Is Sarah Depressed?

According to Huffingtonpost this morning, Republican Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin–aka Sarah Bear, the Divine Sarah, Sarahcuda, and other nicknames too delicate to mention–has been shielded from news reports that might depress her. She has said herself that news reports of the collapsing Republican campaign can be discouraging. We could have told her that reading newspapers is often an unpleasant experience. Economic collapse! Putin rising over Alaska! C3PO appearing in a debate with Barry O’Bama! North Korea taken off of the Axis of Evil list! George Bush in the Rose Garden! Cindy McCain anywhere! Sarah Palin!

We have been busy here at KenArnoldBooks with our new publication, The Palin Prophecies: Apocalypstick Now!, which is our effort to help the governor of Alaska reorient herself to reality. We fear, however, that her staff is keeping her from our website too, even though she can go to www.thepalinprophecies.com/thepalinprophecies and read all of her utterances for free! But be that as it may, we just fear for Sarah and the state of her mental health.  And so we ask all of you to take a moment to lay hands on Sarah Palin (metaphorically speaking, unless you happen to be in one of the pro-America small towns she frequents and prefers) and just ask the Lord to make a way for her. Imagine that you are Pastor Muthee and that you have the power in your magic hands to dispel her demons. Take a moment now to do just that.

All together now: DEMONS! BE GONE.

Now, Sarah, isn’t that much better?  Sarah? Sarah? Hmmmm…where’d she go?

The Palin Prophecies: Apocalypstick Now!

If you have been following the Palin saga here at KABlog, you know that KenArnoldBooks plans to publish her collected prophecies on Amazon Kindle and other ebook platforms. The book should be available within a few days. Meanwhile, by the end of the day October 15, it will be uploaded to www.thepalinprophecies.com, where you can read it for free. (The website is offline while we revamp it.) Here is the Introduction to the book, The Palin Prophecies: Apocalypstick Now!, which explains how this publishing coup came to start-up Portland, Oregon, publisher, KenArnoldBooks.

Publishing is a surprising business, one part inspiration and many parts just good luck. Imagine our surprise at KenArnoldBooks—a small startup publishing company located at an undisclosed location in downtown Portland, Oregon—when the notorious Brent Mooseburger showed up on our doorstep one morning with a stunning proposal. God Our Heavenly Father had selected him, he announced as we stood there in our robes and clutching our coffee cups, as the man to channel Republican Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin’s messages to the American people, since neither she nor The God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ trusted the elite “Gotcha” liberal media.

Mooseburger said, “He has asked—no, commanded—me to write a daily blog decoding the Divine Sarah’s prophecies for a nucular age. It was also revealed to me that you—KenArnoldBooks—have been chosen to publish the blog and a book before the election day so that Americans will have the truth before them when they enter the polling booths. Can I come in, please? And how about a cup of the delicious smelling coffee?”

Mooseburger, who was wearing a parka and huge muddy mukluks, stomped across our new living room carpet and flang himself on our white couch. Our marketing director followed him with a vacuum cleaner while I, the founder and publisher, fetched him a cup of fair trade Stumptown coffee.

“But we’re Democrats,” I said as I handed him his coffee. “Are you sure Our Lord and Savior meant this KenArnoldBooks and not a different one?” I actually couldn’t think of another one.

“I thought about that,” mused Mooseburger as he sipped his coffee and nibbled an arugula macaroon our marketing director whipped up for him on the spot. “And I prayed about it. Ya know, in my long career as a sports caster and chaplain for the Alaskan International Bear Wrestling League, I have seldom wanted to have anything to do with the Lower Forty-Eight. In fact, I’m a life-time member of the Alaska Independence Party, which as you know advocates the secession of Alaska from the Union. I am also a member of the Wasilla Assembly of God Church, where we believe that the Lord is coming soon and will take all of us directly to a place with Jesus where we can watch the rest of you arugula eaters get slaughtered by The Son uh God when he returns in glory. So, I was concerned. But I took it to the Lord in prayer and he said that you were the perfect choice because you are unbelievers….”

“But we’re Episcopalians,” I protested. “In fact,” I said, “I am ordained in the Episcopal Church. And my wife is a lapsed but loyal Greek Orthodox.”

“Precisely my point and the Lord’s point. You are not true believers but an Episcopalian and an icon-loving Orthodoxer who accept gay people and women to be priests and bishops. So, the Lord figured, I guess, that you would be like protective cover for the truth because arugula eaters and gay Episcopalians and icon-kissers will read what you publish and believe it. And I thought that was so clever. So here I am. These cookies are delicious, ma’am.”

“They’re not cookies. They’re macaroons. And they’re made with arugula,” our marketing director announced with a satisfied gotcha grin.

Mooseburger swallowed hard, sipped his coffee. “The Lord asks much of us,” he winced. “But, ok. I’m going to start channelin’ the Divine Sarah tomorrow, September 10, and continue every day until she tells me to stop, which I think will be around October 10, after the second presidential debate, when it will be clear to everyone that Sarah is the One, and I don’t mean The One, like Barry O’Bama, who may be the anti-Christ, That One, but the One who will be the president right after John McCain is president for a little while. We know now that the economy is strong, we are winnin’ in Iraq and Afghanistan, Iran is on the ropes, the Bush Administration is growing in popularity, everyone is startin’ to drop their “g’s” from the ends of their words, and Barry O’Bama is, ya know, black. So we expect to win in a landslide on October 10.”

“But the election is on November 4,” I suggested, pulling a contract out of my pocket and beginning to fill in the blanks before he changed his mind. Publishers are, basically, whores.

“Ah, that’s what the American people have been led to believe by the elite east coast gotcha liberal media, especially Katie Couric, who will soon be revealed as the Whore of Babylon, the one who ushers in the era of slaughtering the unbelievers, like yourself, which is why we’ll have to publish my book right after October 10 ‘cause, like, you’ll be history, you and all your cronies.”

“Ok,” I smiled, as our marketing director handed Mooseburger an author questionnaire to fill out so that we could have all the information we need to market his book properly. “And here’s our standard contract. Take it and the author questionnaire home with you, call me if you have any questions, and we’ll get started as soon as you send us the first blog post in the morning. How does that sound?”

“One more thing. You’ll call this The Palin Prophecies, because that’s what the Lord wants it to be called. Just fill that in where it says ‘title.’”

