Someone recently said that if Sarah Palin didn't exist, the Neocons would have had to invent her...and it made me start to wonder...
A dark and stormy night in late August, 2008; a crash of thunder and a lurid flash of lightning flares over the RNC laboratory, where Doctor Frankenstein and Doctor Praetorius are deep in debate over a suitable mate for the Candidate.
"I'm telling you, Karl, we need something better," Doctor Preatorius declares, "We can't use the ones we have now...it'll never fly."
"C'mon, Rick, it doesn't make any difference," Frankenstein replies, "Nobody votes for Vice-President..."
"Jesus, Karl, wise up!" Praetorius snarls, "Your Candidate is the walking dead, man-- you can keep charging him up so he walks & talks, but do you think voters aren't going to notice that?"
"Look, Lieberman and Ridge are both young, stand-up guys; they're strong enough to carry him if he starts running out of juice..."
"They're soft on abortion, you fool. The villagers will hunt him down with dogs & torches if he runs with one of them— you know what the peasants are like…"
"Well, we're running out of time fast; what are we gonna do?"
"We'll make a new one— a female this time… All we need is a good body, we can program the rest."
After a frantic last-minute search, the two desperate Neocons begin working over a washed-up former beauty pageant loser, shipped in from the frozen wastes in the dead of night. All the ghasly essential parts are there— NRA credentials, strong anti-abortion sentiments, conservative 'Christian' values and rank opportunism. Surgically remove some inconvenient background issues, stitch up a few holes in the reputation, transfusions of some maverick blood; lose the parka and snowshoes, get a new wardrobe and heels and they have created a perfect mate for the Candidate.
The unholy political operation proceeds. At first, the experiment appears to be going smoothly, when suddenly— an unexpected glitch… the running mate remains totally brain-dead…
"What do we do now? I've run enough current through there to light up Las Vegas and it still can't talk!"
"Give it up, Karl…just put in another brain…"
"We don't have a spare, Rickie. Republicans don't look for female brains very often, y'know…"
"Call Cheney—tell him to have Halliburton find us one."
"No dice--they're busy stonewalling that Leigh Jones screwup…"
"Well shit, then send him on another hunting trip; what the hell are we paying him for if he can't get us bodies?"
"Wait a minute… I think I found something here. YES, yes— it's not human, but we can use this one—"
"What the hell kind of a brain is that?"
"It's...well, it's from...a pit bull…"
"Don't worry, it'll work fine…you can teach them tricks…"
However, the entire campaign rapidly dissolves-- it's the walking dead leading the walking dumb. The experiment is a flop, a failure, an utter disaster; you can't teach an old dog new tricks. But the nightmare has only begun-- the worst is yet to come...only months after the election…
"What do you mean, you can't shut her down? Pull the plug and ship her back to the boonies…"
"It's out of control, Rick; there's a mob of villagers keeping her alive and supplying her with power. She's turning on all of us and now there's an army of peasants following her everywhere…"
"It's that damned pit bull brain, man, I tried to tell you…"
"This whole thing was your idea, bud, it's your fault. You're the one who started her, and now she's—
she's GOING ROGUE!"
(Coming soon to a bookstore near you...)