Now its 16 miles to the promised land

And i promise you i'm doing the best i can

-------

John McCain sat back in his comfy chair, admiring the Japanese folding curtains he had installed to separate his VIP room from the rest of the bus. Rilo Kiley blasted out of his "small white CD player"--the one with the magic screen you could touch and it would change the song. It was formerly his daughter's machine. In general, John shied away from any technology that seemed to have the ability to rise up, become sentient, and support same sex-marriages, but both Meghan and his campaign adviser had suggested he get familiar with the device in order to win the all-important "kid's these days" vote. Though, in honest moments, it was no longer the votes of these young whippersnappers with their tight jeans and tattoos and evil, homo-loving machines that he was after...

There were three successive raps at the partition. John held very still, fearing it was Cindy on the other side, ready to give him his daily colonic. But no--after a brief silence came the owl hoot signal, and John sprang up and bent open the curtains to reveal three men wearing matching devilish grins.

"Quickly men, into the camp! Before the other reporters see!" They hurried to cram themselves into the space, giggling as John stuck his head out between the screens and bellowed, "Boys only meeting! No one else is allowed until I say so!" The rest of the bus' occupants, which included a smattering of campaign volunteers, female journalists, and his beard of a second wife barely looked up from their collective activities. Only Cindy took a moment to role her eyes.

Once the boys were settled into cushions around John's feet, McCain surveyed his faithful lapdogs with a kind, benevolent eye. First there was Richard Cohen from the Washington Post, his signature shock of white hair running from his scalp to his beard all the way down to the tiny wisps emerging from the v-neck collar of his Armani pullover. To his left sat his bespectacled lizard king of the New York Times, David Brooks, whose quick wit was only matched by his Canadian forked tongue. Rounding out the pack was another Washington Poster, and another David at that. Broder was known around town for being a Democrat's worst nightmare, but for John McCain, right here and right now, he felt as if he could kiss the balding crown of the diminutive, sprightly man.

"My boys, my boys" John said jovially, pulling out from beneath the red afghan a copy of Vanity Fair, "have you seen what that young man Wolcott has gotten into his head to write about this time? He seems to believe our little boys club is more about the boys than the club, if you know what I mean." McCain threw out a wink that each of the men saw, in their starry gaze, as meant for only them. He threw an arm around Richard Cohen, with whom he had shared much during his 2000 campaign. "Now, if anyone should know better than to have a man-crush on me, it would be this son of a bitch right here!"

Brooks let out an uneasy laugh. He was noticing recently how tight his chest became whenever McCain touched Cohen, how his hands lingered a little too long on the columnist's shoulders for it to be a casual gesture of friendship. "Why can't he see?!" Brooks thought desperately, "I was the one to declare my love for him on MSNBC, and he still acts like we're at the turn of the millennium! What has Cohen done in the last eight years that's so great?!"

Meanwhile, David Broder found himself staring at McCain's rear end as the senator bent down to open up the mini-fridge and pop open a couple Heinekens. McCain turned around just in time to see the oldest of the scribes avert his eyes hastily from John's back-end. "Ha-ha!" the former-football hero chortled, "looks like David is looking for a little bromance, eh fellows?!?!" This joke was funny on two levels, because of the guy love thing, and also because David's last name was Broder. If John McCain had any clue of the seething sexual tension in this room, he didn't show it. The recipient of three heterosexual men's unrequited love passed out the beers. "Gentleman, let's toast the return to good family values and a simpler America!"

"To America!" the three reporters cried, while simultaneously thinking of a naked John McCain, oiled and waiting for them, only them...