Oak Creek, which runs through your property.

Meet me in Sedona at Starbucks in the Hyatt shops, and bring Cindy! We'll go shopping in one of those super-expensive dress shops, and we'll cruise the art galleries too! Later we'll have dinner at the super-expensive L'Auberge restaurant, and you can pick up the tab with your unspent campaign contributions from Big Oil.

Forget running the world, John, forget about sending more of our young peop

Once upon a time, John McCain might have been a great president of these United States. But his time has come and gone. It's all over for the Straight Talk Express.

The only one who doesn't seem to realize this is John McCain, senator from Arizona. McCain has become an embarrassment to our proud state and to his constituents here. His latest gaffe -- staging a transparently phony photo op in a Baghdad market -- only reinforces the growing public perception that McCain has gone loony tunes.

The old "war candidate" trudges on, his poll numbers sinking every day, his cash flow drying up. The media ridicule him. The public pities him. And so I send out a call to the old (former) maverick:

John McCain, please come home!

You see, Sen. McCain owns a ranch in Page Springs, Arizona, just 7.5 miles from my home in Sedona. Some in the media have said that McCain lives in Sedona, which is patently untrue, because Page Springs is no Sedona, senator.

Page Springs is a backwater village -- an unincorporated little patch of rocky land, barely on the map -- which contains three wineries, a few homes and not much else. McCain's retreat is off a rough road marked with a cluster of tumble-down mailboxes that resemble something out of rural Oklahoma. There is no "McCain" name on any of the mailboxes.

So if you are thinking you would like to find John and his wealthy heiress wife Cindy at home in Page Springs, and perhaps join them for high tea and a lively discussion about Iraq -- just forget it. Actually, I want John McCain all to myself.

Come back, John, come back! Drop your presidential aspirations and just hang out at your ranch, writing poetry and war memoirs and hunting those lovable wild boar-like creatures we call javelin a. Take a daily dip in the cool waters of Oak Creek, which runs through your property.

Meet me in Sedona at Starbucks in the Hyatt shops, and bring Cindy! We'll go shopping in one of those super-expensive dress shops, and we'll cruise the art galleries too! Later we'll have dinner at the super-expensive L'Auberge restaurant, and you can pick up the tab with your unspent campaign contributions from Big Oil.

Forget running the world, John, forget about sending more of our young peopl

c perception that McCain has gone loony tunes.

The old "war candidate" trudges on, his poll numbers sinking every day, his cash flow drying up. The media ridicule him. The public pities him. And so I send out a call to the old (former) maverick:

John McCain, please come home!

You see, Sen. McCain owns a ranch in Page Springs, Arizona, just 7.5 miles from my home in Sedona. Some in the media have said that McCain lives in Sedona, which is patently untrue, because Page Springs is no Sedona, senator.

Page Springs is a backwater village -- an unincorporated little patch of rocky land, barely on the map -- which contains three wineries, a few homes and not much else. McCain's retreat is off a rough road marked with a cluster of tumble-down mailboxes that resemble something out of rural Oklahoma. There is no "McCain" name on any of the mailboxes.

So if you are thinking you would like to find John and his wealthy heiress wife Cindy at home in Page Springs, and perhaps join them for high tea and a lively discussion about Iraq -- just forget it. Actually, I want John McCain all to myself.

Come back, John, come back! Drop your presidential aspirations and just hang out at your ranch, writing poetry and war memoirs and hunting those lovable wild boar-like creatures we call javelin a. Take a daily dip in the cool waters of Oak Creek, which runs through your property.

Meet me in Sedona at Starbucks in the Hyatt shops, and bring Cindy! We'll go shopping in one of those super-expensive dress shops, and we'll cruise the art galleries too! Later we'll have dinner at the super-expensive L'Auberge restaurant, and you can pick up the tab with your unspent campaign contributions from Big Oil.

Forget running the world, John, forget about sending more of our young peop

h is patently untrue, because Page Springs is no Sedona, senator.

Page Springs is a backwater village -- an unincorporated little patch of rocky land, barely on the map -- which contains three wineries, a few homes and not much else. McCain's retreat is off a rough road marked with a cluster of tumble-down mailboxes that resemble something out of rural Oklahoma. There is no "McCain" name on any of the mailboxes.

So if you are thinking you would like to find John and his wealthy heiress wife Cindy at home in Page Springs, and perhaps join them for high tea and a lively discussion about Iraq -- just forget it. Actually, I want John McCain all to myself.

Come back, John, come back! Drop your presidential aspirations and just hang out at your ranch, writing poetry and war memoirs and hunting those lovable wild boar-like creatures we call javelin a. Take a daily dip in the cool waters of Oak Creek, which runs through your property.

Meet me in Sedona at Starbucks in the Hyatt shops, and bring Cindy! We'll go shopping in one of those super-expensive dress shops, and we'll cruise the art galleries too! Later we'll have dinner at the super-expensive L'Auberge restaurant, and you can pick up the tab with your unspent campaign contributions from Big Oil.

Forget running the world, John, forget about sending more of our young peop

uld like to find John and his wealthy heiress wife Cindy at home in Page Springs, and perhaps join them for high tea and a lively discussion about Iraq -- just forget it. Actually, I want John McCain all to myself.

Come back, John, come back! Drop your presidential aspirations and just hang out at your ranch, writing poetry and war memoirs and hunting those lovable wild boar-like creatures we call javelin a. Take a daily dip in the cool waters of Oak Creek, which runs through your property.

Meet me in Sedona at Starbucks in the Hyatt shops, and bring Cindy! We'll go shopping in one of those super-expensive dress shops, and we'll cruise the art galleries too! Later we'll have dinner at the super-expensive L'Auberge restaurant, and you can pick up the tab with your unspent campaign contributions from Big Oil.

Forget running the world, John, forget about sending more of our young peop

Oak Creek, which runs through your property.

Meet me in Sedona at Starbucks in the Hyatt shops, and bring Cindy! We'll go shopping in one of those super-expensive dress shops, and we'll cruise the art galleries too! Later we'll have dinner at the super-expensive L'Auberge restaurant, and you can pick up the tab with your unspent campaign contributions from Big Oil.

Forget running the world, John, forget about sending more of our young people to die in Iraq, you old war candidate you! Forget about buttering up those scripture-spouting creeps like Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. Give me a call and we'll go for a hike in fabulous Red Rock Country. I know all the great trails.

Just think: Two 70-year-old he-men, you and me -- although I never went to Vietnam, only the reserves -- hiking up to Coffee Pot rock together, swapping lies and debating the acting skills of Ronald Reagan. Just think, John, if you were to be elected Prez, you would be the oldest man ever elected to the most powerful position in the world, older even than Reagan was, and you know what happened to his mind those last few years….

So I call to you again: Come home, John McCain, come home! Drop this presidential nonsense and start enjoying your golden years! Call me when you get back to Page Springs; I'm in the book.