A Secularist Progressive’s day with Sarah Palin

Today I waited in line for six hours to get an autographed copy of Going Rouge: An American Story. It will make a very nice x-mas gift for my mom, and I am glad that I did it. This is my story.

The first thing I learned is that “what we have in office now” basically means nigger.

Okay, that may be a little harsh. The people were generally nice. The four people behind us did have a lengthy conversation that boiled down to, “I wouldn’t pull the trigger, but it would be nice.”

My sister and I arrived at 6:00 am. We did not bring chairs, but she did bring a blanket so we sat on the cold ground. Everyone was quiet for the first hour or so. A man walked by wearing a shirt reading, “End Communism. Impeach Obama”. The crowd (about 600 people by now) started cheering and taking pictures. Then the signs came out. My favorite was, “Even Sarah knows this country ain’t right.”

Just kidding, I made that one up. There were a lot of signs though. I was really doing fine until about 9:00, when I moved to the bathroom line. It took 35 minutes. In front of me, two comically short old ladies bemoaned the state of the nation. Behind me, four lesbian looking women (I was surprised too) discussed their whirlwind trips to Tea Parties and the virtues of Glen Beck. It got pretty rough.

My sister said that when I got back in line I was a changed man. The people in front of us were going to miss their ticket, so I ran over and told them. When they thanked me I said, “No problem. Just, next time Fox News has you all frothed up, remember that liberals can be nice too.” The man, he looked a little like Ray Liotta if Ray Liotta fell face first into a meat grinder, said “Ha Ha, we just despise your word view.”

The tire department opened at 10 so a woman pulled her truck into the bay. She had an Obama bumper sticker. The crowd booed. I chanted, “Four more years!” to the dismay of my sister. The guy behind me yelled at the lady, “How’s that change working out for you now?” I swear to shit, him and his wife talked about it for the next half hour. They both thought it was brilliant. Somehow, I did not say a word.

Sarah was to arrive at 11:00 and then sign for four hours. The first 500 were guaranteed a signature, so we had arrived early enough. I was number 403. Sarah’s SUV pulled up to the front door and several security people ushered her into the building at 10:45. The people in line could not believe that she walked right in the front door and quickly attributed it to her real world charm. I loudly explained to my sister that the back docks lead to a narrow door and it would be much easier to get that many people through the front door.

A very pretty Asian lady approached my sister and me to ask what was going on. I told her that it was a Klan rally. (My sister and I played find the black person in line all day, neither of us won).

The line moved early and quickly, I have to give her that. When I finally got inside my sister went to the car to sleep. The first thing inside the door was a x-mas card to Sarah. I wrote, “Four more years! Go Obama.” Then I realized that they had one at the end of every aisle. I wrote on three of them. When I got to the fourth a Costco employee asked me what I was going to write. I said, “Yes we can.” He asked me to please stop writing on the cards.

The line inside the store took about 2 hours. A lady came back for the signs she discarded. She had one that said, “Restore our Constitutional rights”. She asked if anyone wanted a sign. I asked her what Constitutional rights needed restoring. The people behind me shouted that I was a Democrat so I never got an answer.

Palin was not personalizing the books but the lady in front of me (wife of Liotta) had two pictures of her special needs child. Palin signed both pictures and really talked to the lady for a second.

I shook Palin's hand and waved off the lady taking pictures, which seemed to shock her.

At the pick-up table I was trying to find the one with my post-it note. I saw my line mate’s book having books stacked on top of it. I turned to her to point it out and realized that she had absolutely lost it. She was sobbing. I said, “Wow this really touched you.” I grabbed my book and high tailed it to the car.

Another poem for my wife

My Heart is on the Table




My heart is lying on the table
It is there
For you

I cut my heart out and placed it on the table
The whole process
was much more disgusting
than I thought it would be
But, once I started, I didn't want to stop

That is my heart on the table
It still beats
It beats for you

There was quite a bit of pain involved
just so you know
You can probably see the tears streaming from my eyes
I especially disliked pulling apart my ribcage

My heart is lying on the table
I am sorry about the tablecloth
It's probably ruined
I didn't think about that
I should have used a tarp or something

My heart is right there on the table
It is there
for you

Don't call me a Sellout

This blog has been the pinnacle of humorous internet musings for some time now. I hate to break this to you, but people sell out. It happens. You would do it too. Trust me on that one, buddy.

