs of the flesh, where our opium dreams of an immortal Ronald Reagan crushing tax breaks for the poor with Star Wars missiles strapped to his wrinkled feet would never die.  And Rush Limbaugh would be there too, looking down on Michael Steele and laughing, a cigar made out of Abu Ghraib prisoners burning its way down to his mouth literally drooling out liquid hypocrisy, which no one would care about, because we were too rich and too fucked up.  Oh, joyous day!  Cindy McCain, what I wouldn’t do to date your doctor, I mean, daughter!