by
I got the text message late one evening, after I was out plotting having a few drinks with some eco-terrorists buddies and boy, was I shocked:
need 2 c u.
xo
UBetcha1
Seriously? After all I'd said in my drugged out ejaculations blogs? And with what I can only assume to be a rather paltry exclusive audience for my crazed lefty fair and balanced rants that she would even take notice? Was it yet another prank pulled by my fellow ass-hats japesters (like the time one of them short-sheeted my deceased grandfather's shroud at his funeral. Frikkin' rascal!)?
Anyway, I got home and I decided to text back, 'cause, y'know, you never know.
r u fulluvit?
And I get back this:
; )
A devilish wink.
That was all the proof I needed.
Sarah. You texting, tea-bagging, twisty-straw twirling tease.
She shot me her info and, though my heart was racing like the time I snorted a line of chocolate sprinkles on a dare I was a love-sick teenager, I was able to meet her the following evening at the next stop on the Racists, Schmucks and Feebleminded Crackers Road Show Tea Party Express in Ohio some state which shall remain nameless.
I arrived just at the end of the cluster-fuck of clods rather well organized gathering and sure enough, though I stood way in back wearing a disguise (without my toupee and chin implant I am unrecognizable) I could swear her trademark wink carried some special payload meant only for Very Truly Yours.
And like all her inane jaw droppingly stupid incendiary inspired rhetoric, it hit its intended marks: my heart and plump, twitching groin soul.
As she strode offstage accompanied by bloodthirsty shrieks enthusiastic applause I made for our prearranged meeting place: a feces encrusted Port-O-Johnny secluded knoll behind the arena. I reaffixed my hair and chin and waited.
And as I looked up into the night sky, I started thinking: why, after all she's said and done (or quit doing), why after all the contradictions in her statements, the barely concealed calls for violent insurrection, why after a legacy of corruption and inadequacy in her ditched gubernatorial administration and the certainty that any future Palin presidency, as far-fetched as that sounds, would bring widespread misery, fraudulence and the destruction of the America so many generations fought, lived and died for---why am I yet so relentlessly infatuated with her?
"Hey, you..."
I spun around, ready to finally meet the cheese-grater voiced harridan epitome of American womanhood and plant one on her seething remora-like suck-hole full, firm mouth.
It was my soon-to-be-assassinated-eco-terrorist comrades buddies. They had punked me big time.
"Snag!" they roared. "Psych!"
I had to laugh along with them. Yep. They busted me, all right. But that's what we Liberals have that our right wing counterparts don't: humility and a self-effacing sense of humor.
And as we walked back to my father's '77 Capri our Prius, I saw Sarah's bus pulling out of the parking lot, hitting the road to her next beer hall putsch port of call.
And as for the question I posed earlier, to why in spite of all she says and is I still can't get her out of my mind, call it being a horny, lizard-brained, obsolete male an amanuensis of the zeitgeist. Tweet u later, Sarah.