I can't continue to bring this kind of entertainment for free. What do you think this is? Something that is like everything fucking else on the internet?

Do you want to know why living sucks? Because all the people that scurry from any podcast that charges for download are the same people that automatically vote down any tax. Even the smallest tax for the greatest of reasons. Those people are idiots and there are many, many of them around. I hate this world.

Do you stop to think about anything? I hate you all. I dream of slowly grinding lit cigarettes into your only child's face.

What makes a work day fly by? Good podcasts, that's what. How do we get good podcasts? Well, if you ask most people, you leave it in the hands of all the companies that can profit by providing free podcasts. Who would want to pay a small monthly fee for uncensored, quality podcasts? That would totally suck. You know what? I don't have that option because there are so many fucking idiots out there. I honestly don't believe in God because of idiots like you. It's not that I think, "What kind of God would make so many idiots?" That's not it. It's more along the lines of, "If these morons believe in it so much, then I don't believe on principle." I laugh at Jesus being raped like a white jail bitch. I can write that because the world is full of retards.

Anyway, we were talking about selling out. I was made an offer by Fox. I don't really want to get into it, but this blog is really going to change.

You know who else is on Fox? At least in Phoenix. Judge Judy. I freaking LOVE Judge Judy. She is totally the best. She yells at idiots. If I had to choose between fucking Judge Judy or Natalie Portman, I would pick Judge Judy on principle. I would leave my wife for Judge Judy, on principle.

A Poem for my Wife

Before you went crazy
We held each other at the baseball game.
Now,
You scream in public
We watch the game in the basement
You are calm for all nine innings
Usually
There was the time you caught and then ate a brown mouse

Before you went crazy
We examined human nature
Now,
We discuss the transmitters in your soul
You think they are trying to steal it
You don’t really seem to know who they is
You always have many reasons why they want your soul, though
Sometimes,
you think I am they
Those are interesting nights

Before you went crazy
You dreamed of having children
Well,
You have 38 Cats
It’s OK
The cats keep you company when I run to the store
Plus,
I figure, it’s not as sad
when you accidentally strangle a cat

Before you went crazy
You absorbed nature like Whitman
You don’t like going outside anymore
Well,
Sometimes,
At Midnight,
When there is a full moon
You like to get on the roof and feed it
Fish sticks

Before you went crazy
I still remember
I hope you come back
But,

Before you went crazy
Is enough to keep me here
Keeping you
Out of the kitty litter

Before you went crazy
I loved you
I love you now
Still…

The Least Likely Things to Happen While Obama is President

- Gay sex scandal

- Supreme court nominations (by writing this, and the law of jinx, I just guaranteed that he will. You're welcome America. Sorry Scalia.)

- Republican party crumbles when that whole Jesus thing finally loses steam.

- The country shares a shameful wince when the president looks like an idiot next to a foreign dignitary.

- Telling Republicans to respect the office finally gets old.

- Your black friends still don't know who the president is.

- Obama excels in such a way that the country unifies in the peaceful pursuit of a common goal.

- People on the white house tour routinely comment on the over-abundance of mayonnaise on the complimentary sandwiches.

- Pretty much anything other than Armageddon

Interviewing the Enemy

I really want you to know that this interview did not come easily. I assume that many of you will read it and be disgusted that I entertained the man in conversation, much less did nothing to kill him.

You are right to think that way. All I can say is that I had to weigh my odds of successfully killing him and my duty as a journalist.

I will be forever changed by the experience but I will comfortably live with the choice I made. The world needs to read this interview. Comment on my blog.

Osama Bin Laden had me picked up at the airstrip. I was driven to his home, somewhere in western Kentucky, in a purple and gold stretch limo. I was happily surprised when the driver did not place a gag in my mouth after binding and blindfolding me. Riding in the trunk was actually my idea. Have you ever smelled these guys?

