The Rip Post                                                                                              


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(Oct. 9, 2008)

Many years ago, a doctor grabbed my testicles, squeezed with all his might, and jabbed a needle into the left one.
          True story. (There was some fluid that needed “aspirating.”)
          “You are going to feel some discomfort,” the doctor said beforehand.
          And this atomic bomb is going to hurt a little bit, Hiroshima.
          I essentially levitated. My whole body spontaneously rose off the examining table. I called out enthusiastically for Jesus Christ, but as usual, he didn’t show. I stopped just short of throttling that doctor. When I eventually left the office, the people in the waiting room stared at me, wide-eyed.
          I feel worse than this every time I see Sarah Palin.
          My car once accidentally brushed against the side mirror of a car next to me, on a street in Taiwan. The occupants of the other car---gang punks, it turned out---chased me to a stoplight, got out, and proceeded to kick (that’s correct, kick) me and my former wife. One kick instantly stopped my right arm from functioning, and I could do nothing but yell for help until, luckily, cops came running. (To ask, "Why didn't you fight back?")
          I feel worse than this every time I see Sarah Palin.
          I once had a barium enema.
          I feel worse than this ever time I see Sarah Palin.
          Sarah Palin is like something that hides in the closet in a Three Stooges movie. She is Nurse Ratchett, Madame LaFarge (with less ethics), Heather Mills. She is Hillary without a brain, Madonna without producers.With tattooed lips, bared teeth, plumage hair, she is like some strange half-bird, half-woman predator in a dream, who shows up each night to peck at my liver the way that vulture did to Prometheus. Squawking, smiling, pecking, never blinking those framed, painted Pat Collins hypnotic eyeballs. Peck peck. Squawk. Smile. Doggone it! Peck. Smile. Say it ain’t so, Joe! Awk! Peck peck.
          I hereby declare the following with no more hesitation than she felt when accepting the vice-presidential offer:
          Sarah Palin is the greatest threat in the world to the United States, with the possible exception of terrorists with nuclear weapons. Possible exception.
          Words fail me. This is a blue-ice-cold, megalomaniacal demon virago fit for a Stephen King novel. The female equivalent of Martin Sheen’s character in “The Dead Zone.” You can see that frozen beauty queen grin and hear that just-plain-folks chirp when she proclaims, “The missiles are flying. Hallelujah.” Of course, she would probably add something like, “Moholakashaka voogoodoogoo.”

    Which came first: the killer cassowary or Sarah Palin?

She is like some strange half-bird,
 half-woman predator in a dream. .