I did as I was told, not the first time, I might add, in what was to become a fraught relationship. But that is a story for another time, or perhaps another planet or dimension or wherever it is we Episcopalian and Orthodoxer unbelievers go when we are vaporized by the Armies of Christ at the End Time.

Mooseburger glanced over the publishing agreement. “You’ll hear from my lawyer in the morning,” he muttered as he strode from our living room and into the sunny, 80-degree Portland weather. We noticed clouds gathering over the Wells Fargo Tower visible from our humble office and dwelling—an unusual and ominous event in the normally sunny Portland, Oregon. I closed the door behind the departing figure of Brent Mooseburger. The marketing director and I burst out laughing and took the rest of the day off to celebrate our publishing coup by eating arugula macaroons and watching old French films.

The Palin Prophecies: Apuckalips Now, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Hockey Mom

Last night was a bad night, what with that terrible dream or vision I had of Barack Hussein Obama winnin’ the election over me and the Maverick, John McCain. So tonight, after another hard day of race-baitin’ out on the stump, I was determined not to have another one of those nightmare visions. So I called up Pastor Muthee over my beehive radio ‘do, and told him I thought some witch, probably Mama Obama, was castin’ spells over me and causin’ me to have those bad visions of the future. So what Pastor Muthee did was he prayed over me via my bouffant radio. You’re darn right he did, he said: “Lord make a way, Lord make a way, protect Governor Sarah from the witches and their spells, and make a way for Governor Sarah to see the one true future, the future of her victory for God and Christianity over the forces of terrorists and their pals.” Well, I don’t know if it was Pastor Muthee’s prayer or all those mini-bottles of Jack Daniels, Southern Comfort, and Pepe Lopez tequila I guzzled outa the mini-bar of the hotel there, but it wasn’t more’n 10 minutes after Pastor Muthee’s prayin’ over me that I started feelin’ all woozy-like and before you know it I was passed out cold on the bed. Then, across the dark recesses of my unconscious mind, a screen lit up, and the movie of the future unfolded before me.

It opened with soft, serene music playin’ across a landscape of clouds and sky. Big American bomber jets flyin’ quietly in formation, no engine sound, just the cold wind whistlin’ through the clouds. Then it cut to another scene, and I recognized it as my bedroom in the Governor’s mansion. I was stretched out in the tannin’ bed in the corner, getting’ some color on my front side, watchin’ the news. My old annoyin’ pal Katie Couric came on with a news flash.
 
KATIE COURIC: I have just been handed this breaking news bulletin. In what apparently is a terrible accident, Vice President Dick Cheney has shot President Elect John McCain in the face with a shotgun while hunting drugged grouse at a game preserve outside of Waco, Texas. According to several sources, and confirmed now by President-Elect McCain’s campaign, President-Elect John McCain…is dead. That means, of course, that Vice President-Elect Sarah Palin will, just one week from today, be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States…

SARAH: (Propping herself up in the tanning bed on one elbow) Wow, things are happenin’ pretty fast, but then, that must be God’s plan. Yup, yup. Everything happens for a reason, and He musta wanted me to be President. He works in mysterious ways, you betcha.

ONE MONTH LATER

CUT TO: President Palin sitting in the oval office, signing papers. Suddenly the red phone on her desk lights up. She picks up the receiver.

SARAH: Hi. President Palin here.

FIRST DUDE’S VOICE: (Over revving snowmobile engine) Sarahcuda! We got a situation up here in the Great North…

SARAH: Oh, Toddy. This better not be another one of your frozen pizza problems. I told ya, just put it in the microwave for 2 minutes on high. I’m kinda busy, ya know. I got stuff goin’ on here with the Wall Street situation, and the Israelis and Palestinians are in a snit…Again….

FIRST DUDE: Sarah Bear, listen to me. I was just out here, zippin’ over the ice flows, trainin’ for The Iron Dog, and I saw him.

SARAH: Saw who, Toddy?

FIRST DUDE: Putin! He’s rearin’ his head again! I just saw him–well, a buncha Russian jets, anyway, zoomin’ overhead, headin’ south, for the lower 48. The Russians are comin’! The Russians are comin’!

Suddenly the door flings open and in walks Vice President Dick Cheney.

SARAH: (A rare aside to me, Brent Mooseburger) You’re probably wonderin’ why Dick Cheney is still  Vice President. See, after he shot John McCain in the face and I became President, I had to get a new V.P., so I put Cheney in charge of the search committee to find me one. Well, he searched through all the names of people I gave him and came back and said that he didn’t think any of ‘em were up to snuff, and the only one he felt comfortable with as V.P. was himself, so doggone it I just went with it and named him V.P.

CHENEY: (Waving papers) Madame President! The Iranians have WMD. I have undeniable proof here, intelligence reports, satellite photos. They have sleeper cells inside the U.S. at this very minute, and, our sources tell us, their plan is to inject this WMD into our water supply. We must attack now!

FIRST DUDE’S VOICE ON PHONE: Sarah, Pooty-Poot’s on his way with the nukes. I suggest you get your butt down to the bunker and launch an all-out attack. I’m headin’ for the bomb shelter myself!

CHENEY: Madame President, have you ever seen a terrorist drink a glass of water?

SARAH: (Hanging up the phone) Now just cool your jets, Dick. Grab a seat. Can I get you somethin’ to drink while I consult my higher power?

CHENEY: (Sits down, scowling) I’ll take a glass of grain alcohol and rain water. Frankly, Madame President, there is no higher power than the President. (Then, mumbling under his breath) McCain woulda nuked half the planet by now…

SARAH: (Gets up, goes to a cabinet, pulls out a bottle of grain alcohol and pours a drink, squirts some seltzer water into it and hands it to Cheney. She sits down.) Sure there is. (Closes her eyes) There’s God. (She prays) Oh, come on, Lord. Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up…

GOD’S VOICE MAIL: This is the Lord Jesus Christ. I can’t answer the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll come back to you. Soon. (Giggles.)

SARAH: Dang! It’s time that Son a God grows up. His father must be off somewhere, helpin’ some God-fearin’ halfback score a touchdown.

CHENEY: Madame President, do you realize that in addition to drinking water, that water is in virtually everything we eat and drink? Cows, where our steaks come from. They drink water. It’s in our bacon. Pigs drink water. Kool-Aid, Madame President, children’s Kool-Aid. Were you aware, Madame President, that you, yourself, are 75% water? We must attack! We cannot allow terrorist infiltration, terrorist subversion, and the Iranian Muslim terrorist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids. Why it’ll be Armageddon in the bladders of every American man, woman and child!

