Friday, February 6, 2009

Uncovered! The Sarah Palin Memoirs, Part 1 (Transcribed Early Draft Version)



I've been working on this transcription for some time now. About a week ago, I discovered that someone had left a very rough draft of a manuscript on one of the sinks in the Washroom. After reading it over, and seeing what it was, I decided it was my duty to transcribe it. After removing all the OMG's, the LOL's, and the WTF's, and correcting as many of the spelling and grammar mistakes as I could (never before had my Spellchecker sent me a message: "Dear God, when will this end?"), I decided to post the first part here.

Enjoy.

/Begin transcription now:

Destiny in Diapers

I came into this world on February 11, 1964, ready to change it for the better! My name is Sarah Heath Palin, and I was born in Sandpoint, Idaho, which would be a really nice town if it were in Alaska, but it’s not. I think it’s interesting that it’s on Amtrak’s Empire Builder line, since that pretty much defines me – Empire Builder, that is, not Amtrak. Amtrak is nationalized, which means socialist.

During my dynamic empire-building years as the mayor of one of Alaska’s most prosperous small towns, and then as governor of that same dynamic and really important state, I knew I was destined for greatness, no matter how impossible that may have seemed to pretty much everyone else. And in 2008, the Republican Party presidential candidate, John McCain, made my impossible dreams a reality.

On August 29, defying those pundits and that so-called short list, Senator McCain begged me to be his running mate. Some people said it was the Republican National Committee that made him take me, when he clearly wanted Joe Lieberman to be his Veep. Well, that can’t be right. Joe’s a Democrat, a Jew, and doesn’t live in the Real America. What good would it have done him to pick someone who the voters in the middle would have liked? Huh?

It’s also been said he chose me because I was the most qualified woman. Okay, really now, I’m not so deluded myself as to think that’s true. I mean, if he’d wanted the most qualified woman to run, why not pick Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison? I mean, gosh, I would’ve picked her, and I’m not the sharpest turkey grinder on TV. No, he picked me because Kay, as smart as she is, looks like an old foot. Conservative women always need to think they look good, and they all want to relate to someone else who looks good, so they relate to me – ‘cause I look good. According to strategists, that’s called motivating your base.

North to Alaska!

I was the third of four children (Charles, Heather, and Molly are the others, and if you want to know more about them, they should have run for office). Apparently, like the Republican Party, my parents were waiting on me to arrive. Three months after I was born, they packed up everything they had and moved to a place called Skagway, Alaska. There is no truth to the rumor that I was dropped on my head in the ladies’ room of a rest area in the Yukon Territory. That’s just lies.

Skagway’s a lovely place, even though it sounds like the back road in a trailer park, you know the one where you can pay for hookers with food stamps? It was once known as “The Gateway to the Klondike” and “The Northernmost City in Southeast Alaska.” But in 2007, its residents voted to dissolve the city and become a borough. We have boroughs in Alaska, just like in New York, but ours are filled with real Americans, not filthy, liberal New Yorkers. I thank thee, Lord, for that blessing. And I sure hope that vote had nothing to do with the economy or the governor.

As soon as we got to Alaska, I fell in love with it. Okay, that’s not really true. I was three months old, for Pete’s sake! No, I hated the place when I was young. It was cold, boring, and awful. It was only after I went up into a helicopter the first time and saw the magnificence that spread before me that I was able to grasp it: the beauty of the land, the sun setting over Canada, the vast wall of mountains in the distance, the loneliness of the great grey wolf below us, the weight of dad’s 30.06 in my tiny, pre-teen hands. We swooped down in the helicopter, and I shot it. We had to track it for almost a mile before finishing it off. I’m pretty sure I became a woman that day.

Now I only wish I could swoop down out of the sun in a silent helicopter like the Airwolf, and take out a few of those obnoxious celebrities, like Ashley Judd, who’ve never even seen the real America. I bet she’s never even left New York or Boston, or wherever on the East Coast she’s from. No, that bunch of Hollywood lefties probably really thinks that wolves and mooses aren’t really dangerous. They are, though! Wolves in Alaska are really mean, like in fairy tales. In fact, just last winter, I saw one blowing down a straw house and eating a pig inside. Yep, you have to keep the wolf population down, if only for the sake of Alaska’s pig population.

All That is Good About Me

My parents, Charles and Sarah Heath, came to Skagway to teach school. Mom was a school secretary and dad taught high school science. He was also a track coach! When we were growing up, between hunting for wild game and solitary tourists, the whole family used to run in 5k and 10k races. K’s are like miles, but not really. It was from my parents that I got all that is good about me: my well-known respect for education and learnin’, my preference for killing things with high-powered rifles, and thanks to running all those K’s, my spectacular, high-toned backside.

You think my butt looks good now? You should have seen me in high school, after all that cross-country running and basketball practice. Holy smoke, I could snap open a king crab claw with my ass!

By the time I was in high school, we had left Skagway and gone to Eagle River, which is so dull it doesn’t even have a nickname. It exists only to give fast-food joints a place to congregate. In fact, it’s so dull, when the Taco Bell opened you had to stand in line for two and a half hours to get a chalupa. I got one, and I still don’t know what it is. We left Eagle River and moved on to Wasilla, which also doesn’t have a cool nickname, but now it’s known as “The Home of Sarah Palin,” which is cool for it. Wasilla is located about 69 K’s north of Anchorage, which is like 800 miles in real miles. When you add in the fact that being up so far north changes north to northwest, because of the magnetic north pole’s location being to the northeast…you’ll realize that Wasilla is, in fact, almost in Russia.

I learned that at Wasilla High. Go Warriors!

