Godammit, I’m Mad!

Dear Diary,

I am so doggone mad that the US government is so stuck in its Washington ways and so not truly in touch with the great people of this great nation. It has seen fit to declare the beluga whale an endangered species, even though Todd and me tried to block this very dangerous decision. It just makes me so mad! It’s like here I am the Governor of the great state of Alaska, but these elitist conservationists think they know more than me.

Doncha hate it when you’re just tryin’ to help this great country of ours to Drill baby drill, but they get some liberal elitist scientists to go all ‘declining population’ when we already told ‘em the whales are fine.

I hafta say that I like it when me and Todd are tryin to make babies, and he’ll sorta whisper “Drill baby drill” and it makes me feel almost as good as when I’m speakin’ at a big ol’ rally about some of the changes I’m gonna be makin over there in Washington if I am so blessed.

I told Todd, I said Todd, if the lord wants to bless us with another special baby it will be my privilege to just put that thing in a basket under my desk at the White House and let Piper keep it quiet while I am makin’ those important decisions to get this great nation back on the right track.

Speakin’ of Track, if that boy asks me for drug money one more time, I swear I’m gonna have his ass deployed to Afghanistan. I love my boy dearly but like I remind him, there are plenty more where he came from, so don’t do anything to screw up my chances. Between him and Bristol I can see where a woman might want to go ahead and use birth control. LOL, just kiddin’ of course.

Well, time for my hot cocoa and my phone-call to John, who is drivin’ me nuts with his crap about POW this and POW that. Poor Cindy, right? On November 5 I can tell John to just shove it and kiss my ass. Once I’m elected, that old bastard will learn who’s boss.

Dear Madge,

I’ve always hated you but for once you’ve made me happy.  First, because while posing for a picture of my big biker boots, I realize that I’m five years older than you and I never exercise. Ha ha, all that time and torture, you could have been sitting around on your ass and still look okay!

Much more important, Madge, you announced your divorce just when this great country of our needs an intervention. The election is ruining our days and haunting our dreams. Nothing short of your break-up with Guy could have diverted my attention from the horror that is John McCain and Mrs. Palin. Just this short break from the every day grind of fear and loathing has been a tonic!

I’ve been longing for this divorce since the day you got married. It proves that you can’t just move into an English manor and adopt a silly accent and expect people to forget what an annoying egomaniac you are. You’ve got half a billion dollars and you still can’t figure anything out! All Guy wanted was to get to make his gangster movies and have a couple of pints at night with his mates, but no, you couldn’t let him be happy.

You had to go fill your cheeks up with Sculptra and steal a black baby and run around in your leotard instead of turning your attention to poor Guy. You had to spend every day with Gwyneth in the gym, bitching about fame and making her lose weight. You had to make everybody go all Kabbalah, even your innocent kids, and then you had to go and fuck a married baseball player.

FIne, we know how much you love Latinos and sports stars but Madge, you ruined Guy’s reputation as a director and then you made him fly to New York to pretend things were cool! What is it exactly that you want, besides big muscles and and Ed Hardy tracksuits?

Whatever it is, I hope you never get it. You’ve been a constant irritant in the oyster of my life, without producing one single pearl, unless you count my abiding hatred as a precious gem. I’ve hated you through every one of your phases, and I know I’ll hate you in perpetuity. If the sun rises, I’ll hate you, is what I’m trying to say.

Thank you Madonna for letting us change the subject, however briefly, and for teaching us the true meaning of schadenfreude.

Oh god, who gives a shit about all these Joes?!?

Could you hate Grandpa more if you tried? Let us out the ways.

The crazy smile, the chipmunk cheeks, the erect thumb, the scars, the demand for “repudiation”…..

It almost makes you long for the old days, my friends, when we had Mavericks to kick around.

Did anyone hear Grandpa mention his “opposition to the Iraq war?” Everyone at my house screamed “WHAT?” but no one called him on it. Are we suffering from mass hysteria? After listening to the crowd at CNN saying it was McCain’s best performance yet, I have to wonder what planet I’m on.

What was good about it, can anyone explain? Was is the psychotic look on his face, the blinking, the piousness, the personal attacks, the flubbed words, the flabbergasting lies?

I am tempted to defend Joe Sixpack from the cruel shift of Republican affection. Why has he been abandoned like this?! Does he hate the unborn, or the partially unborn? I know how it feels to be cast aside, my friends, but I promise to fight for you and with you, if you’ll just give me a chance to spit out that crap I’ve been storing in my cheeks for winter!