SARAH: (Standing up and shouting) Armageddon! Get it on! That’s what this is! The End Times are here! Jesus is comin’ back, just like I knew he would! Oh, praise the Lord! OK, Dick. Get me the nucular suitcase.
 
CHENEY: (His mouth twisting into a crooked half-smile) You mean it, Madame President? Do you really mean it?

SARAH: Yup. This is it. It’s God’s will. Jesus is comin’ to take us all to our reward. Us true believers, that is. All the godless, liberal elites and east-coast gotcha media types, abortionists, fornicators, Katie Couic, and the like, well, they’re just gonna have to burn in the hellfires of eternal damnation. But the rest of us are getting’ raptured! 

CHENEY: Glory, glory Haliburton! (Runs out)

SARAH: (Pushes the “Intercom” button on her phone) Gloria, get Pat Robertson on the phone.

CUT TO: Another room, somewhere beneath the White House. Sarah and her advisors are watching a row of closed-circuit TV screens mounted on the wall, each one showing a live shot of one of the world’s major cities. New York. Los Angeles. Tokyo. London. Paris. Rome. Beijing. Moscow. Wasilla. All of the cities look calm and peaceful, pedestrians walking, cars driving through the streets. Sarah looks over to another screen, which shows the bomb bay of an American bomber in flight. A figure comes wobbling into view on the screen. He is a short, stocky, hunched-over ball of a man wearing a big, white cowboy hat. He walks to the bomb-bay and looks up into the camera. It is Dick Cheney. He reaches over and pushes a button on a panel on the wall, and an intercom burps to life.

CHENEY: Madame President, we are rapidly approaching the moment of truth. Tehran. Our boys up here will give you the best kind of start on the terrorists, and hopefully our boys heading for Moscow will do the same for the Reds. 20,000 megatons worth. God willing, we will prevail, in freedom and democracy, and in true health, through the purity and essence of our natural fluids.

He salutes, then turns to the bomb, climbs down on top of it, like a cowboy straddling a bull. Then he reaches up and pushes a button on the panel above him. Suddenly the bomb bay doors open beneath him. Below, sky and clouds zip by, and, thousands of feet down, barely visible through the wispy white clouds, we see land. He reaches back up to the panel and pushes another button and the bomb is released. As it falls, Cheney takes his cowboy hat off and waves it back and forth, whooping, “Wah-hoo! Wah-hoo!” The bomb falls with Cheney riding it, whooping and waving his cowboy hat, growing smaller and smaller as he falls atop the bomb, until he disappears from sight. A moment later, there is a white flash, the camera shaking violently, and then the flash transforms into a mushroom cloud, billowing up, closer and closer to the camera, and then suddenly the screen turns to snow.

SARAH: (Stands up, arms upraised): It’s the be-all, end-all! (Begins speaking in tongues) Ulohahayimhuminabuhbuhzibzoolimloolalalalalalalala!
 
Suddenly, Sarah disappears. Her clothes lie in a heap on the floor. And then everything vanishes in a blinding flash of light.

Fade back to Sarah lying on her hotel bed under a pile of miniature liquor bottles. She smiles beatifically, mumbling, “It’s the be-all, end-all. It’s the be-all, end-all. It’s the be-all, end-all….” The First Dude enters and gently shakes her awake. Sarah opens her eyes.

SARAH: Oh, Toddy, why’d you have to go and wake me? I was havin’ the most wonderful dream….

THE BE-ALL, END-ALL, Goodbye, y’all….

The Palin Prophecies: If At First You Don’t Secede…

Well, doggone it, the heels are on and the gloves are off, yup, yup. And let me tell ya, this race-baitin’ type a campaignin’ sure is tough. We’re askin’ the hard questions about our opponent, Barack Hussein Obama, and wonderin’ why the gotcha media isn’t askin’ about Reverend Wright, like they did for a month back durin’ the primary. Or Bill Ayres, you know, that terrorist Weather Underground guy who was bombin’ the Pentagon back in the 60s, when Barack Obama was 8 years old. The only excuse the liberal media can give me for why they’re not takin’ our bait is to point out that they haven’t even brought up my pastor, Pastor Muthee, the witch doctor, or the Alaska Independence Party, which my First Dude belonged to until 2002, and who I spoke to at their convention in March. That’s the group founded by Joe Vogler, who said some terrorist-type things about America. Yup, yup. So does that mean that me and The First Dude palled around with terrorists? Ha. I don’t think so.

Then there’s all of John McCain’s associations, like the U.S. Council for World Freedom, which was this anti-Semitic group that aided the Contras back in the ‘80s and had ties to right-wing death squads and former Nazi collaborators in Central America. Apparently The Maverick served on the advisory board of this group back when he was first elected to Congress. The elitist east-coast liberal media hasn’t talked about that at all, they like to point out, as if they’re, like, doin’ us a favor.

Or the Oregon Citizen’s Alliance, a right-wing anti-gay hate group which The Maverick supported back in the ‘90s. I guess John-John went to a fundraiser for this group in August of 1993. During that fundraiser, a woman who had firebombed abortion clinics and even shot a doctor who performed abortions spoke, and The Maverick sat there and listened and he never got up and walked out or anything. Later the woman was convicted and sent to jail by a judge who said she was a terrorist. So does that mean that John McCain pals around with terrorists, they asked? As if.

Boy, this is all so confusin’ it was makin’ my head spin around like that girl in The Exorcist. So last night after a hard day of race-baitin’ I just went back to my hotel in Florida and went straight to bed. I was gonna order room service, but they didn’t have a mooseburger on the menu, or even some moose stew. What the heck’s that all about? So anyway, I just flopped into bed and turned on Fox News and watched Sean Hannity (he’s so cute–he sounds just like Porky Pig when he gets all flustered!), and I musta fell asleep.

I musta had another one of my weird dreams. Or maybe it was a vision, beamed down from Heaven through my bouffant radio ‘do. Whatever it was, it sure was strange, I’ll tell ya that. It was all about what would happen if Barack Hussein Obama won the election, how he’s a secret Muslim, a sleeper cell terrorist, like that movie, The Mongolian Candidate. Yup, yup, he was brainwashed when he was a small child in the secret Muslim school he went to, and the terrorists’ plan was to send him over to America and have him become President, and then they could work on our country from the top down! Oh, it was a terrible dream or vision or what-have-ya!

