The Palin Prophecies: Fern Relations at the United Nations

Since I got my passport a year ago and studied some world geography over a few games of “Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?”, I’m ready to travel to see the leaders of other countries and impress on them my qualifications to take my place in what they call the Council of Nations. You gotta do that when you’re a leader of the free world. I thought I’d start by visitin’ the United Nations, where I know I can find a lot of fern leaders this week because the General Assembly is getting’ together. I’m not sure why. But I do know that the United Nations is not our friend because the nations there are always criticizin’ us—like we’re connected to the world markets or something. ‘Course, that will stop once John-John and I soar to the top.

But first I want to listen, ya know, hear what these fern leaders have to say before John-John and me point out how they’re wrong about us and how unChristian they are and how they should just do what we tell ‘em. That’s the Bush Doctrine with a twist. I call it the Sarah Doctrine: Listen first, shoot next. That’s how I was so successful in Alaska. Course, now I’m doing so well up there because I’m not even there and the McCain campaign leaders have taken over the state. Talk about savin’ money for Alaskans! Just hand off the government to someone else—it’s just good business to outsource. Like if you call to ask a question, someone in Virginia is likely to answer the phone. Hey, why not just hand over Alaska to the telemarketers in New Delhi? And maybe the US government too. That could be a way to solve this pesky bank problem on Wall Street! Yup yup.

Anyway, back to fern policy, my first appointment in New York (gosh, it’s bigger than my hair, I had no idea) is with the King of Fargonistan (I think that’s how you pronounce it but I’m not sure because it’s a fern language, which means it’s not English—something else John-John and I need to fix—and why are so many of ‘em named something-stan?). I’m not sure where it is. But I understand they have natural resources there, like minerals we could use, maybe gold. That’s a good reason to have fern relations. ‘Course we’ll do it clean-like, not drinkin’ and snortin’ cocaine and dolin’ out sexual favors to the oil industry like that government agency, the Denver Minerals Services or somethin’ like that?

I know how to deal with minerals like gold because, ya know, there was a gold rush in Alaska before we discovered oil. Yup yup. This was in the Kondike, ya know, after the ice cream bar? I love those things, especially eatin’ ‘em in the snow in front of the fire? I get all shivery and then kinda sweaty all at once inside my moose-hide parka. And Toddy and me get kinda sleepy-eyed. Well, those days are just memories now, ‘cause I got to focus on Christianizing the nation.

So, the King of Fargonistan and I are havin’ a sit down at a Starbucks up on the East Side of New York (they got two sides there, like with most things in life, usually one is right and one is wrong and I want to make sure I’m on the right side, but lookin’ north, my favorite direction, I think the East Side is it. Fifth Avenue is like a swing state.)

“Hi, King,” I say to him, ploppin’ down with my cup of mochachino, which is not as good by the way as the mocha we got up in Alaska—you liberal pinheads probably don’t even know we have it in my home town—and he smiles like he likes me, which is natural, because most people love my gorgeous guts, excuse my French. Then I realize he isn’t talkin’ but the guy next to him is talkin’ in a fern language to him and then talkin’ in English to me.

“I’m his interpreter,” this guy says, which is puzzlin’ to me. Why can’t he just say what he means? So I’m wonderin’ if he’s a Democrat, which I didn’t think they had in fern countries.

“The King wants to thank you for buyin’ him a cup of this delicious coffee,” says the interpreter.

Now, I didn’t just fall off the salmon truck. I know that fern leaders can be tricky, so I brought with me my fern policy advisor, John-John, to help me out here.

“John-John,” I whisper so the interpreter can’t hear, “what do you think it means when he says I’m buyin’ him a cup of coffee? I never said that.”

John-John gets one of his angry faces on like he did when those Hell-bent relatives of the missing POWs in Vietnam questioned him about some classified documents (like, Hello, they’re classified?)—yup, he can do angry better than almost any man except maybe Hillary Clinton, angry is one of her two faces, ha ha—and demands to know what the King thinks he’s tryin’ to pull. Well, the next thing you know, this super belligerent King is on his feet and shoutin’ in a fern language no one can understand and John-John is bumpin’ chests with him, like I’ve seen Toddy do so many times when one of the Alaska legislators or member of the police force won’t do what we ask. And then they’re on the floor, the King and John-John, rollin’ around and punchin’ each other in the nose and there’s blood and fair trade coffee (what’s so fair about it?) all over the floor and the people in line don’t even blink. Which is not the same as when I don’t blink. They’re ignorin’ me and my and John-John’s predicament, just goin’ on and placin’ their orders for their latte. It’s ‘cause the liberals are still mad at me for paradin’ my baby around the RNC floor way past his bedtime with thousands of screamin’ fans—like it’s not my private business? Leave my family out of it, okay?

I give the interpreter a quick kick in the shins to keep him from interferin’. That’s how I deal with wild animals in Alaska. Give ‘em an inch, they’ll take your leg.

Well, the next thing you know, the New York liberal police show up and do they arrest the King that assaulted us? No. They perp-walk me and John-John outside to a police car and make us crawl inside.

“What is this?” I shake my curls at ‘em. “I want you to arrest those men for attacking us.”

“No can do, ma’am,” the cop says. “They have diplomatic immunity. Our laws don’t apply to them.”

Outrageous. The liberals in New York allow fer-uners to get away with murder. I’d heard that but I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. John-John was in shock, I think, because he didn’t say much and had these staring eyeballs like you see on the face of a caribou just before I shoot him, and I suddenly thought as I stared at John-John with blood on his face how I really could be the president. It could happen on a fern policy trip just like this one, where a fern leader lets him have it in a fern coffee shop. I wipe the blood off his face and tell him it’s gonna be ok. Sarah Bear is here.

This is why I need my fern policy experience. Yup yup. Got to get pumped.

The Palin Prophecies

Yup! Yup! Nuckin’ Futs!

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Brent Mooseburger, Alaskan Pentecostal sports reporter, has been selected, much to his surprise, by God Our Heavenly Father as the man to channel Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin’s messages to the American people, since neither she nor God trust the elite media. In this almost-daily blog, Mr. Mooseburger will decode Palin’s prophecies for a nu-clear age. Reader responses are not welcome, unless you show the proper respect and deference.

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The Palin Prophecies are archived at www.thepalinprophecies.com. KenArnoldBooks will be publishing Brent Mooseburger’s messages as he channels them. His inspirational messages will be collected into an ebook sometime in October and published by KenArnoldBooks on Amazon Kindle. Entries are copyrighted by KenArnoldBooks, LLC.