Fiction.

I was relaxing with my best friend — a neat glass of scotch — when the phone call came in the afternoon. When I picked up, all I heard was silence on the other end.

Well, not just silence — forced, irate breathing. Easily recognizable breathing.

“John?” I said into the phone, “John, is that you?”

“Paul.” he said slowly, stretching my name out into four angry syllables.

“What’s the matter, John? You sound upset.”

“I was just checking my Twitter account,” he rumbled, “And I noticed that you stopped following me, Paul.”

Oh shit, I thought, they can track that sort of thing now?

In a second he went from Angry McCain to Disappointed McCain: “I thought we were friends, Paul!” he said.

“We are friends John,” I said, “I’m still trying to figure this Twitter thing out.”

“Oh for pete’s sake Paul — I just looked at your account and you’re still following Huckster (@GovMikeHuckabee) and Hillary (@ClintonNews). God damn it, you’re even following That One (@BarackObama)!” He let out a wounded little laugh.

“Okay John,” I said, thinking that it was time for a little straight talk, “You want to know why I stopped following you? This is why: You post a lot of inane stuff. Nobody cares if they’ve run out of Cowboy Burgers at Applebee’s. No one cares that you’re sad because Battlestar Galactica is over. Nobody wants to know when Joe Lieberman farts in the car. Nobody gives a crap about that stuff — even when it comes from you, John.”

“Okay…” he muttered. John McCain was never one to take criticism well. “Well,” he said, “What about when I posted that picture I made of Palin’s head photoshopped onto a moose?”

“Okay — yeah — that was funny as shit,” I replied.

We shared a good, long laugh.

“Listen,” I said, “Forget about it. I’ll re-add you.”

“No, no no — you don’t have to, Paul.”

“No, I’m going to do it right now John.” I said. “There. It’s done.”

“Thanks Paul,” he said. “Look — I’m still working out the kinks. Meghan’s (@mccainblogette) a lot better at this than I am.”

“Well Meghan’s a very intelligent young lady,” I said, “And she’s hot as shit.” — although I only thought that last part instead of actually saying it because this wasn’t CPAC.