Palintology

Shoveling shit this morning, I started thinking about the Rapture. What if Sarah (One-Coronary-Away-From-Leader-of-the-Free-World!) Palin pushed the Little Red Button just to speed things up? What's a little nuclear holocaust between friends? Especially friends who will be rising momentarily toward Heaven?

I think about Sarah Palin all the time. I can't help myself. I see her everywhere. On billboards. At the drive-thru. In the HumVee passing me on the bridge (the Bridge to Nowhere). She looks like my mail carrier. Like one of my ex-boyfriends. Like my dog. She looks like my 15-year-old plecostamous, for godsakes, who would no doubt end up taxidermied on some outhouse wall if SP ever got wind of its miraculous longevity.

Does anyone out there have a pleco older than 15? In fact, is anyone out there?

It's been two weeks since my last panic attack and I'm skating on thin ice. Like a polar bear. I can't rid myself of this deep feeling of dread. Like something's getting closer, something sinister, and it's coming for me and I don't know what it is and there's nothing I can do about it.

Must be how a moose feels when the Guv's in the hood.

The dishwasher whispers her name. The vacuum cleaner laughs behind my back. The coffee grinder grinds, baby, grinds. In fact, I think I caught a glimpse of her behind the counter down at Dan's Feed Bin, doling out the oats and hay. Is it just me, or does she sound like that Sheriff in Fargo? What's that broad's name?

Oh, yah. Marge.

But the real question remains: did Sarah Palin cause my speeding ticket?

Got it yesterday, Nascaring the kid to school. Doesn't matter the kid had to hose down her bangs and mine licorice out of her braces and choose one more in an unending diatribe of fashion statements and make sure I knew exactly whose fault this was, whose fault everything was, why can't I just relax, why can't I be like other mothers, why can't I be like..... Doesn't matter the kid didn't say the one name that came to mind, she might as well have. Doesn't matter we were eleven minutes late and the attitude was flying as was my blood pressure as was the Jeep as were the pretty swirling red and yellow leaves and then those pretty swirling red and blue lights in the rearview mirror and it doesn't matter, it's all her fault.

Sarah (If-My-Daughter-Has-Twins-We'll-Name-'Em-Double-Aught!) Palin's, that is. In case you missed my point.

But speaking of shoveling. My dog has learned not to shit where she eats. Though she shits pretty much everywhere else. Maybe she should run for office. She is a good runner, I'll give her that. One qualification being the norm these days. Alas, she's not human. Human being the one indisputable qualification Mrs. Palin brings to the table.