I am desperately trying to break up with a very, very old flame of mine. You know. Write a Dear John letter. But it isn’t as easy as you might expect. So I thought I would share with you my little Dear John letter to John McCain. And how I got to the final version. Okay, not really an old flame. More like a flicker of light eight years ago. But it was brief. Not even a one night stand. The closest we got to a relationship was walking past each other on the road to freedom. (He was walking the other way). But just in case he got my signals all mixed up and wrong – here is my Dear John letter.


Dear John,

Line 1: I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but…

our romance is over. No, wait, our affair is dead… sorry, not that type of Dear John letter. 

I’m entering a convent? Not yet, only if you become Prez. 

Our horoscopes clash… Obviously. I have the scope – you have the horror.

You need to bathe more! Maybe just wash your hair a bit and it should be fine.

Your nostrils offend me. Only when it flares.

I’m in love with your sister. Nope. But your wife is rather pretty.

You’re a schmuck. Yep, that’s it! Stop saying you want a new type of election where values play a role. You are doing what Bush did to you back then. Stop lying to me. Only a schmuck would do that.

Line 2: I think I first knew it…

Skinny dipping… No!

Tripping on tangerine seeds? So 60’s man. And you were already old even back then.

Last Arbor Day. Almost, I should have seen it coming when you started chopping down trees on Arbor day. But that’s not it.

When I saw that shrunken head. Well, no. That was just your advisers.

That night… no, last year – almost. But that was just you and Bush in a special moment…

When you shackled me. That’s the one! I thought you had enough of torture and were against it. Should have know better. You should have known better. Torture is like pornography – you’ll know it when you see it.

Line 3: And I saw you (fill in the gap with the text below) that crazed monk my penpal in Ghana my Billy Carter statue the USA.

Make a pass at… Oops, just you and Bush again.

Sit on… Anything really, just to give those old bones a rest. But that’s not it.

Carve your initials on… Air Force One. But no.

Pour syrup over. Sorry – wrong letter. Wrong person. Right idea.

Exercise. Ewe! Not a pretty picture. Please don’t be a jogger Prez if you get there.

Tear the clothes off… Again. Not a pretty sight…

Apply leeches to? Nah – done the torture bit already.

Render impotent. Yes! Render impotent the great USA with your foul foreign policies. Get a grip man. I’ll do a special Foreign Policy 101 for you in the next few days. Really got to start reading something other than Harry Potter. Really not good for understanding foreigners. You know Harry isn’t real right? It s movie… sorry, picture show.

Line 4: I’m sure you’re man sensitive open-minded ashamed gutless frostbitten Republican senile masochistic enough to see…

I’m allergic to your hamster. No! But any reason would do, really. Just stay away from me please.

That I’m bionic. Not even that can make my legs move fast enough to get away.

I’ve had a sex change. Not even for you John.

Your Datsun sucks. Uh?

There is no Santa Claus. You need a beard and moustache to complete that picture. And a bit more on the top as well please.

there is no Mid-East solution.

How miserable I’ve been. Yes. Every single time I see you now I ask myself, “What happened to the man we loved? Or almost loved?” You are not the same Straight Talking Express anymore my man. Your the Flip-Flop Depress. And it’s not pretty. Sell your soul to the devil…

Line 5: I’m returning…

Your ring. No. Sorry -again wrong letter. And I am keeping that one. I am South African and you should know that we don’t part with our diamonds easily.

Your love letters. Nah. Those were meant for Bush in any case.

Our matching Snoopy bibs. I don’t need them in any case. I don’t really drool. I was just trying to make you feel better.

Your dentures. Why do you have so many spares in any case?

To sleeping around. Hum. No.

To the commune. Because love is all around baby. I feel the love at Commune Obama. The happy hippies. Sorry dude. It’s by invitation only. Not elitist at all. You just have to be sane to be included. Or human and humane. But that’s not it. Sorry to disappoint you but we are not some group of far-left hippies. Just normal people who want to live normal lives.

Your Darth Vader poster. Yes! Or as you call it your “self-portrait”. You know that was the Dark Side right? Don’t go there my man. You always managed to walk a fine line between the Force and the Farce. You are going way too far over to the right farce side now.

Line 6: But I’m holding on to (fill in the gap with text below) as a keepsake…

Murray’s leotards. Oops. Wrong letter.

Your photo. Ewe.

My sanity. Gotta have that my man. But that’s not it.

Your police record. Or rather. Your policing record. Not nice – but that’s not it.

Those oil stocks. Yes! Thanks to you and your mates I should be able to make loads of dough from the high gas prices. Keep it going my man. You are making me and all those other foreigners nice and stinking rich. Don’t worry about the climate. Who needs it in any case? Not at your age.

Line 7: I want you to know that I’ll always treasure never forget try to blot out tell the “Enquirer” about tell my priest about be a lot better off without your…

Eggplant fetish. WTF? It smells you know.

Jackie Mason imitations. You are not funny. Ever.

Hatred of the Red Sox. Oh I know you my little friend.


Senility. There are pills you can take… Remember Sunni and Shiite? There is a difference. Like Sonny and Cher. Just more depressing. And older.

Screwing up World War II. That is so last year.

New life as a clone. Yes! We don’t need another four years of the same. Please don’t do this to me. I don’t think my weak little heart can take it anymore. And you always cross the line between clone and clown you know. Please don’t hug him like that and call him your friend. It’s not nice man. Just not nice. Scary yes. Very, very scary.

Fondly Sincerely Painfully Good luck on your parole Up yours With great relief Now bug off Regards to your creepy (political) family,



Note: The complete letter…

Dear John,

I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but you’re a schmuck. I think I first knew it when you shackled me. And I saw you render impotent the USA. I’m sure you’re masochistic enough to see how miserable I’ve been. I’m returning your Darth Vader poster. But I’m holding on to those oil stocks as a keepsake. I want you to know that I’ll be a lot better off without your new life as a clone.

Regards to your creepy (political) family,

Angry African

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