Dash It All, McCain Is Off His Trolley

(It behooves me to warn any delicate young ladies that may be reading this visual-teletype newsie that coarse words are contained herein. You may wish to peruse the latest sewing samples and leave this nasty business alone altogether. Gentle-men, if your wives are headstrong or happen to read this while you are earning your wage, I suggest you prepare yourself to care for them once they swoon with a case of the vapors.)

Great Scott! I cannot believe my eyes, good people! Have we finally come to a point in time when lack of respect for the fair sex is as common as the latest penny-dreadful? 'Pon my mutton, I cannot begin to express my shock and dismay in learning that my former bosom chum, John S. McCain, has uttered one of the most foul words possible not only in front of, but in reference to his good lady wife. That a good, upstanding, full-trousered man such as McCain could possibly utter such filth in front of such a comely young lass makes my whiskers tremble! I do say, what kind of a world do we live in where men are using the word "trollop" in reference to the delicate maidens that launder their shirts?

I am flabbergasted that my bosom chum would dare voice such a disgusting word; the language of the shanty town! Why, it was McCain himself that set my mind upon the straight and narrow when it comes to the delicate ways of handling ladies, being that they are quick to succumb to hysteria. Back in the day, we had an investment together in the Nilsson Monowheel factory, and we would often lunch together on head cheese sandwiches and sassafrass. On one occasion, I had noted that I had recently purchased a spanking new Senniger wash-tub for my good lady wife on the anniversary of our nuptials.

"Benjamin, old sport... don't you realize you are blundering into a hornet's nest?" he said.

"Why, whatever do you mean, John Sidney, old top?" I responded. "This is a jim-dandy gift; one with which any petticoated petalcheek would be most pleased."

"Zounds, old bean!" he exclaimed, "Are you mad? You'll get her all bothered up with such a gift!"

I must admit that I was agape and aghast. Here I was, pleased as punch to be presenting my Mrs. Benjamin H. Grumbles with a sparkling new wash-tub (one I had spent many a jitney upon, I can tell you), and apparently it was leading towards a life of stink-eyes and cold dinners! "Now, draw your furrow straighter, John Sidney old man, and help me to avoid getting my wife's dander up," I exclaimed.

Yes, my friends, even I, Benjamin H. Grumbles can be quite the galoot. In my zeal to save a plug or two, I foolishly forgot the hand-cranked washing machine to pair with the wash-tub! By Jingo, I was hankering for hard knocks in the home! Why, I would never hear the end of it, at least until the dinner dishes had been cleared and the brandy had been served!

But I digress from the vapors-inducing lollypop-lashing at hand. That such a quick-witted comrade could sink to such depths makes my suspenders snap, good people. It wasn't as if his good lady wife was up the duff, or giving him the mitten, for heaven's sake! To lose one's temper over such a trivial thing as hair loss is the pinnacle of hoity-toity slobberchopsery.

Hear me now, McCain! I expect a swift and most public apology to your beauteous wife, post-haste! It's time you acknowledge the corn and let the world know what I already do, that you are a cad and a bounder of the highest order! I expect no less, or Benjamin H. Grumbles will be rolling up his shirt-sleeves to give you a sound thrashing, b'God!

(A most gentlemanly tip of my silken stovepipe to the shapely-ankled Kathy G.)

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