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Edited on Sun Nov-02-08 01:30 AM by onager
I posted this in LBN last week, and some kind person suggested I post it seperately. So here you go. I've updated it slightly. Feel free to add your own changes!
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the GOP that day;
The polls stood 60-40, with 3 days more to play,
So when Virginia turned blue, and then Georgia did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the pundits of the game.
A straggling few wrote off McCain in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human chest;
(Only Godless Liberals say "breast" in print. This is a family poem!)
They thought, if only Palin could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Palin at the bat.
So at a tele-vis-ed rally, with tens of Freepers gathered round,
They demanded Joe The Plumber, but he was nowhere to be found,
Till gloom rose above the mob, like the single Port-A-Potty's stench,
And they screamed for joy the name of their favorite moose-murdering wench.
But McCain preceded Palin, as did also Coleman, Norm,
And the former was a loser and the latter was a worm;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Palin's getting to the bat.
But McCain fell off the stage, then staggered off to bed,
And Norm, the much despis-ed, dropped a baby on its head;
So when commercials ended, and the nation watched the news,
There was Sarah Palin, smirking at the camera crews...
And now the first question came hurtling through the air,
And Sarah stood a-listening in hi-style grandeur there.
"What about your foreign policy?" the anchorwoman read.
"That ain't my style," said Palin. "Strike one," the anchor said.
From the mob of outraged Freepers, there went up a mewling whinge,
Almost louder than Rush Limbaugh on an Oxycontin binge,
"Kill her! Kill the anchor!" shouted someone from the stands;
And it's likely they'd a-killed her had not Palin raised her hand.
With phony Fundie charity Palin's Spackled visage shown;
She stilled the rising tumult; she bade the show go on;
"What about sex education?" the next question flew.
But Sarah still ignored it, and the anchor said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the Freepers, and Hannity echoed fraud;
But one scornful look from Sarah and the audience was awed.
They saw her face grow cracked and cold, and her facial muscles twitch,
And they knew Sarah was 'bout to put the smackdown on the bitch.
(I was just kidding about a family poem.)
The spittle flies from Sarah's lips, she's staying on mes-sage;
She pounds with cruel violence one brain-cell on the stage.
And now the anchor asks about that quarter-mil wardrobe,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Palin's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
Obama's speaking somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere Biden's laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Freepville— Sarah Palin has struck out.
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