That’s right, ugly motherfuckers, choke on the electric flesh. Bask in the power of the g-stringed glands and the ever-present scent of musk–America’s first Sex President is here.
Sarah Palin stalks the White House like a lurking lady-tiger backs up on a man-tiger’s jungle cock. And by that I mean she’d appreciate your vote, yoo betcha. And then she’d like to roger you incontinent and have 99 of your kids, and it’s about fucking time we had a real President, right?
Because it’s fucking time. Please don’t be turned off by it. Don’t only be a prude in the New America. This is the free-wheeling kingdom of the twin royals, hot and dumb, dude. Where folks are celebrities not because of what they accomplish, what they think, or what they write. People are famous because of what they look like in your mind, naked and down on their knees. Well, at least until they begin to become un-famous. And then they become famous again for what their freshly-shaven vaginas look like just above the limo seats.
Hawtdumb ‘Merica has just had enough of the uptight snorts who demand that people be talented, accomplished or hard working in order for the public to pay proper attention. Why can’t folks be rewarded with important and serious stuff for being totally smokin’ and horny? Sure, they may not know how to diagnose your bronchitis, may get confused over which end of the stethoscope goes against your skin, but how do you know they won’t just whip off their shirts, too? People will clamor for office visits. And softer butcher paper, maybe by Playtex.
The open embrace of Hawtdumb is the secret joy of all those Conservatives who once were so stodgy-bored about their candidates having intellect, or fortitude, and gravitas. They’re finally free to admit that what they’ve really been about all this time is perceived sexual power. Tall men, deep voices and iron-square jaws and cranky attitudes, red, white, and blue, and boy howdy I bet that guy can really fuck. You’ve got my vote, Randy! Yeeeeeehaw.
Back in the old days, those guys were ‘winners’. They quarterbacked the football team, ran the debate squad, gave the valedictory speech. Wrote influential books, won awards. They got out of the house, got out of the home town, went off and did the things that Americans bragged about.
John McCain was a last vestige of that version of what Republicans wanted. He went to Annapolis, served the country, he went to war. But you can see how even that model has become mostly a memory for the right: John was actually a stupid student, a terrible pilot, crashed a bunch of planes, got shot down, barely survived. He’s been trying to be that guy, but failed. He should have just slipped into the House of Representatives for a few years and then gone home and retired.
But with their allowing the lapse of the previous ‘capable’ model, with so many ‘new’ stupid and clueless Republicans choking the scene, who else could they have turned to? The business-Mor-man, Mitt Romney? He scares the shit out of dogs. The preacher, Huckabee? He breeds zeppelins. Bobby Jindal? He’s brown–in all the South, that only plays in Louisiana.
So they settled for McCain. But while they were doing that, they also developed a taste for the new breed. The people that stirred up the most right-side excitement in the last election were the retardeds, Fred Thompson and Sarah Palin. No, neither one of them had done squat shit in their lives other than gravitate to cameras and traffic in politics. And neither of them had enough intellectual firepower to snap off a punchline. These people were close to being sleeping turtles, but Republicans just loved them and love them still.
Why? Indeed. Chris Matthews knows why, it was exactly what he was talking about when, of Fred, he asked a guest “Does he have sex appeal? … Gene, do you think there’s a sex appeal for this guy, this sort of mature, older man, you know? … Can you smell the English leather on this guy, the Aqua Velva, the sort of mature man’s shaving cream, or whatever, you know, after he shaved? Do you smell that sort of — a little bit of cigar smoke?” Men talking about men like that. I suppose it has to be done when it’s the only relevant issue about Fred Thompson’s hilariously fatal candidacy. That, and his hot young wife, same thing.
And so it is with Palin, but in supple spades. She is horny and porny and she shoots living, breathing things, making them jizz their blood. Yeeeeeehaw, that’s a happy ending. Does she know what the Bush Doctrine is? No. Does she read……mmm, newspapers? No. Hell, had she even been much outside of tiny Wasilla before she became the state’s Governor? Bite my nipples.
Had she ever anythinged, anywhere, anyway? Other than bankrupt her home town? Do I really have to go on with this post? Isn’t it obvious what the hell Sarah’s game and fame are about? This person, from the world of politicians, who once were known for their silver tongues and acrobatic ways with language? Who got off this
sentence folksy line curious construction mind grinder felony alphabet abortion in a welcome address for Michael Reagan?
“I’ll know that I have spoken up and I will speak up to thank people like Mr. Reagan, as we honor his dad, to encourage you too, Alaskans, to do the same and don’t just hang in there and go along to get along but stand up and speak up, and be bold and demand that Washington be prudent with our public monies and prioritize for America’s security, and forget the political correctness that makes one guard your conversation, and couch our words so cautiously that they lose meaning, and we lose effectiveness, and then we lose hope because we start thinking that politicians are only worried about their poll numbers and attracting campaign contributions for their next bid so that they can hold on to some title and some position.”
Aaaaah. She’s speaking your language, Conservatives. Or, in an other word, “XCKYJIPHGLE”. So mellifluous, it rolls off your tongue, after your tongue has been stabbed in its balls. Can’t wait for that radio show of hers, satellites crashing into each other trying to zero the signal.
“What’s the emergency, Bob?”
“We’re getting a repeating message off of one of the TELSTARS. Strange.”
“Well, what is it?”
“Just this: NO. PLEASE. ANTENNAE.”
Okay, enough, no further. C’mon, we all know there’s really no sense in her mangling a radio station. Between the ubiquitous cable play-by-play of the Hiltons, Simpsons and Kardashians, we’re already drowning in hot helium. The real essential, underlying Palin message just isn’t English, isn’t language at all, but it is already abundantly clear, and it’s never going to change. Cheaply polarizing, stoking one side, horrifying the other, it’s this:
“America? I will fuck you.”