We drove for at least 90 minutes. When I was finally able to open the trunk lid there was no one around. The car, still running, was parked in a large bush bordering the back parking lot of an A&W Root Beer Factory. I cut myself through the foliage and stumbled into the factory. The creak of the door snapped the towels of about thirty guys with AK-47’s. Osama and Hakim Aal Aklam (Osama’s press secretary who initially contacted me about the interview) never lost focus of their intense debate. I had no idea what they were saying, of course, but it was a heated disagreement none the less.

Twenty-five minutes later, suddenly, Osama addressed me.

O: What’s your name? You look Jewish.

Seth Millican

O: That’s a Heeb name if I ever heard one. You some kind of Scottish Kike?

No, not at all. Well, it is, I mean commonly, the name that is, Seth is from the Old Testament. But, I am not Jewish.

I am just American.

(coughs and clearing throats)

O: Kill him…

O: I am just yanking your chain. Did you wet yourself? Holy shit man, I was just fucking with you. Anyway, listen, you can help us settle a little bet, Mr. American.

OK

O: You know those little burgers you get at White Castle?

I am familiar

O: What are those called?

Sliders

O: Not, chasers? You are sure?

HAA: Hee!! I knew it.

O: Chasers: are they not also called chasers?

Well, they call them sliders at White Castle. I know that much for sure.

HAA: You have your answer sir. He said sliders because that is what they are called. I believe you owe me an iphone.

O: You shall have your iphone Hakim, you shall. But watch your prideful tongue, especially in mixed company.

HAA: Yes sir. I apologize.

(Hakim promptly left the factory and, presumably, headed to one of the rape rooms scattered throughout the Lexington area.)

O: Ok, McJew, you have ten minutes. What do you want to know?

Why are you in America? How are you in America?

O: Are you going to throw me out? Can you?

You are not answering my question

O: But that is precisely what I did. I am here because I can be; I want to be here because I can be. I am the angst ridden rebel and America is my school cafeteria.

Are you planning an attack?

O: What if I told you I was? Would you wet yourself again? You stink by the way. I thought you were going to clean yourself off.

The towels your guys gave me were covered with blood.

O: Hmmnn. Figured you would be ok with that, what with all your big time action movies.

Are you planning an attack?

O: You are so two-dimensional. Will there be an attack? Where will the attack be? When will the attack happen? You are still living in a World Trade Center world. You think of attacks as buildings and bombs. But, so does the rest of America. Which is why I am able to tell you all this.

What are you telling me?

O: I could tell you everything and it wouldn’t matter at all. I could cum-tape a complete breakdown of the attack to Katie Couric’s left ass cheek and it wouldn’t mean shit. We are past you now. Forget the bomb in the briefcase bit. That was so last decade. We won’t blow up an airplane because we will own every single airplane in every single airport in every single city in this country. You are worried about an attack but we are going to own your heart and soul. The best part: you are going to beg us to do it.

You won’t own anything in America. Americans wouldn’t give you a penny.

O: (Laughter) Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. Ok, you are right in that my name won’t be on the signs, but money is money baby and power is power. I remember when I first saw Barack Obama. By the way, no, I cannot believe his name either. What a crazy coincidence. He was giving his speech at the ’04 convention and Karl Rove turned to me and said, “Holy shit, we just found our Buckwheat.”

Hold on, I refuse to believe this. Obama is not in league with you. I refuse to believe that you contacted Obama.

O: Right again Sparky. But, let me ask you this: What will America do if there is another attack, a bad one, under this liberal president?

…

O: I’ll tell you what. They are going to riot in the streets. They are going to demand the old regime. They are going to amend the constitution. They will not rest until George W. Bush is made King and the whole country can snuggle their whoppers and feel safe again. King!!

Osama threw his head back in laughter and I blacked out after being hit in the head with the butt of an AK-47.

Armageddon! What, now?

This blog has lit a firestorm.