It started on Inauguration Day, and Barack Hussein Obama is standin’ there, and just when they hold out the Bible for him to swear on, Reverend Wright pops up, pulls out a Koran and says, “We’ll use this, suckers!” And then Obama laughs, with his big, white teeth shinin’ in the sun, laughs and laughs, and Michelle Hussein Obama pulls out this machine gun and starts blastin’  away like Patty Hearst, blastin’ the Lincoln Memorial, she shoots the top-hat right offa Abe Lincoln, and then she shoots out a couple a Thomas Jefferson’s teeth over at the Jefferson Memorial, and says, “Take that, honky! That’s for Sally Hemings!” And she laughs and laughs, and then Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson come down and they took over America from the top down! Just like that Mongolian guy.President Obama painted the White House black, changed the American Flag to a big peace sign, and then made everyone convert to Muslimism. They made the theme from “Shaft” our national anthem and changed all our holidays. Xmas became Malcolm Xmas, Halloween became Allahween, and Easter became Esther, after Esther Rolle, that black ‘70’s sitcom actress. It was not good times. And then before you could say, “What’s happenin’?” he blew up the Mt. Rushmore heads and replaced ‘em with Martin Luther King, Osama bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, and Snoop Dogg. He freed O.J. and put Fred Goldman in jail, let Bill Ayres blow up the Pentagon, named Louis Farrakhan Secretary of State, Willie Horton Secretary of Homeland Security, and Marion Berry Secretary of Gettin’ It On. He cancelled the Fourth of July and rescheduled all the fireworks for Kwanzaa. He made Ebonics the national language, tore down the border fence with Mexico, and put out a big welcome sign. In Spanish! Denzel Washington and Halle Berry won all the Oscars, even when their movies weren’t any good. He forced the military to stop salutin’ each other and instead give each other those terrorist fist-bumps. He tore down all the MacDonald’s and replaced ‘em with Falafel Huts, replaced the bald eagle with a camel and made all the women wear burkhas. Then he invited Ahmbumdnmad to the White House and sat down with him–without preconditions! The next day he nuked Israel off the map, waved the white flag of surrender in Iraq, and let the terrorists win. And after all that, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, he did the unthinkable. You’re darn right. He raised taxes!

Oh, say it ain’t so, Jesus! Luckily for us up north in Alaska, we just went to our buddies over in the Alaska Independence Party and we all seceded, but then Barack Hussein Obama said we couldn’t and sent the troops up to stop us. All the red states joined our side and it started another civil war. It was brother against brother, sister against sister, and everyone was sittin’ around in tents playin’ the harmonica, just like the first civil war. It was awful. And Todd went off and married his cousin, and General Sherman burned my house down, and pa went crazy, and I married Rhett Butler but he didn’t give a darn. It was the worst dream or vision or what have ya ever! Then, just in the nick a time I woke up from the dream or vision or what have ya and counted my blessings that it hadn’t happened. Yet.

The Palin Prophecies: The Matanuska Valley P.T.A.

I want to tell you all a story about a Matanuska Valley hockey mom
Who had a teenage daughter who Levi thought was just the bomb.
Well her daughter came home one afternoon and didn’t even stop to play.
She said, “Mom, I got a note here from the Matanuska Valley PTA.”

The note said, “Mrs. Palin, you’ve been spotted with this church that’s pretty scary,
Tryin’ to ban some books out of the Wasilla Public Library.
Now these books all seem to have somethin’ to do with people who are gay,
But bannin’ books isn’t somethin’ we do here at the Matanuska Valley PTA.”

Well it happened that the PTA was gonna meet that very afternoon.
They were surprised when Mrs. Palin wore her bee-hive into that room,
And as she walked up to the blackboard, I still recall the words she had to say.
She said, “I’d like to address this meeting of the Matanuska Valley PTA”

Well every eye in the room was on the hockey mom’s bouffant hair
As she announced to the PTA that she was gonna run for Mayor.
And when she got elected, the hockey mom brought  revolution:
No more would teachers in that town be teachin’ evil-ution.

And some of the folks in Wasilla, well they soon were throwin’ fits
‘Cause as Mayor, Mrs. Palin charged rape victims for their own rape kits,
And it wasn’t long before the citizens began to rue the day
They let this pitbull hockey mom address the Matanuska Valley PTA.

Then the governor, Frank Murkowski, got into trouble with his gov’ner’s jet.
It seemed he treated the entire state as if it were his pet.
So the hockey mom stood up to him and sent his friends to stir.
And when Pastor Muthee laid his hands on her, she became the Governor

They moved into the mansion, the hockey mom and teeming brood.
There was Bristol, Willow, Piper, Track, and her husband, The First Dude
That fancy jet of old Murkowski’s, she put it on eBay.
It didn’t sell, but what the hell, it sounded good to say.

Her buddy, old Ted Stevens, offered a bridge that went nowhere.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said she said (as if we really care),
And everyone who crossed her, they suffered the same fate:
Got smeared and then got fired, ‘causin’ a scandal they call Troopergate.

By day she hunted moose, and wolves, she shot them from the air.
She vowed to build a pipeline, and make extinct the polar bear.
And every night up in Alaska, as the citizens laid down their sleepy heads,
They slept peaceful knowin’ Sarah was watchin’ if Putin reared his head.

One day Bristol came runnin’ home from school, she looked like she would cry.
She said, “Mama, someone couldn’t keep it in his jeans, and yes, I mean Levi.
You know when abstinence doesn’t work, what do they call that situation?
I wish you’d tell me, ‘cause I have no clue, since you cut funding for sex education.”

But none of this mattered to that Maverick, Senator John McCain.
He called up Mrs. Palin, and spoke in talk both straight and plain.
The Maverick said he wanted Lieberman or Mitt, but those boys didn’t rate.
The Maverick needed a woman, and she became his second or third mate.

Soon as they met the hockey mom, all the Republicans could do was grin,
Until Charlie Gibson asked her all about the pesky Bush Doctrine.
Suddenly the whole idea of her as V.P. seemed too gnarly,
‘Cause all she could think of to reply was, “In what respect there, Charlie?”

And then the gotcha media started askin’ gotcha questions to her face,
And Mrs. Palin couldn’t even name one Supreme Court case,
They pushed her and they prodded her for information they seemed to need
And asked if she could name just one newspaper she could read.