          Palin is further proof that the ills of mankind can primarily be attributed to excessive amounts of sexual intercourse. Miss Congeniality? Miss Congenital Vanity. She stunningly combines the two most impoverished of all human qualities: ignorance, and arrogance. If she were a plant, she’d be crabgrass. She will do or say anything to acquire power, then guard it like, yes, a pit bull (with lipstick.) She is a self-reward machine. Period. (And given the behavior of her children, one hopes that hers will stop soon.)
          Consider Palin’s repeated remarks about how Sen. Barack Obama is “pallin’ around with terrorists.” Yow. Take a giant step back for a second. The Republican vice-presidential candidate has just implicitly accused a United States senator and Democratic presidential candidate of supporting anti-American terrorism. There’s no other way to read it. Imagine that. The audacity, the irresponsibility. What sane person would believe such a thing?
          Of course, linking voters with sanity is like shoveling smoke with a pitchfork in the wind.
          But what sane---okay, how about just responsible---person would assert such a thing? What patriotic person would assert such a thing? Bill Ayers, the ex-Weather Underground radical, is a professor at the University of Chicago, and was Chicago's "Citizen of the Year" in 1997. For him to have thrown a party to help kick off Obama's senate campaign, well, that sure proves that Barack is just itching to bomb the Pentagon, doesn't it?
          Yet this is what Palin wants people to think. How can such a claim possibly do this country anything but harm? Sarah couldn’t care less. O.J. Simpson has more shame than this woman. How else could she blame Katie Couric for her own unintelligible sentences, gibberish about Putin “rearing his head,” and her blank stare in return for such “gotcha” questions as “What publications do you read?”
          Guess she couldn’t very well answer, “’The National Enquirer, People, and The Bible.’”
          Aside from firing up massive amounts of fire-breathing jingoism (Palin would call it “patriotism”), and comments such as this one made by a Palin lover, “Obama scares the bejeezus out of me!”, Palin’s sociopathic speeches have now succeeded in inspiring threats to kill. The Secret Service is investigating a fine Amerrygun Palin supporter who shouted, “Kill him!” after Sarah’s “Obama’s pallin’ around with terrorists” stump talk.
          Well done, Sarah Smile! You’ve tapped into the bottomless well of paranoiac blood-white-and-blue blog-fueled murderousness. Next stop: chants of Kill, Baby, Kill! Meanwhile, still other Palin-eolithic supporters are snarling and shaking their hooves at the evil, elitist media filter. Read this excerpt from the Washington Post:
          “Palin's routine attacks on the media have begun to spill into ugliness. In Clearwater, arriving reporters were greeted with shouts and taunts by the crowd of about 3,000. Palin then went on to blame Katie Couric's questions for her ‘less-than-successful interview with kinda mainstream media. At that, Palin supporters turned on reporters in the press area, waving thunder sticks and shouting abuse. Others hurled obscenities at a camera crew. One Palin supporter shouted a racial epithet at an African-American sound man for a network and told him, "Sit down, boy."
          Oh, beautiful, for spacious minds, for empty waves of brain. . .
          Why, one reasonably wonders, is Palin not arrested for inciting terrorism? After all, 53 nonviolent protesters were classified as “terrorists” by Maryland state police. Why not a woman who accuses Obama of supporting the violent overthrow of the country, whipping up crowds into a slavering frenzy? (If anything happens to Obama, some of the blood will be on Palin's hands.) This all brings to mind another power-coveting public figure who once exploited racial hatred, paranoia, feelings of disenfranchisement, economic strife, and paralyzing fear in order to take over a nation. Like Sarah, he was just one of the folks, too. Or should I say volks.
          Yes, Sarah is such a fine “Christian” lady, isn’t she? One can just imagine what Jesus will say to her when he comes roaring down from heaven, after first stopping off to turn Pat Robertson to a nice pile of cold ash. I like to think it would be something like that scene in Woody Allen’s “Annie Hall,” where this pompous ass spouts off pretentiously about the ideas of Marshall McLuhan. Allen promptly produces McLuhan, who excoriates the pompous ass with “You know nothing of my work!”
          I wish I could deftly, understatedly sum up the things about Palin that unnerve me. If I could, you’d probably believe as I do. But I can only wildly declaim. For what it’s worth, the first time I heard that George W. Bush was being talked up as a presidential candidate, I said, “If that son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that especially literally in his case) gets elected, the country will be lucky to survive.”
          I was right sure about that.
          Yet many commentators and pundits continue to simply dismiss Palin as “unqualified,” while a shocking number of mainstream media people treat her as if she is a perfectly respectable, ordinary candidate (if “extreme in some of her views.’) As I heard one of the great hordes of CNN jabberers say after the Palin/Joe Biden debate, “I think both candidates acquitted themselves nicely.” The closest Palin will come to the word, "acquit," will be when she is investigated for abuse of office as Alaska governor. (And I'll bet she comes closer to "convict.")
           The only commentator I’ve read yet who has correctly picked up Palin’s callousness and blood-lust for power is, not surprisingly, the NYT's Frank Rich, who wrote:
          “But there’s a steady unnerving undertone to Palin’s utterances, a consistent message of hubristic self-confidence and hyper-ambition. She wants to be president, she thinks she can be president, she thinks she will be president. And perhaps soon.
          “But the debate’s most telling passage arrived when Biden welled up in recounting his days as a single father after his first wife and one of his children were killed in a car crash. Palin’s perky response — she immediately started selling McCain as a “consummate maverick” again — was as emotionally disconnected as Michael Dukakis’s notoriously cerebral answer to the hypothetical 1988 debate question about his wife being “raped and murdered.” If, as some feel, Obama is cool, Palin is ice cold. She didn’t even acknowledge Biden’s devastating personal history.”
          This is where you cling to the hope that her lack of image control savvy, at least on the national scale, will sink her. But she’s a quick study, at least when it comes to things that are to her benefit. She will learn soon enough to break out the fake empathy when expedient.
          As for that debate, hell, it was a one-girl Deb Ball, a coming out party for Li'l Miss Sarah. She is here to stay, people, whether McCain wins or loses. Sarah Palin, Fox news commentator, is a given. Senator Sarah won’t be far off. She’s had a taste of The Show, and she ain’t goin’ back to the minors. The talent portion of the debate was lagging, though. Her acting just couldn’t compete with Biden’s choking up, especially when she cast herself as Lady Reagan by cheaply intoning the immortal Ronnie-ism, “There you go again.” (Boy, she was just waiting to spring that one, wasn’t she?) Of course, she also called Biden “Obiden,” so maybe, like Ronnie, she has a touch of incipient Alzheimer’s.      
          I tell you, Palin is simply The Beast. She frightens me far more than Bush ever did, and so does her smiling moron impregnator. Imagine such banal, self-righteous pissants having power over a whole nation. It stops the blood. These people belong behind cash registers in Wal-Mart (apologies to the decent souls who hold those jobs), not a nuclear trigger. It’s a Beverly Hillbillies situation, really, except these Alaskabillies are fascist true-believers who want to ban books, take away abortion rights, let corporations treat the environment like toilet paper, teach “creationism” in schools, put the heads of endangered animals on their walls, bomb Russia if that nasty ol’ commie, Putin, “rears his head,” and probably add “talking in tongues” to college foreign language requirements.
          (On second thought, I must apologize to the Beverly Hillbillies. They were, bless ‘em, probably Democrats. After all, Jed Clampett was a humanist, Granny a natural healer, Ellie Mae an animal rights activist, and Jethro a failed small businessman.)
          At least Bush had the good sense to take orders from Cheney. Palin takes orders from the little voice in her head that she calls “God.” As is the case with all religious maniacs, she doesn’t believe---she knows. She knows that God wants her to be president. She knows that God created the earth about 6,000 years ago. She knows that cavemen saddled up on brontosauruses (she saw a human footprint inside of a dinosaur footprint, so that proves it!) She knows that further destroying and polluting the world to plunder its gas and oil is God’s will. She knows that it’s fine, let alone fun, to slaughter defenseless animals. (Especially from helicopters, with shotguns.) After all, The Bible gave mankind “dominion” over the beasts.
          To paraphrase Jed Clampett, we in a heap o’ trouble.
 And I know it. I can feel it in my left testicle.
          Peck peck. Squawk. Smile. Doggone it! Peck. Smile. Say it ain’t so, Joe! Awk! Peck peck. Bridge to nowhere! Peck. There ya go again!

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