Listen, mister, I'm pretty sure that lady is crazy. She thinks the earth is only 6,000 years old, like God put the fossils here to mess with our heads. She thinks no woman should have an abortion, even if she is raped by her smackhead older brother. She thinks global warming is nothing to do with our SUVs or tumble dryers or coal-fired power plants or air conditioners or airplanes or over-zealous central heating, oh no. It's all perfectly natural. She thinks guns are good, but books not so much. She thinks Jesus wanted us to invade Iraq. She thinks the only sex education kids should get is abstinence. If you let them find out about condoms, they'll be at it like prairie dogs after a couple of lines of cocaine.
More on that later.
John McCain calls himself a "maverick," which means a cow that wanders around without its herd. If I were him, I'd be careful likening myself to a four-legged critter good for barbecuing. Or roasting. Or fricasseeing. That lady likes to shoot, gut, skin and eat such things.
There is some dispute as to whether her favorite food is moose stew or moose burgers. But one thing is sure: she likes to kill caribou. Seen that picture of her with the caribou she just wasted? She kneels in Alaska's virgin snow as the caribou bleeds, accessorized by one of her small children. (Get those young 'uns up close and personal with death -- makes 'em tough; makes 'em better basketball players). You know what they call caribou at the North Pole? Reindeer. So here's the lesson Maverick McCain's running mate is teaching the little nipper: if Prancer or Blitzen step out of line, clean his clock. Merry Christmas.
A lot of your Rush Limbaugh-Dick Cheney-Donald Rumsfeld-Heinrich Himmler-type men who used to have the hots for Margaret Thatcher go for this kind of woman. She's packing heat and she's got Jesus in her heart. Plus she's a babe. They imagine her in 6-inch stilettos and a leather Emma Peel cat suit, teaching a sharp lesson to one of those goatherds at Guantanamo. Oh, mama! She's the twin sister of Walker, Texas Ranger. She's Jack Bauer with breasts. She's the lost love child of Steven Seagal and Charles Bronson, back from her job as a bouncer at Bullwinkle's Roadhouse Bar and You-Shoot-'em, We-Grill-'em Polar Bear Ranch in Wasilla, Alaska, to save America.
I don't know about you, mister, but I'm not sure the lady would strike quite the right tone with our allies and other world leaders. Except maybe Vladimir Putin. She's got a lot in common with him. Suppress information you don't like, destroy your enemies, go to church. Tsar Vladimir, meet Empress Moosalina.
Speaking of love child -- let's get down through the permafrost to the real nitty-gritty. Did you see that poor 17-year-old Bristol standing on the international stage with her boyfriend Levi Johnston? The whole world looked at them and had one thought: They had sex!Unprotected sex!
Wouldn't a visit to the local Planned Parenthood clinic have been cheaper and easier? I'm just saying.
The handlers, or else his mama, cleaned old Levi up, made him lose the mullet in favor of a preppie haircut. But it was too late. On his FaceBook site he reveals that 1. He is "a f--g redneck" and 2. He doesn't want kids. Tell it to the Secret Service, Bud: you don't knock up the daughter of the potential president of these United States and just go back to snowboarding. I mean, these are "family values" Republicans. No abortion under any circumstances. The wages of sin is a shotgun wedding involving two teenagers who will probably be divorced by the time they're old enough to drink. That lady is not about to have her daughter produce a pup without benefit of clergy. Jesus wouldn't like it. Neither would the party base. Go rent that tux, Bud. And shut up.
To recap: Maverick McCain is wandering off the range as the economy heads down the household plumbing. George Bush is pouting in the Oval Office because nobody, even Levi Johnston, wants to be seen with him. Republicans are explaining that they love the fact that an unwed teenaged girl is pregnant because "it's something all families can relate to." Track Palin is getting sent to Iraq on Sept. 11 (coincidence? We think not) where maybe he can hang out with Beau Biden and discuss post-imperial fall-out and the failure of Pan Arabism. And Empress Moosalina, who doesn't know much about the mortgage guarantee crisis but does know how to get millions in taxpayer dollars for some one-husky town in Alaska, will rant about how Democrats waste taxpayer dollars, drink lattes, hate babies, hate guns, love arugula and want to marry caribou instead of shoot them.
I just have one thing to say: "Free Bristol!" p
Diane Roberts, an eighth-generation Floridian, is author of "Dream State," literature professor at Florida State University and Solares Hill capital bureau chief.