In Which I Blossom at Wasilla High

Wasilla High was good for me. Unlike some stupid people, I liked going to school. I mean, I didn’t understand everything I learned, because they insisted on teaching stuff that wasn’t in the Bible, like science, math, history, and English. They taught me some stuff I didn’t really believe in, like that the world is older than 2000 years old, that the Grand Canyon wasn’t created by Noah’s flood, and that oil eventually runs out. To all that I say: nuh-uh.

I was really good at sports, though. I ran cross-country for a while and liked that, but after fifteen years of running all those K’s and no audience to watch me, I was a little bored. So I really took to basketball and no one really knew why. It’s time to let them know: it was the shorts. I looked good in my cross-country clothes, but there was no one around to watch me. Now, no one knows this, but I like to have an audience. So I started playing basketball. In Alaska, everyone comes to the high school basketball games. Well, in those shorts, my ass looked fantastic. I looked pretty darn good from the front, too, if you know what I mean. So I got out there and ran, and ran, and moved, and jumped, and all of the sudden, I was the team captain. And, wow, I just liked being looked at.

Sound familiar? That’s called playing to my strength.

So because I liked “competing” so much, the team started calling me “Barracuda,” and contrary to what some of the whores that had to ride the bench said, that had nothing to do with any oral fixation that I may or may not have had – even though I also started playing the flute and the trombone, and began an addiction to Carmex lip balm that continues to this day. No, I was a good girl. I ran the school’s chapter of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, which was a big deal to the three of us.

Have Faith!

Like everyone in my family, I’ve always found strength in my faith. I had faith that I’d marry a super-handsome part-Eskimo separatist fisherman, and that worked out! I had faith that I’d have gorgeous children who made me a grandmother at age 44 and that worked out! I had faith that I’d be the Vice-President of the United States, and if it wasn’t for the godless democrats and the confused people on our side that apparently couldn’t figure out which box to mark, that one would’ve worked out, too.

I was born into the Roman Catholic Church, but we got out of there pretty quick. I’m glad, because the whole confession thing is creepy. I don’t really like answering questions. Well, I do really, but I’m not very good at them, so I’m not sure having my soul’s final destination dependant on what a priest asks me is a good idea. I also am glad I didn’t have to spend a lot of time confessing during the Basketball Years…or the Pageant Years…or the Colleges Years. I think all that’s between me and God only.

Our family eventually changed over to Assembly of God, which is like the most liberal of the Pentecostal churches. I normally don’t like anything liberal, except for drilling rights, but I’ll make an exception for this. I am sure glad we weren’t raised Pentecostal. Those women aren’t allowed to cut their hair, or wear makeup, or really to look good at all. That just doesn’t work for me. They way I see it, God blessed me with what I’ve got, so I thank him daily by putting his fine work on display. If he’d wanted me to wear dumpy clothes and a nappy hairstyle, he should’ve made me look like one of those lefty college lesbians.

My First Dude (Well, Let’s Just Call Him That…)

I thank God daily for many things, but mostly that I never looked like one of those homely creatures. If I had, I might have gotten shot up here, mistaken for a moose. But more importantly, I never would have caught the eye of Todd Palin. I can’t lie; I had a thing for him the first time I saw him. Of course, being a good Christian girl, I didn’t show it to him. Not the first time, anyway. But he was so handsome. You know what he looks like now? Imagine him at 16!

Sorry, I needed a paragraph break there. Whew! Todd and I started dating in high school and I never seriously wanted anyone else. But that’s because he was the best-looking guy in school. I mean, come on, if there was someone else better looking than him, I’d have dumped him like a caribou turd, but there wasn’t, so he was mine. You know how handsome he is? When that funny bunch at Saturday Night Live started having their fun, they got Tina Fey to play me. That’s pretty cool, because Tina Fey’s almost as do-able as I am. But they never really got someone to play Todd. I mean, who are they going to get – that little freak that plays Obama? The guy with the eyebrows? The other guy? No, they’d just stick one of the losers in a racing suit and try passing it off. He’d always end up looking like a gay drag racer, and that’s just wrong.

You know, Todd’s as important to Team Palin as I am, just not as much. While I’m running the city or state, he’s running his commercial fishing business, which is a lot like being a fisherman, except that it’s not, and he’s working as an oil-field production operator for British Petroleum, which is absolutely, positively not foreign oil – even though they’re foreign and sell oil. “Foreign oil” means brown people sell it. Todd understands image almost as well as I do, which is why he races those snowmobiles and looks hot doing it. We’re a couple made for each other.

Next: The Colleges Years, Fancy Pageant Walking, and Putting a Finger Into the Pie of Local Politics

/End Transcription

I'll post the next part if it's ever transcribed. It might be tough, because it's written all in text-message form.

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8 comments:

  1. "“Foreign oil” means brown people sell it."
    Blink.
    That is the definition, isn't it?

    I have to say, as brilliant a wordsmith as I though Palin was before, I am gaining even more respect for her after reading these memoirs. To bad she left the Catholics. She could have been Saint Sarah, Patron Saint of Gun-Totin Republicans.
    With nice butts.

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  3. Buggrum! lefto pinky, righto pinky 'sall inna soup!

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  4. Political soup gives me heartburn. I'm so ready for the Federation of planets.

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  5. Even among the Federation there existed clueless nitwits who had somehow ended up in positions of power in which they had no reason to be. They were usually corrupt Starfleet Admirals or ineffective ambassadors. You can't evolve away from stupidity that ripe, not in only three hundred years.

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  6. Yes, but they have starships and holodecks. C'mon that's somethin...

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  7. Just gimme a phaser and recharge capability and the politicos can suck plasma.

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