Today, I had a moment of clarity. I understood why Grandpa and that Church Lady must not be allowed to win this election. He’s too old, and she’s too stupid.

Alas, there are a number of people who haven’t grasped this. And now that Grandpa told some senile old racist that No ma’am, Obama isn’t an Arab, his handlers seem to think he should get a medal for good conduct. To quote a rant I just read,

“Garnering credit for coming to the defense of Senator Obama is like an arsonist claiming heroism for saving lives after having set fire to the building in the first place.”

On a happier note, the super-hunky Levi Johnston has come forward to talk about his babymama, Bristol “What does Birth Control mean?” Palin. Levi says that he always planned to marry the young fertility goddess, although now he’s had to drop out of high school to get a job on an oilfield. Levi describes his current situation philosophically. “It’s pretty chill.”

Levi, I love you so much. You are what we Jews would call a mensch, even though you’ve probably never met an actual Jew. I love the way you stepped up for Bristol. I love that you’ve given up your dream of playing hockey, just like Track did. I love how you tattooed Bristol’s name on your finger. I bet that’s your trigger finger. I’ve seen you holding your big rifle, ahem. And I love that even though you refused to divulge the baby’s gender, you did reveal your plan to “take him hunting and fishing.”

When asked how he felt about joining the Palins at the RNC, Levi said “At first, I was nervous. Then I was like, whatever.”

God, I know just what he means! Who among us is not, like, whatever?

No one should be surprised that a guilty verdict means nothing to Mrs. P or her supporters. But it’s still disturbing to hear her express pleasure at being cleared of “any legal wrongdoing.” Does she deliberately use the word “legal” to distinguish that sort of wrongdoing from “ethical” wrongdoing? Is she a genius with words, when all along we’ve been calling her a moron? We will need to ask George Orwell to get the answer.

However, not only does she call guilty innocent, in this phone interview with reporters, she calls Troopergate “Tasergate.” A clever attempt to refocus attention to Trooper Wooten, the victim of her vendetta, who is accused of tasering his own son. But guess what, Mrs. Palin, Wooten’s son subsequently chose to live with his father after a custody dispute! Nice try, but flagrant foul, as they say in basketball.

If you read the report, you will find that Todd Palin had his own perch in his wife’s office, a conference table where he sat all day making threatening phone-calls on behalf of the deranged Missus. I thought the First Dude was supposed to be a house-husband?? Maybe this explains why he never holds that poor baby.  The best response to this shit is a story over here, which ends on this note:

“Elect these nutbars, and Todd Palin will be renditioning people who cut him off in traffic.”

Pap Smear, we must crank up our efforts. We must challenge Palin’s “verbage” and not allow any more nonsense to come out of her one-lipped mouth without calling her on it.

Let’s all thank the amazing Susan for finding this delightful image.  Susan is the one to go to when you want to know what’s going on, or what’s cool.

Then, while you’re enjoying the guilty verdict in Troopergate, find a moment to watch this enlightening video that outlines Mrs. P’s flip-flopping on “transparency”. It includes an audio tape of Mrs. Palin’s aide issuing a threat to a State Trooper Official.

That bitch couldn’t be more guilty if she shot that poor trooper and served him for dinner.  Her husband is guilty too, even if there’s no law against acting as your wife’s hit-man. Todd Palin is a simpleton and a bully but he’s no match in either department for his crazy, duplicitous wife.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I was so excited tonight, I forgot to put the new ice cream in the freezer. I now have a half-gallon of melted Limited Edition Dreyer’s Apple Pie ice cream to commemorate this historic victory for justice and sanity!

I’ve listened to  Mrs. P at two separate campaign rallies, yesterday and today, answering questions about how she intends to keep her promise of being a friend to moms with special needs kids. Each time, she said that she would “make it a priority” in the schools. She would pay for this not by raising spending, but by “prioritizing.”

Somehow, I’m not convinced that she has a plan. I did read that she has a full-time babysitter for Trig on her payroll. Bless her heart!

I have also been so privileged as to read about Track Palin’s mysterious trip to Michigan to finish high school.  It’s because he and 3 other boys were arrested in 1985 for vandalizing some school buses while they were drunk. Believe me, I have spent hours reading about this and there is no doubt in my mind that this is why he enlisted in the armed forces instead of pursuing his ambition to be a professional hockey player.  It’s actually a pretty fascinating cover up.

