Sarah Palin

For those of you who have been living under miles of earth, alone in a dark, silent cave, subsisting on a diet of misery and your own hair, you won't know the putrescence of which I speak. For everyone else, here's a perky reminder:

(Don't stare directly into its eyes)















Sarah Palin is a creature that congealed in Alaska from bits of a regurgitated animal carcass, bullet shells, Newt Gingrich's taint sweat, and pure, unfiltered narcissism. I don't fault Alaska for its creation, though I do fault them for not having dealt with this nuisance long before now. "She" is currently my most hated political figure. Her near constant verbal discharges are a visceral reminder of just how stupid some Americans can be given the right factors.

In Sarah's case, the factor was one Senator John McCain. Before him, she was the governor of Alaska. Until McCain used his rotting talon to pluck Palin from total obscurity, if you were to ask the average American to point out Alaska on a map, they would most likely tilt their head to one side, squint their eyes, and point to their crotch. They wouldn't be far off. Look, it's not that I have anything against Alaska. If I enjoyed the sports of hockey, snowmobiling, and ballfreezing, I would visit. Consider the combined factors that our dear Mrs. Palin developed there, that it's totally dark from November 18th to January 24th, and it rarely gets above 60 degrees. In my research, this evidence provides irrefutable proof that at least six gates to Hell are actively open and scattered across Alaska's vast, inspiring (I've heard), beautiful (I'm told), breathtaking (no seriously, the demons will steal your breath) landscape.

Now, you might be saying aloud to your monitor, "Oh gee, you just hate conservatives and the conservative movement! Sarah Palin happens to be at the forefront of this, so she's an easy target!" I'll give you that she's an easy target, but the fact that she's a conservative has nothing to do with it. There are plenty of conservatives with whom I disagree, but with whom I can have a civil, reasoned conversation. Sarah Palin is not one of them. Palin may anchor her rhetoric in political dialogue, but the ground is loose and her ship is adrift. No, the problem with Sarah isn't right v. left or conservative v. liberal. She is, simply, an unhinged fame whore. One that must be dealt with. It doesn't matter what she says now. She will use the conservative argument because it's convenient, simple and there are a lot of people in our fair nation that love red meat.

The thing I can stand least about Palin isn't her political message. It's not her "traditional Ahmurrican values" bullshit. It is, in fact, that she's a huge pussy. Under the general category of pussy, you have those who are simply afraid of everything, and those who talk a big game but couldn't fight their way out of a Neiman Marcus. Our lovely Sarah falls squarely into the latter. When I was first learning about her (like the rest of our nation), I didn't know what to think. She was obnoxious, rude, snarky, and everything else a campaigning politician should be, but there was something extra, something hidden, something that I knew, given enough time, would reveal itself. And then it did. For sport, or what she calls sport, Sarah Palin shoots wolves from helicopters. She rents a helicopter, gets her rifle, and flies about the skies fixing her hair, applying her makeup, and zeroing in on a lone, starving wolf. If there is a better definition of pussy, I would like to know what it is.

A lot of people can fire guns. Firing a gun doesn't make you tough. It doesn't make you terrifying. To me, all it signifies is that you're a pussy who can't scrap. You might "win" the fight, but you're still a pussy. You'll get to heaven and be all, "I killed FIFTEEN DEMONS, lord! You be praised!," and god will regard you with a sour expression and scoff, "Yeah, with a gun. Pussy. Have fun in Hell." Sometimes I have a dream and wake up with saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth in lustful anticipation. I'm excited, the sheets are wet, and my mind is racing. This dream is Sarah Palin hunting wolves on the ground, with a knife, in the Alaskan winter on the, what's it called... tundra. She has her provisions: tent, food, makeup, hairspray, etc., but no guns. I want to be there, to see the expression on her face as she closes in on an alpha male. I want to see the alpha keep her attention as the pack circles around and boxes her in, trapping The Palin from escape. I don't want to see the grisly end, just for the camera to pan away upon a gorgeous Alaskan sunrise. The dawn of a new day for America. An America without Sarah Fucking Palin.