The elitists cried, “She’s unqualified!” But the Maverick said, “Quit grousin’
She was Governor, and before that Mayor of a town of better than six-thousan’.
And before she was the mayor or Gov,” the Maverick went on to say,
“She was a member in good standing of the Matanuska Valley PTA.” 

Then came the debate with old Joe Biden, who went on the attack,
But he was surprised when Mrs. Palin turned into someone called Joe Sixpack
She debated just like Kennedy, or maybe old Abe Lincoln,
Only instead of recitin’ facts and stuff, she spent her time a-winkin’.

And then on the stump she gave a speech that was gut-wrenchin’.
She whipped the mob into a roar, till they were ready for a lynchin’.
She did everything but personally hand out white hoods and nooses.
She called Obama a terrorist, a celebrity who wouldn’t shoot at mooses.

“What happens next?” the people asked, after she caused this uproar.
“To get elected, Governor, would you start a nasty racial war?”
The hockey mom just smiled and said, “If winnin’ is what that gets ya,
Then you’re darn right I’ll sink into the muck, to protect America, you betcha.”

The mob said, “What’ll we do with this traitor who lives on Capitol Hill?”
And the hockey mom said with a smile, “Doggone, the chant’s ‘Kill, baby, kill!’”
So the lynch mob stormed off to get the terrorist she portrayed
And whatever happened next, she shrugged, was not for her to say.

And so it was this hockey mom Joe Sixpack saved your mama
From that secret Muslim terrorist’s pal Barack Hussein Obama.
“Yippy ki yi yay!” America sang, “Mrs. Palin, you’ve saved the day!
And who’d believe this maverick got her start at the Matanuska Valley PTA?”

And who’d believe this maverick got her start at the Matanuska Valley PTA? 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Palin Prophecies: North to the Future

 

Ah, say it ain’t so, Joe Sixpack. Our opponents want to keep goin’ back to the past, playin’ the blame game and pointin’ fingers at all the blunders of the current Republican administration, pickin’ on every little thing President Bush has done, like when he allowed 9-11, and lied us into a war in Iraq, and Katrina, and Enron, and illegal wiretaps, and Abu Ghraib, and torture, and rendition, and failin’ to get bin Laden, and the Valerie Plame scandal, and the Justice Department scandal, and the other Justice Department scandal, and the terrible economy, and the giant financial collapse that happened way back in September. Talk about nitpicky! Get over it! That stuff’s in the past. It’s time to move on and quit playin’ that blame game. Heck, you might as well go all the way back to the time 6,000 years ago when the world was first created, back when humans and dinosaurs walked the earth together. But ya know what? Me and John McCain, we’re gonna keep pointin’ forward so we can bring positive change to Washington. Yup, yup. North to the Future. That’s the official motto for the great state of Alaska, the state where I’m the executive of, and that’s where me and John McCain are headin’. The future! And you can tell from our recent campaign stops.

When John McCain was speakin’ at a rally in New Mexico the other day, he asked his crowd, “Who is this Barack Obama?” and someone in the crowd yelled back, “A terrorist!” And then when I was speakin’ at a rally in Clearwater, Florida, and I started bringin’ up all these old charges about what Bill Ayers did back in the ‘60s, when Barack Obama was 8 years old, and whippin’ up the crowd by callin’ Obama a terrorist, someone in my crowd yelled out, “Kill him!” Now that’s a shout-out–to the KKK! Yup, you’re darn tootin’. Our Republican rallies are startin’ to sound like good old fashioned lynchin’ parties! Heck, I guess we’re gonna have to start handin’ out white hoods and nooses at our “Maverick” rallies.

Just the other day John McCain’s brother, Joe, told some arugula-eatin’ reporter that northern Virginia was “Communist country.” Say it ain’t so, Joe! And then I talked to ol’ Bill Kristol about how the elite media’s been ignorin’ Reverend Wright. You remember him from the primary campaign, when he was all the elite media talked about for weeks? Yup, yup. And speakin’ of our personal spiritual guides, I just wanna give a shout out to my very own personal witch doctor, Pastor Muthee, who’s visitin’ Wasilla for about the 10th time right now from Africa. Pastor Muthee saved his hometown over in Africa from a witch, and he gave me a special blessin’ before I became governor that protected me from witches. Yup, yup. North to the 13th century! 

Heck, can you imagine if it was Barack Obama that had an African witch doctor castin’ blessin’s over him? I’ll bet that liberal media wouldn’t even ask him one gotcha question about it, but you knowdarn well those east coast media types are just sittin’ back there in their ivory towers waitin’ to ask me those gotcha questions. You’re darn right. I’m just waitin’ for them to ask the question. I’ve been waitin’ for about a month now, cause it’s been common knowledge, and heck, there’s even a video of it out there on the Your tubes. Yup, yup. I’m on to you, liberal east coast arugula-eatin’ media.

So while we’re talkin’ about witches and Communists and the 1960s, Barack Obama and Joe Biden want to keep goin’ backwards and harpin’ on the olden days, ya know, back to 2003 when that pesky Iraq war began, but John McCain and me, we know that nothin’ really counts over there until 2007 and the Splurge. You remember the Splurge, don’cha, implemented by that great American general, General David Petraeus? When we started payin’ those Sunnis and Sheilas 300 bucks apiece so they’d stop fightin’ us and we could finally have some success? And now’s not the time to wave the white flag of surrender, just when we’re about to achieve victory over in Iraq. Just ask General Petraeus’s second in command, General Sherman. He’ll tell ya. We’re gonna stay and keep spendin’ $10 billion a month and losin’ soldiers until the Iraqis tell us they’re ready to take over for themselves, and then and only then will we consider leavin’. Heck, it’s only been five-and-a-half years, 4,300 Americans killed, and a million dead Iraqis! What’re you so antsy about? 

And in Afghanistan, the Splurge will work there too, as our commander on the ground there, General Robert E. Lee, has said. Although we have to be careful there with Pakistan, which is a nucular power, cause if there were a nucular war, that would be the be-all, end-all for so many people. And it would be really bad for the environment.

Ya know, there’s blunders in every administration. In the Bush administration, like I said, there’s been the blunders. 9-11, Iraq, Enron, Katrina, Guantanamo Bay, all the Republican scandals, and the
biggest financial collapse since the Great Depression. And in the Bill Clinton years, there was Monica Lewinsky. So that’s blunders on both sides. Yup, yup. They kinda even out there.