Frankly, I am sick to death of Mrs. Palin but I am duty bound to hunt her down like the wolves she likes to shoot from helicopters.  By tomorrow, we’ll hear some kind of verdict in Troopergate, but I already know that nothing will stop this crazy bitch, nothing.  Read this and then drink yourself to sleep.

Meanwhile, I have been honored with a request from K-line to list six of my quirks. I’m not sure if these are quirks but here you go:

1. I still sleep with a blankie only it’s a shirt, named Shirty.
2. I scream when I rub my eyes, involuntarily. The Eye-Rubbing Scream still alarms my husband.
3. I’m afraid to drive on freeways.
4. I like to plan and carry out elaborate vendettas.
5. I love to dance to disco music.
6. I cross myself when I hear something dreadful, even though I’m an atheist Jew.

Now I’m supposed to tag a bunch of people and some other stuff but I’m too tired and need to go watch Nancy Grace.

It was almost sad, but you know, it wasn’t! It felt good to see Grandpa wandering around like an arthritic midget, baring his horrible teeth in a mean grimace. He was Danny DeVito to Obama’s Fred Astaire.

Who would you choose to run the country: An angry hissing old bastard who can’t open his mouth without lying, or a gracious, brainy idealist who is comfortable in his own skin?

Unless an October Surprise of monumental import comes to pass, Obama has it in the bag.

Just to cover the main points of the evening:

1. How many “My Friends” can anyone take?? All My Friends actually sent me text messages that began with the words “My Friends!” (I texted in reply, “U Hate Freedom!”)

2. Grandpa’s whistling S’s inspired a Whistling S contest between me and my nephew. I won!

3. No one left me any chicken wings! Fuckers.

Ah, but how gratifying to hear the post-debate blather at CNN. They all admitted that Grandpa was a repellent little shit. Not in those exact words, though.

Did everybody see McCain refuse to shake Obama’s hand? Nice touch, Grandpa! Now, we must turn our attention to Mrs. P, who probably thinks she holds the winning hand.

Is anyone surprised that Grandpa’s campaign has finally deployed their secret weapon….Obama’s middle name?

Gosh darnit, some prick who introduced Mrs. P to a Nazi rally in Clearwater Florida busted out with “Barack Hussein Obama” to huge applause. The implication of course is that Obama is a Muslim terrorist, not in fact the idealistic all-American family man he’s pretending to be.

While Mrs. Palin incited the crowd by accusing Obama of harboring terrorist feelings about Our Great Country, her audience screamed their support. The cry of “Kill him!” could be heard.

Thanks, Sarah!

Meanwhile, Grandpa is practically foaming at the mouth. I am braced for the absolute worst in his debate tactics. He’ll probably say that Obama is not only a terrorist but a Black Panther.  You should take the time to read this sobering biography of  John McCain, which reveals in detail why our “Maverick” is really a shameless liar and life-long opportunist whose temperament makes him unfit for the job of President.

God I hate that fucking bastard. Shall we select “POW” as our drinking word for tomorrow night? Other suggestions?

It’s going to be really, really ugly, people. If you haven’t joined PAP Smear, it’s not too late. Our Chief Political Strategist, annemarie, stands at the ready to give you an assignment.

* On a happier note, Sister Wolf was invited to talk about Mrs. P on Australian radio! It was very exciting. The charming host, Michelle Crowther, warned her audience that I am a “potty mouth,” but I was miraculously able to avoid swearing. Shit! You can listen by clicking on the little headphone and the date 5/10/08.

Long ago, in a galaxy known as Coggles.com, I was dazzled by a Vivienne Westwood tiara with little diamante devil horns. It was a replica of the one Viv wore to meet the Queen of England. It was way out of my price range, but I was brokenhearted when it disappeared from the website.

Now that I’ve decided to renounce internet shopping, I have come upon this tiara again.

Fuck. Is it a test of my character, by god or the devil? Is it a cosmic joke on me? Or is it simply a fucking bummer?

I want these devil horns. I need them. I could wear them with everything, or nothing. They were obviously meant just for me. They cost around $450.

I know in the rational part of my brain that they won’t bring happiness. They will just add to the crap-heap of my life, the tons of hoarded belongings that could have fed most of Sub-Saharan Africa if their cost was added up.

But the primitive credit-card wielding part of my brain that reacts wildly to sparkly things is going “Oooh, it’s too beautiful to pass up!”

Can anyone help put me out of my misery? I need to be convinced not to make this purchase. Or maybe the opposite.

*Don’t worry, PAP Smear members.  We wil reconvene tomorrow night. It’s getting uglier by the minute.