Lee Stranahan: Yes, We C*nt!

by Lee Stranahan [courtesy of Politics on HuffingtonPost.com]

Dear Senator McCain,

Okay. Awkward moment yesterday. Somebody at an event asked you if you'd ever called your wife a c*nt, as it's reported you did in Cliff Schecter's book The Real McCain. There's video of your sputtering non-denial making it's way all over YouTube.

I am here to help.

This could get ugly for you but before I lay out my strategy there's a problem of language in discussing this story. The press doesn't have any idea how to even talk about it. They get all giggly and red faced.

So, I suggest we all agree to change the official spelling of the c-word to c*nt. That will be less embarrassing for everyone. From now on c*nt means 'c*nt' -- got it?

Now, here's my plan. Triangulate, spin, fire!

You've already done this with 'anger'. If the press works up the courage to ask you about anger -- like when you attacked Rick Renzi -- you say that your anger about high taxes is a good thing. Whoosh, boing, well played!

Now, it's time to kick your c*nt game up a level!

You stand in front of a town hall meeting. A planted questioner raises his hand and asks you, "Did you call your wife a c*nt?"

Yes, I called my wife a c*nt...and I'm proud of it.

When I was a top gun pilot serving in America's great military I'd sometimes have to land on a thin landing strip...and I'd think of c*nts. My friends, when I see taxes rise even a c*nt hair, I want to slap those taxes down and make them me Grandpa.

Even as I look out over this crowd, I see a sea of c*nts. Yes, I see some c*cks too and some *ssholes and even a few *i**o*. But mostly I see c*nts, my friends.

Old fashioned c*nts. Red white and blue c*nts. The kind of c*nts that our brave soldiers overseas fight to protect. The c*nts that bring a smile to the faces of working men -- and let's be honest, some of the ladies -- at end of a hard day of honest labor. The c*nts that gave birth to this great nation.

When I look at America, I see millions of c*nts. Fat c*nts, skinny c*nts, c*nts who climb on rocks. Tough c*nts, sissy c*nts...even c*nts with chicken pox!

So, my friends, I will not back down from the straight talk about c*nts, whether it's an Al Queda terrorist or someone as near and dear to me as my wife. If it were up to me, I'd stay in a c*nt for a hundred years...maybe a thousand.

Now, which one of you c*nts has another question for me?