Going Raunch

In the tempest that's been swirling inside the media teapot around Sarah Palin's book "Going Rogue," most talking heads have completely taken their eye off the ball that matters most. I'm talking about how much all the men (and half the women) in my demographic secretly dream of balling the GOP VP nominee.

Seriously, she's hot.

I'm not talking about the kind of lovemaking feminist filmmakers write into screenplays for cougars like Angela Bassett or Michelle Pfieffer. I'm talking about rough, blood-boiling sex. Fantasy date rape stuff. In a word, fucking.

Here's how it would go down…

…I knocked on the door of her tour bus around six o'clock in the evening. She answered wearing a bathrobe with her hair in a towel, obviously fresh from a shower. Her husband was at an NRA convention in Juneau, so she was alone. I set down my pizza box and she guided me to the bear skin rug that was draped over the sofa. She told me to get myself a Dr. Pepper, which I did. There was a knock at the door and she got up, pulling her robe together and covering her breasts as she walked over to answer it. It was her book editor. Sarah closed the door behind her and the ex-governor and her friend sat on the couch beside me. Without saying a word, the book editor pulled a joint from her messenger bag and proceeded to get Sarah very high. "I love Alaska," Sarah choked back between puffs, "but our weed's got nothing on the stuff from Arnold's Golden State of California!"

As I entered her she whispered that I couldn't come inside her. Given her age and obvious fertility, she couldn't risk giving birth to another mildly retarded baby. I told her to relax, then rammed it into her back door. This caught the author and liberal-media whipping girl off guard, and she put up a fight. That's when my own animal instincts kicked in…

Sarah was living out some fantasies of her own that evening, because with every powerful thrust she screamed "Fuck me, Olbermann!" into the pillow she clung to her sobbing face. It was a scene right out of Penthouse Forum, and it was happening to me: an unemployed copywriter-cum-pizza-boy. When she climaxed I screamed, "Thank you, John McCain—thank you for thrusting this backwater beauty queen and illiterate gun-toting maniac onto the world stage!"

Not a groundbreaking scene by modern hotel-porn standards, but you get the idea. Somebody needs to pour the meat to this chick fast and often, if for no other reason than to keep her away from the keyboard. If Sarah Palin is allowed to deliver one more steaming pile of shit to the NY Times Bestsellers List, Keith Olbermann's head is going to explode on basic cable.

Going Raunch