FLAGSTAFF, AZ — John McCain today had himself nailed to a huge wooden cross — with the exact dimensions as the one used for Jesus — in order to prove his devoutness to the still skeptical evangelical electorate.
“This is nothing,” said the Senator from Arizona. “Once you’ve spent seven years in solitary confinemen inside a Hanoi prison, having someone poke a few nails through your wrists and feet feels like child’s play.”
The devout made pilgrimage to Flagstaff to bear witness to their new martyr. Arriving by the thousands, they wanted physical proof that John McCain had finally aligned with their pious views.
The crowd gathered around the senator to inspect his wounds and bear witness to the blood dripping from his veins. “He’s got my vote,” said one zealot.
But others were more skeptical. “How do we know he’s really a believer?” said a young pastor in the crowd. “Perhaps he’s just pandering to win our votes.”
“Where’s the crown of thorns?” asked a small child. “There’s no crown of thorns. He’s not jesus. He’s a liar!”
The crowd began to shout: “Liar, Liar. McCain’s a liar.”
“Let’s crucify the son-of-a-bitch,” came a voice from the crowd. Others were yelling, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
“Hold on, my friends,” said McCain. “I’m already attached to this thing. You can’t crucify me again!”
“Pull him down and nail him back up,” came a voice.
“Pull him down and nail him back up!” yelled the crowd.
The angry throng mobbed McCain, with threatening abandon. “Hey watch it, you fuckheads,” shouted an angry McCain. “Even Jesus didn’t have to go through it twice!”
“Wait,” said the pastor. “We’ll take him down only if he proves to us his unyielding committment.” Looking up toward McCain, he asked, “When does life begin?”
McCain, losing blood and starting to turn paler than normal, responded with, “Uh, seven months…”
The crowd hisssed and booed and started to walk away.
“I meant six,” said McCain. “Six months.”
The crowd kept on going.
“Don’t go anywhere; it’ll come to me,” said McCain as he tried to come up with an answer that would appease the crowd. “Uh, third trimester? Second! I mean the second trimester!”
But the crowd was not impressed. They picked up their campaign signs and elephant party hats and sauntered off into the distance.
Finally, he blurted out, “At conception. Life begins at conception.”
The crowd stopped, turned around and cheered. A group of carpenters brought their tools and started to remove McCain from the crucifix.
“No,” said the pastor. “Our code of honor forbids us from setting him free until those who have been crucified before him are freed. First one hung, first one released.”
The elders threw a confused glance at one another and shrugged. The carpenters put their tools away. The crowd dropped their signs and made way to the Barack Obama rally on the other side of town.
McCain remained alone on his straight talk crucifix; his pain, a constant reminder of the price of pandering, his lips, slowly curling into his signature crooked smile. “I wonder if the Jews will go for this?”