And Don't Call Me Shirley

While cleaning out my Post-Its the other day, I found this, from a newspaper headline:

"Man Found Partially Frozen to Pavement"

I mean, who needs more? Enough said. Like Sarah Palin staring all bushy-eyed at the camera and explaining -- with gestures! -- that because Alaska is surrounded by two foreign countries, this gives her foreign relations experience.

First of all, is Canada really a country?

Against my better judgment, I've been YouTubing Mrs. Palin in my spare time. Questions regarding the meaning of "better" and "spare" aside, as a result of these latenight cyber forays, I am in official fullblown flabbergastion over this broad.

Raise your hand if you've seen the clip of Mrs. Palin entreating the masses to ask Jesus for help in convincing Congress to drill for oil in Alaska. If not, pour yourself a stiff one and settle in for a fun-filled exciting cartoon show.

Now we have the spectacle of Mrs. Palin turning herself into a folk hero right before our very eyes as she Aw-Shucks! her way through a "debate" with Joe O'Biden, as she called him, who is also showing telltale signs of fullblown flabbergastion, poor man.

I have a sneaking suspicion all those fat white women in the heartland who've been weeping rapturously over McCain's selection of a running mate don't have computers. Have never set a fat foot on the Cyberland Express. Otherwise they, too, would surely be in the beginning stages of flabbergastion. Right? I saw an AP photo of a group of these women, hands clasped in prayer over ample breasts, tears streaming down ample cheeks, gazing up at Mrs. Palin as if upon the face of Jesus' little sister, Pistol. Pistol Christ.

So shoot me if I'm an asshole. Everybody's an asshole.

But these are not women I'd want to know. Not women I'd want to be choosing the next President of the United States. Does the number "nineteenth" mean anything to them? How about "twenty-first"? How about "sixty-four-thousand"? Am I being obtuse here? Do they even know what obtuse means?

And B, is the United States really a democracy?

Barely 60% of us vote. And that's on a good day. We're too busy YouTubing and HBOing and killing the fatted calf, hold the pickles, to bother helping decide something as inconsequential as who will be the next Leader of the Free World. I mean, whatever. And those who do vote have been holding the rest of us hostage at some humongous church revival meeting, stuffed to the stained-glass with the aforementioned fat white women, and served up with busloads of red meat and red necks and red-white-and-blue-blooded babies screaming for more beast milk. Er, breast.

Let me ask you this, Faithful Reader. Yeah, you, I'm talking to you. Did you get a good look at those people who attended the Republican National Convention? Be honest now. Did they seem real to you? Or more like Gary Larson characters? Do you think they actually exist? Or did Karl Rove create an entire virtual reality to exact one more monster mindfuck on the unsuspecting viewing audience? Did those people look like anybody you know? Anybody you'd like to know? Anybody you might find partially frozen to the pavement?

I'm exhausted. All this outrage is outrageous.

Plus, I've cleaned out a year's worth of Post-Its, now my Idea Bank is...bankrupt! OMIGAWD!! I need a bailout!! I didn't mean to do it!! I can hear the trash haulers hauling ass down the alley even as I write this!! IT'S GONE, BABY, GONE!!

But wait a minute...hold the mustard...I'm remembering something...it's coming back to me...some headline...something about a church...

"Woman Dies of Heart Attack While Playing Organ at Funeral"

Not bad. Only now I've used it, it's out there. Like that guy frozen to the pavement, you don't need the details. Oh, well. Back to the drawing board. Actually, the newspaper. Make that YouTube.