So, yup, you’re darn right the government needs to just get outta the way and let freedom reign. Like the way it has the past eight years with Wall Street, or like it did durin’ Katrina. You don’t want all those pesky FEMA folks descendin’ on ya, tellin’ ya what to do, like, “Here, eat this!” or “Hey, Joe Sixpack, here’s a house for you and your family to live in, instead of that rat hole you’re curled up in there,” or “Here’s some bottled water for ya. Drink it or you’ll die!” Hey, whaddaya think we are, Socialists? Get outta my way, government! Like when some girl’s been raped and doesn’t want to have the baby. We don’t need government bustin’ in and sayin’, “OK, go and have your abortion.” Nope, we need government to step outta the way and let the states decide, so the state governments can step in and stop that abortion, like they did before Roe v. Wade. North to the 1950s! Yup, the states should be able to decide all that stuff. Heck, what do they think this is? One united country or somethin’? 

But now don’t go gettin’ the idea that I’m not tolerant. I’m very tolerant. Like with the gays. I’m tolerant of those gay people that made that choice to be gay, even though it’s obviously not a choice I would have made. ‘Cause they’re all gonna burn in hell for bein’ an abomination in God’s eyes, but you’re darn right that’s their choice. And that’s what America’s all about. Freedoms. Like the freedoms the terrorists over in Iraq hate us for, which is why we can’t afford to wave the white flag of surrender over there. We’ve gotta keep fightin’ ‘em over there so we don’t have to fight ‘em over here, as General Stonewall Jackson has said. And then if we have to go invade Iran, well, that’s somethin’ we’ll just have to do. And I know just the general to lead that charge. General Custer! Yup, yup.

 

The Palin Prophecies: We’re in For Some Nasty Weathermen

A shoutout to all our rabid Republican supporters out there who are screamin’ that they want us to take the gloves off and attack Barack Obama. They’re tired of hearin’ us talk about the economy. See, these are the Joe Sixpacks and hockey moms who know John McCain was right when he said “the fundamentals of our economy are strong.” They know that ’cause they’re the only folks who actually did well durin’ Bush’s 8 years in office, when everyone else was sufferin’. Maybe they ran Enron, or have stock in Haliburton, or are married to the CEOs of Exxon or Blackwater, and they darn sure don’t want things to change, which is why they’re supportin’ this team of Mavericks, John McCain and me.

Well, I don’t know what they think we’ve been doin’ up to now, what with all our lies about Obama’s tax plan and him wavin’ the white flag of surrender in Iraq and our whisper campaign that he’s a secret Muslim and all that other stuff that’s been debunked, but I guess what they’re sayin’ is they want us to go back to the Swiftboat-style personal attacks that worked like a charm for George W. Bush in 2000 and ’04. So, yup, yup, the Mavericks are gonna do that, campaign just like our hero, George Bush. The gloves are comin’ off!

Yup, yup, it’s gettin’ late and us Republicans are gettin’ desperate. Things were lookin’ pretty good there for awhile, then this big economic disaster hit, and all the Joe Sixpacks and everyday
Americans out there were reminded about how bad things have been over the past eight years under us Republicans, and they just keep gettin’ worse. And then it didn’t help any when John McCain kinda went haywire there, goin’ from “the fundamentals of the economy are strong” to total panic in about five minutes, and then Katie Couric with her gotcha journalism, askin’ me those gotcha questions like which newspapers do I read.

Speakin’ of which, I was readin’ in the New York Times–go ahead, I’ll pause here while you boo that paper that’s nothin’ but an arm of the Barack Obama campaign, the way they printed all of Judith Miller’s stories on the runup to the Iraq war, all those lies she was gettin’ straight from the Bush administration which they never bothered to question, yup, that liberal newspaper–are ya finished booin’? OK, anyway, the New York Times had this article on the front page that was all about Barack Obama pallin’ around with terrorists, in particular this domestic terrorist from back in the ‘60s, Bill Ayers, who was a cofounder of a group called The Weathermen, whose goal was to stop the Vietnam War. Yup, yup. And, although Barack Obama was only eight years old at the time, we don’t have any evidence that he wasn’t pallin’ around with this terrorist back then. Yup, yup, he was probably hidin’ out with these Weather dudes, makin’ bombs in between playin’ dodgeball and watchin’ Fat Albert, plannin’ attacks after he did his homework. That’s how imperfect Barack Obama thinks this country is. And anyone who doesn’t think this country is perfect, especially over the past 8 years, well, they’re nothin’ but a pal to terrorists.

Anyway, this terrorist Ayers, after he turned himself in in the ‘70s and then all charges against him were dropped, he became a Distinguished Professor at the University of Illinois at Chicago, where he teaches such un-American stuff as “social justice,” school reform and anti-poverty stuff, which is how he got associated with Barack Hussein Obama. They were both workin’ on this “community organizer”-type, anti-poverty stuff in Chicago, and they were on the same elite, arugula-eatin’ board of some liberal organization. Obama claims he didn’t  know about this Ayers’ terrorist past, and has condemned The Weathermen’s use of violence. So you’re darn right Barack Obama obviously is not a man who sees America as you and I do. And I’m talkin’ to the Joe Sixpacks out there, who really don’t give a hoot about poverty and social injustice, which is what Barack Obama and this terrorist Ayers were talkin’ about while they were pallin’ around.

Of course, after we brought up all this stuff from when Obama was eight years old, our opponents immediately did what they do, go back to the past and try to play the blame game. Now they’re sayin’ that if we’re grabbin’ at straws, bringin’ up some guy Obama barely had a cup a coffee with, then they can talk about my First Dude, Todd, and how he was a member of the Alaska Independence Party, the AIP, which calls for Alaska to secede from the union. Our opponents keep bringin’ up the words of Joe Vogler, the AIP’s founder, who said “the fires of hell are frozen glaciers compared to my hatred for the American government,” and “I’m an Alaskan, not an American. I’ve got no use for America or her damned institutions, and I won’t be buried under their damn flag.”

You’re darn tootin’ ol’ Joe said those things, not Todd or me. Heck, Todd was just a member of ol’ Joe’s secessionist group for 7 years, until 2002, and all I did was attend their convention in 2000 and then again in 2008, just a few months ago, when I actually spoke at their convention. I guess when we found out ol’ Joe said those terrible things about America, me and Todd coulda said, “Aw, say it ain’t so, Joe,” and not joined his organization, or I coulda at least refused to go speak at their convention, but we didn’t. Todd joined up anyway, and I went and spoke to ‘em, this group that calls for Alaska, the state which I am the executive of, to secede from the union, and says he hates America. I told ‘em that their party “plays an important role in our state’s politics.” And the Vice Chairman of the AIP, this fella named Dexter Clark, said that I was actually a member of the AIP before I got elected mayor of Wasilla. You betcha! Hey, it’s a free country. 