Listen up. I can’t stop bringing my public the up-to-the-minute news that they require. My blog is not all serious news. I am the first to admit it. But, when it breaks, I have an obligation to report it. I cannot help that nobody reads this blog. That is beyond my control. You know what is within my control? Breaking stories. What do you need to break stories? Hard work, that’s what.

But because of all the controversy, I am going to tread lightly here. This is a real news story that happens to touch on a very sensitive subject. I can’t help but break it in half.

Sir Edmund Philip was the greatest mime in all of Minnesota. He was highly regarded as the greatest mime ever from the Twin Cities and much of the surrounding area. Many times, while performing “Walking off a Building” on a street corner, women, of all creeds, fainted from fright.

Eddy Philip was born in Newark, New Jersey in 1967. It is said that Eddy’s first word was his last. As Eddy’s Mother, Charlotte, whom I called at what she described as an obscene hour, remarked, “Edmund was the perfect child. We had no need for a play pen, those little fences or, really, even to watch him at all. He would sit in the middle of the room pretending he was trapped in a box.”

Little Eddy moved to St. Paul when his father, Edward, got a high paying position in St. Paul’s sanitation division. When Edward went on his site inspections he always took Edmund, who would mime on every corner his father passed.

Eventually, as all mimes do, Sir Edmund Philip fell in love with a deaf girl. Theirs was a love that is to be envied. Little Eddy was not so little anymore.

(I have lots of pictures of Edmund, all through his life. Comment on my blog and I might send you some. I don’t dare post them, lest my blog be overrun with faggots. You know how they are. )

Sidney went deaf at the age of six months. Her mother was carrying her through a music store and accidentally dropped her on a Nigerian Cymbal.

Sidney literally ran into Eddy’s life.

Edmund was performing “Watch Me Stretch Reality as You Know it” in front of the Metropolitan Stadium, before kickoff of the last game ever held there. Sidney White had tickets and was late for the game and her date. It was just another hearing guy that her friends paired her up with. They were all going to booze it up in the top deck suite, and he was the “understanding” guy they always brushed her way. Let her be a second late, and she knew all her hearing friends would spend the entire night discussing the injustice of our society that simply will not accommodate the hearing impaired.

Sidney ran square into Edmund. They both went sprawling, but in the second that their bodies collided, Sidney felt the heat of love and saw, in Edmunds eyes, that he was worried about her landing awkwardly.

They married and had seven kids (no mimes if you can believe it). They lived and worked in the Twin Cities their entire lives. In 1991, the year the Twins won the World Series, Edmund’s “Puckett Swing” routinely hauled in $500 a night.

Sidney, after years of silence, began to hear hums and whispers in 1999. It was the miracle of all miracles. Doctors from all over the country clamored to examine her. One doctor, Dr. Stein, impressed Sidney. Dr. Stein is a man that tells the truth. It is said that Dr. Stein took the MCAT twice, because he saw the boy next to him mark the answer to #35 the first time.

Eventually, Dr. Stein announced that because of the amazing regeneration in the inner ear canal, Sidney would slowly be able to hear more and more. Dr. Stein’s date for full auditory regeneration? 9/11/01.

Edmund had a meeting in the World Trade Center that was going to take his act worldwide. He brought Sidney so they could celebrate her new world of hearing. She was exploring Times Square when the planes hit.

This is the letter Edmund sent to Sidney before he jumped from the 43rd floor: (My wife’s brother worked for the firm that was hired to scan all the letters into a database and distribute them to the intended parties. He kept a bunch of them on his laptop in order to close the deal with chicks, with surprisingly good results).

Dearest Sidney,


That space was my hands forming a pulsing heart in my chest. You have seen it before. I love you. I wish that you could have heard my voice. I was going to surprise you and speak tonight. I was going to take you to a fancy dinner and over dessert tell you that I love you. I wanted my first words, in a very long, long time to be the first words you hear clearly.

Be careful with those in-your-ear headphones, the kind they use with i-pods. They seem harmless but they can really mess up your ears. Don’t sleep with them in.

Now, “Walking off a Building”, one last time for you my love.

Yours, Ed