He was hoping to convince independent voters, particularly women.
The name Joe has historically been used as a prefix for a variety of terms meant to define the proverbial average, generic American. G.I. Joe, Your Average Joe, Joe Blow, Joe Lunch Pail, Joe Six Pack, and Joe Schmoe, are firmly embedded in our common lexicon. “Just some Joe” has come to imply the image of a bland, white male, Midwestern laborer of humble means, somewhat simple mind and tastes. Joe aspires only to put grub on the table for his family, keep a roof over the heads of his wife and kids, make sure they are dressed, educated and God fearing.
Joe wants his kids to go to college, to have it better than he had it growing up. He aspires to see them as doctors, lawyers, accountants, union members or supervisors in some mill, factory or industrial plant. He wants to spare them the hard-scrabble, uphill, climb he endured to reach the Nirvana-like goal of suburban middle classdom that he now finds himself precariously clinging to. He wants them to aim high while never forgetting where they came from. He knows they will come to respect his sometimes stern discipline because, as they get older, they will see the light and finally realize that Joe, their Dad, did know better and, in fact, was right about every fucking thing.
The fact that in his 30 years in Congress, John McCain has done little for the little man like Joe, did not dissuade him from invoking him now during his moment of need. McCain has done a good deal to help block Joe from getting his crack at the American Dream. McCain has been an intimate ally to big business, corporate lobbyists, high dollar special interests and his voting record reflects his disdain for the plight of the Main Street Joe.
The John McCain indicted for influence peddling during the “Keating Five” scandal did not have an epiphany thereafter. John carefully concealed his cozy relationships with the behind the scenes power brokers, fund raising millionaires repeatedly repaying them by decreasing their taxes, passing legislation favorable to the wealthiest while all the Joe’s got chocked, squeezed and generally fucked as a result. John McCain is as far removed form John Q. Public (Joe’s metaphoric Grandpa) as Joe’s wife is from McCain’s millionaire heiress spouse. Joe is about to default on his mortgage, in part, as a direct result of McCain and company’s legislative handiwork while Johnny himself doesn’t even KNOW how many house he and his wife own. Come on, John!
John seems to have discovered Joe in the waning days of his failing bid to be our President. His voting record in the Senate clearly illustrates exactly how little John has thought of Joe. McCain helped pave the way for Joe to be in the awful position he now finds himself in. Joe doesn’t have a good Joe-type job, good retirement, access to affordable quality medical care and sense of financial security. McCain has let Joe pay through the nose for gasoline, groceries and all the other items every Joe needs.
Last night the John McCain, born into a blue blooded, storied military dynasty with a silver rudder up his ass, promised – vehemently vowed – he would do all sorts of things, fight tooth and nail, shed blood sweat and tears for Joes he never gave a moments consideration to before.
If the real or a real Joe would have been sitting around the table with Johnny, Barry and Bob Scheiffer last night, he might have had a few poignant questions for his new found savior. Joe could have asked John why his son, Joe Jr., lost his legs in Iraq fighting a war of choice and why his daughter, Jolene is chronically ill because Mrs. Joe was unable to afford pre-natal medical care. John might have had to look Joe in the eye and explain what the on-going, worsening, “Wall Street Meltdown” sucked several grand from his meager 401(k) while CEO’s escaped with “golden parachutes” boldly emblazoned with the big red letters ,G O P, all over them. Joe probably could have asked John why he had not lifted a finger to do any of the things he now so urgently promises to do while serving in Congress for three decades.
Joe probably would have smacked John in the mouth.
Joe may have cast a mildly threatening glance at Barry, hitched up his well worn jeans, politely shaken hands with Ole Bob, stifled a belch, strode off the stage and returned to his reality, a nightmare that has become the harsh reality that has flourished over the past eight years.
Joe would have had to leave quickly if he were to punch in on time at his second job.
John wouldn’t have known what hit him however; soon, he will have plenty of time to figure that out.
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