So, yup, the gloves are comin’ off, folks. And you can go to any soccer game on Saturday and ask the hockey moms and the Joe Sixpacks what they want their presidential candidates to talk about: the economy and the two wars we’ve been led into and all the problems we’re bein’ handed by this Republican administration and what our plan is to fix it all, or how, back in the 60s when Barack Hussein Obama was eight years old, some guy was a member of a radical group, and then later they had a cup a coffee. I betcha I know what your answer is, nudge nudge, wink, wink.

The Palin Prophecies: Let the Future Begin With Me

It was such a hard week for me, what with the debate and the practicin’ for the debates–and then to have that Queen Latifah moderatin’ the debate with her liberal gotcha media attitude…well, one sabbath just isn’t enough. I spent yesterday prayin’ on the future and what it’s gonna mean to me and Toddy and my beloved children–it was a day for myself, ya know?–although I did take a moment to point out how O’Bama, that Irish terrorist, is just too different, ya know? You betcha. I can think of a coupla ways he’s just different. But now Toddy and the children and I are takin’ a day together to plan the future of the country because it’s gonna take all of us–I can’t do it alone and God knows John-John won’t be up to it, I mean he can hardly find his way off the stage after he speaks–so it’s gonna mean that Toddy and I and Levi and some of my high school girlfriends–Hey, Girlfriends! the party’s not over til it’s over, yup yup. So we’re thinkin’ about the nation today, about the future of the United States and how we’re gonna govern, and we’re prayin’ to the Lord to show the way, just like Pastor Muthee prayed for the Lord to make way and, doggone, he did. Is God wonderful or what? Am I wonderful or what? Well, ok, so I’m goin’ into my room to pray in solitude, like the Lord asks us to do, and not wear my faith on my sleeve. But I did just want to give a shout out to that Pakistani leader I met who thought I was cute–he was so sweet to say it–and who got a fatwa because of me (not sure what that is but I assume he meant it to be flattering–and I’m pretty sure Henry Kissinger had one too so it must be ok, maybe one of those fern policy things): hey, hang in there, man, when I’m in the Opal Office, you can count on me. Ok, dude? And, by the way, Jesus, I just want ta thank you for bein’ with me last week when the Queen was goin’ after me. Isn’t a Queen some kinda gay guy? Ya know, who dresses up with big hair and too much lipstick and, like, vamps instead of bein’ serious? I dunno. It’s not somethin’ we have in the America I come from. Well, God bless me and God bless America on this the genuine Sabbath and make gay people straight again the way they were born. Amen.

The Palin Prophecies: Honoring the Other Sabbath

In honor of the other Sabbath, the one the Israels observe in Israel (I don’t know why the regular Sabbath isn’t good enough), which is our dear ally we’d do anything for, at least in the McCain camp we would, I’ve suspended my campaign for today. I believe that the land of Israel is special to God, for that is where Jesus will come again and bring all into His bosom, including the Jews, who will be Christians in the end. So today we do no work but just think about the end times coming, including the end of this campaign, which is so unfair. But we know who wins in the end. Amen.

The Palin Prophecies: The Big Murkowski

Whew! I sure am glad that debate’s over! I got so wound up by all those Gotcha! questions that I couldn’t sleep after I got back to the hotel. Luckily, Levi had some sort of funny little cigarette dohicky that’s supposed to make ya relax, so they say. Anyway, he gave me that and I took it back and watched this movie on Pay-Per-View by the Coen Brothers, some comedy, I don’t know. I remember that old song Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds was playin’, and I took a few puffs offa Levi’s funny cigarette, and then everything’s just kinda fuzzy after that. I dozed off, I guess, and had another one of those weird movie dreams, and Todd was in it! Maybe this means I’m gonna be a movie star if I don’t get the Veep role. Anyway,  I’ll try and describe it for ya, but I don’t know. Here goes:

NARRATOR: A way out west there was a fella, fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Todd Palin. At least that was the handle his lovin’ parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. This Palin, he called himself The First Dude, relatin’ to the fact that he was married to the Governor of the great state of Alaska, who happened to be away down in the lower 48 campaignin’ to be Vice President of the United States. And so it was that the First Dude, left to shift for himself at the governor’s mansion in Juneau, found himself at the neighborhood grocer’s, buyin’ a big can o’ moose stew for dinner, along with a carton of half’n half with which to make his favorite libation, a White Russian, which he particularly enjoyed due to the fact that you could see Russia from his house. Aw heck, I done introduced him enough….

SCENE: The governor’s mansion. The First Dude, wearing sunglasses and a bathrobe and carrying a paper sack, enters and flicks on a light. Immediately he is grabbed from behind by a strapping blond man and rushed across the vast living room, straight on into a small bathroom, where he is propelled through the door and his head plunged down into the toilet. The First Dude blows bubbles.

BLOND MAN: Where’s the money, Murkowski? Where’s the money, Murkowski? (He hauls The First Dude out of the toilet. The First Dude blubbers and gasps.) Where’s the stinkin’ money, dipwad?

FIRST DUDE: It’s, uh, it’s down there somewhere. Lemme take another look.

His head is plunged back into the toilet.

BLOND MAN: Don’t mess with us, Murkowski. You owe money to Ted Stevens for the Bridge to Nowhere. Just because you didn’t build it doesn’t mean you get to keep the money.

The blond man hauls The First Dude’s head out again, dripping and gasping. The First Dude sits up on the floor, back against the toilet, groping in the toilet for his sunglasses. Looming over him is the blond man. Beyond, in the living room, a young Chinese man unzips his fly and walks over to a polar bear rug. He starts peeing on the rug. The Dude’s hand comes out of the toilet with his sunglasses.

THE FIRST DUDE: Oh, man, don’t do that. Not on the rug, man…

CHINESE MAN: You see what happens? You see what happens, Murkowski?

THE FIRST DUDE: (Putting on his dripping sunglasses) Murkowski? I’m not Murkowski. You got the wrong guy. Murkowski was governor until 2006. I’m not even the governor. I’m The First Dude, man.

BLOND MAN: Your name is Murkowski, Murkowski. You’re the governor. Your daughter is a U.S. Senator. You appointed her to take over your position there when you got voted governor.

