More truths about Cindy McCain: Now she's hallucinating sex trafficking at the Phoenix airport! (an opinion column by Michael Lacey)
Mother McCain is loose again.
And, in her own words, she is “rescuing toddlers.”
Her word: toddlers.
In Cindy McCain’s worldview, legions of men are molesting toddlers.
At the airport terminal named for her husband, Warmonger International (a.k.a. Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport John S. McCain III Terminal 3), Cindy Lou went all Salem witch trial, summoning the authorities and pointing her finger at a woman and a child.
That’s right: On January 30, this harpy on a swizzle stick sicced the airport police on a couple with a little child.
The couple had to prove the child was theirs.
How mortifying. Imagine cops pulling you aside and politely demanding that you prove the child in your arms is yours.
Click the Link Below to Read “Cindy Lou Who? Part 1”:
“Cindy Lou Who? The Truth About Cindy McCain”
Do you walk around with proof that your biological children are yours? (You know: passports, birth certificates, Social Security cards, yearbook photos, first communion notices, baptismal verifications, cattle brands….)
Neither do I.
Here is what triggered Mother McCain: The child was one race, the mother another.
In other words, the suspected trafficker and the child looked like Cindy McCain and her adopted daughter Bridget, who is a native of Bangladesh.
You see Cindy Lou walking toward you, best turn around and walk the other way. She is a social contaminant.
And, on February 4, five days after she triggered an airport stop-and-frisk, Mother McCain went on the air and patted herself on the back so hard she sounded like Nancy Pelosi applauding Donald Trump.
She informed listeners of a Phoenix radio show that she’d intervened to prevent underage trafficking, and you could too!
“I came in from a trip I’d been on and I spotted — it looked odd — it was a woman of a different ethnicity than the child, this little toddler she had, and something didn’t click with me…. I went over to the police and told them what I saw, and they questioned her and, by God, she was trafficking that kid.”
No one was being trafficked. And by the time she went on the radio, five days had passed since the incident — plenty of time, days of time, to ask the police what they’d learned.
“I see trafficked people.”
Mother McCain is like the little boy in M. Night Shyamalan’sThe Sixth Sense.
Mother McCain is always seeing things.
Her origin myth begins in India, where she sees haunting eyes beneath the floorboards while buying a sari as a gift for her daughter. But there are no police to investigate. Nor does she summon any. Nor does she know if the eyes are attached to working, happy, well-fed members of an extended family that makes saris.
Safely back in the United States, she tells one and all that they were victims, and her shame for not rescuing them will inform the rest of her addled crusade to…do…something.
Mother McCain then sees trafficked children at a casino on an Arizona Indian reservation.
And she sees trafficked children at a gas station.
Where are the police when Mother McCain is having these disturbing visions?
Mother McCain on KTAR was over the top. Her performance — and what else could you call it? — was so separated from planet Earth that the Phoenix Police Department had to respond publicly.
Trafficking in toddlers.
Police officers investigated in response to Mother McCain’s accusations and found (within minutes) no evidence of anything except an American family that didn’t fit Mother McCain’s idea of normality.
Confronted with Mother McCain’s broadcast on KTAR, the department issued its own statement.
“Officers determined there was no evidence of criminal conduct or child endangerment,” said Sgt. Armando Carbajal.
Imagine if Mother McCain’s nanny-state meddling were to catch on: You take your kids to Disneyland and your bitter ex drops a dime on you.
(The Washington Postcited other false accusations inspired by the witch-hunt atmosphere Cindy McCain and her late husband’s namesake think tank have helped to create around the horror of child sex trafficking.)
After my arrest and the arrest of my business partner, Jim Larkin, on April 6, 2018, Cindy McCain gloated in the local daily, calling it a “good day” and declaring, “I wish that it didn’t have to go this far. I wish they would have cooperated with us when we tried to get them to see they needed to stop this.”
No one thought to ask us if this was true.
It’s a lie. My mother didn’t raise me to parley with lace-curtain loons.
To paraphrase the great Brendan Behan: I wouldn’t go within an ass’s roar of her.
The annual Parada del Sol stepped off February 9, 2019, in Scottsdale, five days after Mother McCain’s broadcast. Her late husband, Sen. John McCain, was to be honored posthumously as the honorary grand marshal, and according to parade organizers, Mother McCain was scheduled to participate.
But she was a no-show, claiming she was sick.
Mother McCain was home with a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease.
Yet the questions linger.
If Mother McCain thought she was an eyewitness to trafficking at the airport, as she declared on KTAR, why didn’t she stick around to learn what the police were doing about it?
If Mother McCain thought she was an eyewitness to trafficking, why during the five days that elapsed before she told her tall tale didn’t she follow up with the police department to find out what had transpired?
Was the trafficked toddler safe?
You know that tired caution that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions?
This is something else, something infected with neediness and self-absorption.
Mother McCain didn’t follow up with the authorities because that child’s safety was much less important to her than the opportunity to publicize her act of heroism.
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