FUNERAL OF SATANIC SENATOR MARRED BY DRY-EYED OUTBURST BY FAKELY GRIEVING DAUGHTER

There was little doubt that the funeral of failed American politician John McCain would become something of a "political football" to be used to attack President Trump in some way. 

This is because nowadays the globalist-controlled mainstream media would use a donkey farting in a field in Bolivia to somehow attack Trump, so filled with hate are they for a politician that is only partly under their control.

So, when the dead politician's daughter, failed TV news presenter Meghan McCain (estimated weight: 105 kg) raised her blimp-like form to the rostrum at the funeral service held on Saturday (1st Sept.), we all knew what was coming -- a crass diatribe aimed at the President dressed up in the rags of an over-emotive mourner.

As she fumbled with her onion, which failed to emit the necessary fumes to produce fake tears from her cake-engorged body, Ms. McCain ran through her schmaltzy lines.

"He was a great man," she said of the failed navy pilot who was captured by some Vietnamese children with bamboo sticks in 1967 and kept in a cricket cage for several years, singing on request.

"He was a great fire who burned bright. In the past few days, my family have heard from so many Americans who stood in the warmth and light of his fire and illuminated what is best. We are grateful to them because they are grateful to him. A few have resented that fire, for the light it cast upon them. For the truth it revealed about their character. But my father never cared what they thought and even that small number still have the opportunity, as long as they draw breath, to live up to the example of John McCain."

The blatant absurdity of these words proved to be too much for many audience members, who, up until that moment, had been trying to stop laughing by biting their lips. It was only by a sudden outburst of fake applause that they were able to drown out the sound of their guffaws and shrieks of hilarity.

Meghan McCain: Onion malfunction

After this awkward moment the speech them plumbed new depths of makwish sentimentality that had the audience wishing that Satan would open up the ground beneath McCain's coffin and swallow him down to Hell already:

"Imagine the warrior, the knight of the skies, gently caring his little girl to bed. Imagine the dashing aviator who took his his aircraft hurdling off pitching decks in the South China Seas kissing the hurt when I skinned my knee. Imagine the distinguished statesman who counselled presidents and the powerful singing with his little girl in Oak Creek during a rainstorm to “Singing in the Rain.” Imagine the Senator taking his daughter out of school because he believed I would learn more about America at the town halls he held. Imagine the elderly veteran of four and government whose wisdom and courage were sought by distinguished men, with his eyes shining as happiness as he gave his blessing for his grown daughter’s marriage. You all have to imagine that. I don’t have to because I lived it all. I know who he was. I know what defined him. I got to see it every single day of my blessed life."

Somehow missing in this "summation," which would have done honour to the propaganda factories of North Korea and Stalinist Russia, Meghan forgot to mention her father shilling for every single war that came along, and pushing for the funding ISIS. 

Nor did she touch upon her father's abject servility to the "open borders" globalists who want to destroy America more surely than any communist invasion ever could.

Then she mentioned an odd incident earlier in the Satanic Senator's life, when he met his second wife and which prophesied his own eternal fate in the ever-burning fires of Hades:

"On their first date, when he did not know what sort of woman she was, he recited a Robert Service poem to her called “The Cremation of Sam McGee” about an Alaskan prospector who welcomes his cremation as the only way to get warm in the icy north. 'There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold / The arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold.'"

Oddly she forgot to mention how the poem ended, which is the most fitting epitaph a man like McCain can have:

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

SUPPORT ETERNAL JUSTICE FOR DEAD POLITICIANS