McCain has wanted to be POTUS all his life. He wanted to prove to his distant, emotionally aloof Dad that he was lovable. Nobody ever told him: That'll do Pig. That'll do.

So he sat there, and watched this exotic figure winning over the electorate on his own merits, and he came up with a scheme. He would create a MONSTER. And the MONSTER would destroy his opponent and sweep himself into office. So he went down down down into the dungeon of his castle with his sidekick the Wolf Woman of Wasilla and cobbled together some dead stories, and mummified rumors, and stitched them together with lies and the glue of deception, and he thrust his piece meal corpse up in to the sky to bring down the lightning and the thunder, and low and behold, the fire of the GODS landed on his creature, and it got up off the table and began to STOMP around all over the place, scaring the shit out of everybody.

And when he talked to it, trying to calm it down, trying to control the MONSTER, it turned on him, and with arms outstretched, it began to stalk him, booing him as it stomped and whomped--and McCain saw what he had done, what he had unleased, and he threw his hands up in fear and loathing and cried. No! No! My opponent is a decent family man citizen. But the MONSTER could not hear, and went stomping on out into the darkness...the screams of the frightened villagers echoed through the valley...it was time for torchlights and pitchforks...

Thus always is the way with MONSTERS...