POLJUNK

Can we please get off of the idea that John McCain is some wizard of foreign policy? I mean, he gets the sunnis and shia confused half the time, wanted to immediately add Georgia to NATO despite the fact that the US (nor does any other NATO member) have the authority to grant immediate inclusion, and now he's just pissed of Spain.

He was either very confused as to who the PM of Spain is; he wants to punish Spain for pulling out of Iraq; or he is rewriting US foreign policy on the fly and nixing one of our longest allies.

McCain proceeded to launch into what appeared to be a boilerplate declaration about Mexico and Latin America — but not Spain — pressing the need to stand up to world leaders who want to harm America. "I will meet with those leaders who are our friends and who want to work with us cooperatively," according to one translation. The reporter repeated the question two more times, apparently trying to clarify, but McCain referred again to Latin America.

Finally, the questioner said, "Okay, but I'm talking about Europe - the president of Spain, would you meet with him?" The Senator offered only a slight variance to his initial comment. "I will reunite with any leader that has the same principles and philosophy that we do: human rights, democracy, and liberty. And I will confront those that don't [have them]."

Jesus...

PS: The title of this post references my favorite poems:
Trouble with Spain - Charles Bukowski
I got in the shower
and burned my balls
last Wednesday.

met this painter called Spain,
no, he was a cartoonist,
well, I met him at a party
and everybody got mad at me
because I didn't know who he was
or what he did.

he was rather a handsome guy
and I guess he was jealous because
I was so ugly.
they told me his name
and he was leaning against the wall
looking handsome, and I said:
hey, Spain, I like that name: Spain.
but I don't like you. why don't we step out
in the garden and I'll kick the shit out of your
ass?

this made the hostess angry
and she walked over and rubbed his pecker
while I went to the crapper
and heaved.

but everybody's angry at me.
Bukowski, he can't write, he's had it.
washed-up. look at him drink.
he never used to come to parties.
now he comes to parties and drinks everything
up and insults real talent.
I used to admire him when he cut his wrists
and when he tried to kill himself with
gas. look at him now leering at that 19 year old
girl, and you know he
can't get it up.

I not only burnt my balls in that shower
last Wednesday, I spun around to get out of the burning
water and burnt my bunghole
too.