John Kerry rents Symphony Hall to honor himself

Will he show his own 16mm Vietnam movies which feature him crashing through the waist high delta swail with his muddy entourage in tow and the radar dome of his patrol boat just visible in the background as he grunts and grimaces and hollers meaningless orders and wildly gesticulates towards an empty horizon while his people stare back at him in abject terror while he waives his M-16? I hope so as its the perfect reflection of a mad Kerry campaign, save for his atavistic story about really being sent up river to Cambodia which he could swear to God proof if he could just find his old cap and his precious maps which everyone else thinks he still keeps in the battered briefcase he carries while campaigning - the brief case with the faded name tag showing his name, rank, and USNR, proof of his service.

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And will John also show the enraptured Symphony Hall audience the long long tape of that great pinnacle of self-anointed glory, his personal ziggurat of fame, where he addressed congress as a member of the VVAW (Vietnam Veterans Against the War) and as a serving naval officer at the same time, a decided punishable no-no glossed over by the beaming band of Democrat representatives who saw their own coming home and coming clean, and a fact later erased by Jimmy Carter during the great deserter amnesty plan? John monotoned on about Ghengis Khan and beheadings and arms and legs and babies and napalm and the needle and the damage done, and with this perjury he cemented his liberal image forever and his bust was placed in that great anti-war pantheon of heroes. A temple housing fellow anti-heroes like the Chicago 7, the Weathermen, Bernardine Dohrn, and Jane Fonda, for whom John used to open on the old anti-war speakers and circus circuit. Yup, John F. Kerry cut some outrageous capers before a fawning congress and a liberal press that day while better men and my friends died in unseen and in un-choreographed battlefields, not in the self-produced mayhem of the obviously insane. He has arrived, at long last, after these heroic deeds, renting all of the 2,000 seats in Symphony Hall in Boston to honor himself, in the great City on the Hill where he slept in his car like a vagrant and later rose to fame chasing ambulances and live-shot cameras, while waiting for the next rich woman to fall upon, to keep him in the style he's used to, so he could keep his many manufactured memories alive. And those memories will be conjured back to life once more in the low light of that old venerable hall for a paying crowd.