Meghan McCain's Delusional Persecution Complex

When Meghan McCain tweeted the link to her newest Daily Beast “article” on Twitter Tuesday night, my first thought was “How the hell did I get unblocked by her? Why am I seeing this tweet?”

This was disconcerting to say the least. I was afraid that I may have failed to pay my Vast Right Wing Conspiracy dues or that the H8R-Ade I had been drinking had expired and lost its strength. My second thought, upon reading the title, My Palin Problem, was “Oh, dear. This is going to be hilarious.”

I was right. The very first paragraph alone divulges Meghan McCain’s real problem; childish jealousy due to a gigantic, and unwarranted, ego mixed with a delusional persecution complex. She’s like Jan Brady, only not as groovy. The entire time I was reading the alleged article, I heard “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah!” in my head. In valley speak, no less. For that alone, she must pay.

The “Look at ME” attitude was clear right from the start. You know, instead of constantly focusing on the size of her “juicy ass,” as she calls it, she should pay a little more attention to her ballooning juicy ego. Her opening paragraph whined:

“Instead of the media concentrating on my admission of almost overdosing on Xanax the day before the election, or my goal for a new ‘big tent’ direction for the Republican Party, or any of the other racier confessions in my book, they only focused on Sarah Palin. In every interview and review it was all Sarah all the time.”

Perhaps because the ‘racier’ confessions are still pretty banal, nearly as banal as your political analysis, Meghan? Add to that the fact that even your editors apparently couldn’t make it through your entire drivel-filled book. I mean, the editing was non-existent. Which made muddling through your tripe all the more painful; in fact, I think I deserve hazard pay for doing so.

Others may not have had my fortitude, so forgive them if they failed to ask about your fancy-pants Uggs, your inane “big tent” comments, your “crazy-sex” tales, or your tragic over-use of commas. Your book was basically a tale told by a useful idiot. Full of shrieking sound and temper tantrum fury, signifying nothing.

Aside from the hilarity provided by someone who thinks incredibly highly of herself for no discernible reason, the irony displayed in the article is epic. And it is all due to Meghan McCain’s delusional persecution complex. Firstly, she talks a big game about a “big tent.” Except, by big tent she means very exclusive tent consisting only of people who agree with her and who, she desperately hopes, will worship her while they’re at it. Those who disagree with her need not apply. Tolerance for me, but not for thee, says Meghan. She’s not a fan of diversity, particularly not of diversity of thought. Because, Sarah Palin, evidently.

She writes that Sarah Palin has “haunted [Haunted!] her book tour from day one” and that “paranoia set in as I started questioning the idea [sic] that the only thing that made me interesting to some people was my association with Sarah Palin.” Um. That’s not paranoia, sweetie. As a stand-alone one-trick pony, you aren’t very interesting, no matter how desperately you try to make everything all about you. Also, questioning the idea? I suppose a little thing called standard English usage isn’t something they teach at Columbia University.

They also don’t teach proper apostrophe use either, if Meghan McCain is any indication. After inanely rambling on about how an “obsession” with Sarah Palin has turned into a “fetishization” [no word yet if that’s part of her campaign “crazy-sex” tales in a follow-up book], she laments:

“Must we, as Republican women, clone ourselves in every way as Sarahbot’s [sic] to have a serious chance of running for office? And if so, what kind of dangerous message is this sending young women?”

Huh. Clone Sarahbot’s what, exactly? For me, paranoia is setting in as I question the idea that professional publications can’t tell the difference between plural and possessive. More importantly, this indicates the crux of her problem with Sarah Palin—Meghan McCain is not Sarah Palin. She goes on in that vein to lament “Why are only women like Sarah Palin getting nominated for elected office and receiving all of the media attention? This is the question that has been plaguing me since the release of my book.”

Haunting, paranoia, plaguing. Those icky conservatives are after her again. Next up, locusts!
See, Meghan McCain wants to be looked up to and admired as a leader. She even claims to be continuing her “one woman revolution (if you will).” Yeah, no. I will not, since you asked. She can’t seem to fathom that she has no leadership qualities whatsoever, nor any original thoughts of her own, so she instead invents a persecution complex in order to explain why she isn’t Sarah Palin.

She explains it thusly: she’s too “edgy.” Meanwhile, her edginess is about as edgy as a spoon. She’s blonde! And has tattoos! And a gay friend! Granted, he’s her hairdresser, but still. Shut up, H8Rs!

No one is shutting Meghan McCain out; she is choosing to nail herself to a cross. No one is saying we can’t accept tattoos; I have one myself. I also use bad words and drink beer, from a bottle no less. Sometimes even from an ice-filled sink, as I did at the Smart Girl Summit recently. A conference filled not with “Sarahbots” (or Sarahbot’s) but with a diverse group of women, all comfortable in their own skins with no need to try to prove themselves edgy or hip. They already know that they are, because honesty, strength and opening cans of whoop ass is totally hip.

But Meghan must believe in antiquated stereotypes of the Republican Party, perpetuated by her buddies in the media, that are not true. Because in her tunnel-visioned, egotistical and cocktail party-chasing mind Republicans must be mindless, bland drones. Otherwise, where’s the persecution? She’d have to face up to the truth: It’s not us. It’s her.

The final line of McCain’s opus was “Don’t let me pick up this torch alone.” A bleat that continues, just as charmlessly, in her latest article. No thanks, honey. Listen, don’t worry about picking up that imaginary and unwanted torch alone. You must have enough trouble lugging around that giant chip on your shoulder.