Herpes simplex A through Q saw fit to land on my face and create a tiny ecosystem of interconnecting blisters and communities. I’m going to give it to John McCain. (I already gave it to Sarah Palin during what we call our “skillet” days. Think of the defining characteristics of a skillet — hot, hard, and oily — and you’ll understand. Boy, will you understand.) But I’m not going to give it to John McCain in the old-fashioned way; he’s going to receive my herpe love right on those chunky cheeks of his.

This is my mission statement: I’m going to infect John McCain’s jowls with the love monkey. Aw, yeah. So it is written, so shall it be done.

You see, I’ve chosen this target carefully. I’ve deduced over several days of watching the Convention of Dubiously Intelligent or in Evil Denial of Their Ambiguous Sexual Nature White People (or the “RNC,” as it’s called on Fox News) that John McCain’s fleshy jawline contains ambitions far greater than his own. The areas from his neck to his eyelids and from his ears to his mouth corners seek to overthrow the world’s economic standard by fascist dictatorship.

This is not the first time I’ve locked combat with those cheekies, no sir. In 1976, John McCain’s cheeks and I attended a manicure and pedicure safety conference at Cambridge. It was clear then that John McCain’s cheeks and jowls (or, as they liked to be called, “Admiral Finicky Sassybottoms”) suffered from a rare combination of paranoia and aggression. There we were, on those orange-leaf autumn evenings in Connecticut, in turtleneck sweaters, picking apples... So long ago, but I still remember Admiral Finicky Sassybottoms overturning that bucket of goat milk in a fit and tirade.

Now, 32 years later, I aim to plant a big fat wettie on John McCain’s face and infect him with what our neighbors to the south call el herpos. As we all know, media attention is the number-one determinant of an election, and McCain’s awful face chub and inimical cheek fat will from tomorrow on be a blotch of sores and red motes.

I plan on doing the deed by dressing up as a baby. Yes, I’m 5’8” and 200 pounds, hairy and tattooed, but I have a diaper fitted just for me (remember mine and Sarah’s skillet days), and this week I’ll strike. “Come here, you dirty old fart. Give one to baby! Ooh la la!”

WHAT I WILL AND WON'T WATCH THIS WEEK

Thursday, September 11
The Doctors
KUSI 5:00 p.m.
Finally, a call-in show where I can ask about the moose horns that I apparently sprouted last night. Although, someone else will have to call for me, as the antlers forbid my phoning hand from reaching my ear. And I’m kinda stuck in my room because the rack won’t fit through doorways. Along with the medical advice, I need someone to climb into my bathroom and undo my zipper (may or may not be related to the moose horns).

9/11: As It Happened
MSNBC 9:00 p.m.
Thank you, Microsoft and National Broadcasting Company, for retelling the tale of tragedy that befell us seven years ago. This is in no way a grab for attention, ratings, and advertising dollars at the expense of the thousands dead, no. This is a chance for the television to heal and nurture. Microsoft and NBC would never think of profiteering. Both companies are run by kindly grannies carrying trays of oatmeal cookies. “Would you like a butterscotch, Dearie? No? Hmmm...TAKE THE DAMN BUTTERSCOTCH, YOU LITTLE S.O.B.!”

Friday, September 12
The 2008 ALMA Awards
ABC 8:00 p.m.
In case you were wondering, an ALMA award is for “Latino artistic achievement,” and the show is hosted by Eva Longoria. After the show, a pack of rich, white producers will come down from their booth, hand Eva a broom, look at the confetti on the stage, and then look at her. It’ll be a little awkward, but Eva will eventually cotton on. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Carole King: Welcome to My Living Room
PBS 10:30 p.m.
Anthony Olivieri: Welcome to My Taxidermy Closet. Strip to your underpants and bite down on this riding crop. Stop crying. Shhh. Shhh. Stop crying. Here, do you want to sniff my teddy bear soaked in ether? I SAID STOP CRYING!

Saturday, September 13
Sam the Cooking Guy
CASD 4 8:00 p.m.
I totally want on this show. I’ve got it all figured out: I’ll show up in my Underpants Tablecloth Caped Avenger outfit and whip up a delightful skillet of my famous vermouth-and-capers cold stew. Afterward, I’ll hug Sam. Maybe a little too long. Sam, it’s been months since anyone’s touched me. Sam. Sam. Ah, yes. Here comes the squirmin’.

Sunday, September 14
Talkshow with Spike Feresten
FOX midnight Saturday/Sunday
That’s it!? We’re not coming up with even lazy titles for talk shows now? We’re just calling it “Talkshow”? Finally, I can begin referring to my shoes as “feet cover-y things,” my truck as “drive-y thing,” and the porcelain water stand as “the place where I’m supposed to wash my hands after I touch my bathing suit area...but sometimes I don’t.”

Monday, September 15
Secrets of the Dinosaur Mummy
Discovery 9:00 p.m.
Sweet, merciful, tap-dancing Lincoln on a Ritz! I’ve got a date with a Paleolithic zombie, and that means I’ll need three things: my clear acrylic stripper high heels, my leather bandoliers, and my Annie Lennox mask. Here comes the rain again, you big, ugly bastard. Oh, here comes the rain again.

Tuesday, September 16
90210
CW 8:00 p.m.
I think this is about the post office, which sounds cool. If the writers are smart, their description goes a little something like this: After his morning breakfast of Quaaludes, Vicodin, and Jim Beam, postal worker Kermit Hernandez stealthily practices picking up objects from the floor using his toes. These objects are then placed in rotation at his counter. Who will chew on the pen? Who, indeed.

Fringe
Fox 9:00 p.m.
This is a paranormal investigation show. From the preview, it looks a lot like the X-Files if the X-Files had been shifted out of their normal speed of “Suck” and placed in the much higher gear of “Suck Out Loud on Ice: Dancing with Danny Bonaduce II, Look Who’s Sucking Now.”

Wednesday, September 17
House
USA 8:00 p.m.
House is the new C.S.I. C.S.I. was the new black last year. The new black is now “toenails,” and House is the new “SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU STINKING HIPPIES!” Got it? Sweet.