THE FIRST DUDE: My daughter, a U.S. senator? Do I look old enough to have a daughter who’s a Senator, man?

BLOND MAN: (Looks confused) Woo?

The Chinese man is zipping his fly.

WOO: Yeah?

BLOND MAN: Wasn’t this guy supposed to be older?

They both look around.

WOO: Uh…

BLOND MAN: Crap. I think we got the wrong governor, man.

WOO: Yeah, he looks like a frickin’ loser.

FIRST DUDE: Hey, at least I’m housebroken, man.

The blond man turns to go.

BLOND MAN: Thanks for wastin’ my time, jerk.

He walks into the living room, then stops at a side table, where he sees a large scale-model of The Bridge to Nowhere. He picks up the bridge model, drops it onto the floor and steps on it, smashing it, then grinds his boot onto the pieces, crushing the model into little bits. Then he and Woo exit, slamming the door behind them.

CUT TO:

Three snow machines revving on an ice flow. The riders shut their machines off and take off their helmets. They are The First Dude, John McCain, and George W. Bush. We are reminded of “Charlie’s Angels,” but only for an instant.

W: Woah, she’s runnin’ hot tonight! We’re gonna win that Iron Dog again. Mark it, First Dude.

MCCAIN: That was a valued rug. And the bridge, this was, uh, a valued scale model of the Bridge to Nowhere, am I wrong?

FIRST DUDE: Yeah, man, it really tied the state together.

W: What tied the state together, First Dude?

MCCAIN: W, you’re out of your element here. You’re like a child who wanders in in the middle of a movie and wants to know…

FIRST DUDE: What’s your point, McCain?

MCCAIN: There’s no frickin’ reason, here’s my point, First Dude, there’s no reason…

W: Yeah, McCain, what’s your point?

MCCAIN: W, shut the flip up.

FIRST DUDE: Man, Sarah is gonna be pissed! She really loved that Bridge to Nowhere, man! And the rug…

W: And this guy peed on it.

FIRST DUDE: The Chinaman…

MCCAIN: W, you’re out of your element! Here’s my point, First Dude. We’re talking about unchecked aggression here. The Chinaman is not the issue, man…

FIRST DUDE: What are you frickin’ talkin’ about, man?

W: He peed on The First Dude’s rug.

MCCAIN: W, you’re out of your element! Frank Murkowski! The other governor, the ex governor. There’s no reason, there’s no fricking reason why he should go out and owe money to Ted Stevens and then they come and pee on your rug. Am I wrong?

FIRST DUDE: No, but…

MCCAIN: Am I wrong?

FIRST DUDE: (Stroking his goatee) Yeah, I could go find this Murkowski guy—

W: His name is Murkowski? That’s the name of the governor that Sarah beat in the election, First Dude…

MCCAIN: W, please…

FIRST DUDE: Yeah, this is the guy, this guy should compensate me for the rug, and the bridge. I mean, he goes out and owes money to Ted Stevens and they pee on my rug?

MCCAIN: That’s right, First Dude. They pee on your frickin’ rug. And I did not have buddies die face down in the muck to have these rug-peers…

FIRST DUDE: Oh, come on, man. It’s not always about Viet Nam and your POW thing, man…

CUT TO:

The First Dude sitting in an expansive office at a desk. Entering the room in a motorized wheelchair is Frank Murkowski, a distinguished, gray-haired, slick-looking man of about 70.

MURKOWSKI: OK, you’re a Palin, I’m a Murkowski…

FIRST DUDE: No, look, let me explain something. I’m not Palin. I’mThe First Dude. So that’s what you call me. That, or First Duder. HisFirst Dudeness. Or Numero Uno Duderino, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing.

MURKOWSKI; That’s terrific. I’m very busy, so why am I here?

FIRST DUDE: Well, sir, it’s this polar bear rug I have, and this bridge model. It really tied the state together… These guys broke it, and they peed on my rug.

MURKOWSKI: Did I urinate on your rug?

FIRST DUDE: Well no, Woo peed on the rug…

MURKOWSKI: Hello! So every time a rug is micturated upon in this great state of Alaska, I have to compensate the owner?

FIRST DUDE: Come on, man, you’re the one who borrowed the money from Ted Stevens…

MURKOWSKI: (Slams his fist on the desk angrily) Ted Stevens is not the issue here! Are you employed, sir?

FIRST DUDE: Employed? My wife’s the governor, man. And she’s runnin’ for Vice President.

MURKOWSKI: Vice President? So you just follow her around?

FIRST DUDE: (Shrugs) The First Dude abides.

MURKOWSKI: Ah, I see. In other words, you’re a bum. My advice to you is to do what your parents did! Get a job, sir! The bums will always lose their bridges!

The First Dude puts on his sunglasses, stands up and walks to the door as Murkowski continues yelling behind him. He opens the door and exits the office to a hallway, goes down the hallway to door, opens the door ,and exits to a stone walkway that winds through a back lawn, which is covered in snow. A young woman, Senator Lisa Murkowski, wearing a parka, sits on a chair, gazing out at the lawn. As The First Dude approaches, she holds her bare foot out to him.

LISA: Blow on them.

FIRST DUDE: (Pulls his sunglasses down and looks at her frostbitten toes) Huh?

LISA: (Wiggles her foot and giggles) G’ahead. Blow.

FIRST DUDE: You want me to blow on your toes?

LISA: Yeah, I can’t even feel ‘em anymore. They’re frozen. I need someone to blow on ‘em and warm ‘em up, and I can’t blow that far.

The First Dude looks over at the snowy lawn, just as a man sticks his head out of a snowdrift and peers at them.

FIRST DUDE: You sure he won’t mind?

LISA: Oh, that’s just Putin rearing his head. He doesn’t care. He’s a communist.

Just then I heard a voice, far-off like, and felt a shakin’, and I woke up from the dream, and there was Todd, gently shakin’ me awake, and behind him were all my friends. There was John McCain, my soul mate, George W. Bush, who I so admire and agree with on, gosh, just about everything, and Ted Stevens, my mentor up in the great state of Alaska, and Frank Murkowski, my old Republican predecessor as governor. I musta looked a sight, ’cause Todd looked all worried, and he said, “There, there, Sarahcuda, you’ve just had a bad dream.” And I said, “But it wasn’t a dream. It was a movie. And you and you and you and you were there.”

“Boy,” said W, “I want what she’s been smokin’.”

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.