Sunday, December 26, 2010

Mama Grizzly on the Ĥunt


A Interview with 2012 Presidential Candidate Sarah Palin
by Jaroslav Dampfstain

My exposure of the Haley Administration plot to bury alive all stupid South Carolinian children and secretly replace them with genius Mumbai orphans caused quite the international stir.
Here’s how it all unfolded.  Two days after the interview was released, WikiLeaks published several volumes of logistical material about the Slaughter-of-the-Innocents Palmetto Plot, which Superintendent of Education-Elect Zais had scrawled on a roll of toilet paper while exorcising a predawn colon turtle.   Thus, my visa to Mexico has been denied.  And I can probably expect similar results for my annual March whoring excursion to Hamburg.
So there I was, stuck in this famously broiling hellhole with nowhere to stay, until my old pal Jesus Christ offered me a futon in his Millwood Avenue FRAG.  I shouldn’t complain; I’ve eaten unlimited fish and bread loaves, plus drank copious wine, for nigh on a week.  But sharing an apartment with Christ is no picnic in the park.  The Messiah suffers from sleep apnea and saws serious Lazarus logs in his sleep.  He’s also a potato chip double-dipper—which has forever impacted my interpretation of the Last Supper.
City Paper discovered I was still in town and quickly put me on to the Sarah Palin book-signing event at the Forest Lake Books-a-Million on December 3.  Palin was coming to town to wrap up a 16-city book tour of her latest puerile political publication, America by Heart.
Governor-Elect Haley and Palin are of course political bosom buddies.  Following my interview with the Haley Transition Team, the Palin camp didn’t exactly receive me with open arms.  But I cut a deal which no Teabagger Mama could resist:  15 minutes alone with Jesus Christ in a motel room with a heart-shaped waterbed in return for an interview at the conclusion of her public event.  Jesus of Millwood begrudgingly agreed to do this extra favor for me, but only if I’d do dishes and dump ashtrays for an entire week.  (In case you’re curious, Christ smokes Camels.)
This past Friday night, after Palin had finished signing books, I was escorted to the Books-a-Million children’s section.   A hefty male bookseller sporting a Yankees cap was reading aloud to her from Amelia Bedelia, Bookworm.  I was directed to sit in a little Thomas the Train chair which could barely support my overloaded caboose.

Jaroslav Dampfstain:  Are you a big Amelia Bedelia fan?

Sarah Palin:  Oh, yeah.  Ever since I quit my governor job, I’ve dedicated the end of each day to serious intellectual exercise.  I had no idea there were so many phrases in American that I shouldn’t be taking literally.  That Amelia!

JD:  Indeed.  Is there a particular reason you’ve been grinding it out cerebrally?

SP:  2012, baby.  2012.

JD:  Should we take this to mean that you intend to run for President on the Republican ticket in 2012?

SP:  [giggles]  Oh, this grizzly mama is running, all right.  [She glanced at one of her political handlers, who nodded.]  But our research indicates that too many conservatives don’t like the word “party” anymore.  Ya know, Lucifer likes to throw a good party and all.  So I’m going to run independent, baby!  Like doing the Boston Marathon without a sports bra, baby!  [She popped the top two buttons of her blouse.]  Gotta show Jesus a bit of the goods, you know.

JD:  My guess is the Maker who designed that lovely bosom will be impressed to see the results.  But I think he’s more of a thigh guy, actually.  Candidate Palin, are you by any chance related to Michael Palin?

SP:  I think I have an estranged uncle from Sandpoint named Michael.

JD:  Different Michael.  But speaking of Monty Python, do you have any comment on John Cleese’s comparison of you to a well-trained parrot?

SP:  Not if by that comparison he means I’m a mama parrot.  Have you ever seen a mama parrot defend her chicks?  Grrr.

Books-a-Million bookseller who was until recently reading aloud an Amelia Bedelia book:  Polly wants a President!

SP:  Good one!  You betcha.  Polly wants a President!

JD:  Indeed.  I’m sure you’re delighted to have singlehandedly hand-delivered political neophyte Nikki Haley the South Carolina Governor’s Mansion.  Is it true you’re both Eskimo sisters?  I hear Michael Steele is hung like a horse.

SP:  Actually, my handlers have told me I should call them Innuits.  Cute little buggers.  So, yeah, we’re Innuit sisters, if that’s what you mean.

JD:  Do you—

SP:  Excuse me.  Is “hung like a horse” one of those non-literal phrase thingies?  Because I swear I have never lynched a horse.  [whispers]  I know that term doesn’t go over so well down here.  I mean, I shot one once; thought it was mountain lion; I mean, I didn’t exactly shoot the horse; I shot the park ranger who was riding it; we made sure that clip got cut from our new reality show; not supposed to be shooting park rangers in a national park and all.

JD:  Actually, “hung like a horse” means—um, never mind.  Clearly your mental exercises are paying off.

Bookseller:  Ma’am, I believe he meant that you and Nikki Haley banged the chairman of the Republican Party.

SP:  Yeah, but not at the same time.  Does that mean we can’t be Innuit sisters now?  [The bookseller shook his head.]  Pooh.

JD:  I would like your response to the following:  Were you to become President of the United States, the population of Canada would likely increase by nearly 100 million people overnight.

SP:  Wow, did they just discover offshore oil in Ottawa?

JD:  Seriously, just when we all thought it was impossible to find someone more dunderheaded than George W. Bush, you come along.  You do realize that you are near to driving a spike through Jeffersonian political idealism.

SP:  That’s not a compliment, is it.

[The bookseller shook his head again.]
JD:  Yeah, well, you’ll just have to grin and bear it.  [pun intended]  I still stand between you and 15 minutes of hay with the Son of God.  Next question:  I assume you employed a ghost writer for your book.

SP:  Heavens, no!  Evil spirits bad.  Angels good!

JD:  I can’t take this shit anymore.  If I ever make it back to Hamburg, I’m never leaving.

SP:  Ich bin Hambürger!

JD:  Nice diacritic.  Say, ever heard of a voiceless velar fricative?

SP:  No.  Is that some kind of sex aid?  Say, I liked that fleshlight review, by the way.  Bristol and I are contemplating starting a conservative celebrity fleshlight line.  Ann Coulter.  Michele Bachmann.  Margaret Thatcher.  Why do you ask?

JD:  No reason.  Just something I was toying with for the title of this interview.  Anyway, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Candidate Palin.  Jesus is ready for you now.

[Palin bears her breasts and strikes a grizzly mama pose.]

SP:  Take me to the Messiah!  Grrr!

[Later that night at the Millwood apartment, Jesus gave me a look that nearly turned me into a pillar of salt.  Turns out someone sabotaged the heart-shaped waterbed at the motel.  I denied having anything to do with it, and don’t think Jesus noticed my fingers were crossed behind my back.  The bed sprang a leak and gave Christ some serious PTS memories of Calvary.  He had to walk on several inches of water for hours, and to make matters worse, the free HBO was down most of the night.
Of course, I was more interested to learn of his encounter with Candidate Palin.  “Oh, her?” Jesus of Millwood shrugged.  “I mentioned something about a camel squeezing through the eye of a needle, and she spent several hours playing with her knitting kit and one of my cigarettes.  Turns out she doesn’t even smoke.  That is one strange pussycat, Jaroslav.  One strange pussycat.”]

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