Like Don't Be Such A Hater, MmmKay?

Where is the Sarah Palin fan fiction? I mean, it's so easy. I'll give all you quivering Sarah Palin enthusiasts a head start. Begin your tale of political lust and longing with Charlie Gibson as the protagonist, asking Mrs. Palin, " So what do you think about the Bush doctrine?"

She'll slyly pull up her skirt revealing downy fur pubes, the smooth silky white color of an "unendangered" Alaskan polar bear: "You're referring to this bush, right Charlie? Do you like my fur merkin? It's so funny, I killed this polar bear on the day I gave birth to Trig. I didn't even notice he was crowning. Do you think that's sexytime, Charlie?" (Insert male name at the end of all SP lines. Repeat male name as often as necessary to buy time.)

What a big, bad naughty old boys' club, you've been.



I've never had faith in premonitions or the musical Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat until now, when it seems all feminists are having simultaneous nightmares about Palin.

Eve Ensler is dreaming of destroyed white purity. That's a big step for a woman who made her career writing about a "Little Coochie Snorter".

I dreamt last night that Palin was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice.

Sarah Palin rape dream? Like, in the environmental sense?

From the upcoming Vanity Fair feature, "A Day With Ensler, Producing Her New Work: Cold Cunt Farm."

"Vagina mother-fucker!!!" roared the bear.

"Okay, that wasn't bad," Ensler directs. "But stick your tongue out a little more, and really let that line just boil up from the bottom of your stomach."

From a real New York Times piece: Sarah Palin calls her opponents "haters." Since reading this, I've been unable to stop using the phrase. This morning my roommate was in the shower when I had to use the bathroom so I shouted "Girl, don't be such a hater! I gotta pee. You don't know me. You do not know me. BETCH, you're a hater. You're a serious urine hater." It makes me feel sophisticated when I incorporate presidential lingo into my everyday interactions.

Rebecca Traister, the woman I want to be when I grow up, also has night terrors about Sarah Palin:

I have been dreaming about Sarah Palin. (Apparently, I'm not alone.) I wish I could say that I'd been conjuring witty, politically sophisticated nightmares in which she leads troops into Vancouver or kindergartners in the recitation of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." But, alas, mine have been nonsensical, kiddie-style doozies in which she kidnaps my cats, or enjoys a meal with my girlfriends while I bang on the restaurant window. There's also a chilling one, in which a scary witch stands on a wind-swept hill and leers at me.

What troubles me most -- aside from the fact that there is suddenly a Republican candidate potent enough to so ensnare my psyche -- is my sense that these are dreams in which it matters very much that Palin is a woman.

I have been writing about feminism for more than five years; I have been covering the gender politics of the 2008 presidential election for more than two. And I am absolutely gobsmacked by the intensity of my feelings about Sarah Palin. I am stunned not only by the way in which her candidacy has changed the rules in the gender debate, or how it is twisting and garbling the fight for women's progress. But I'm also startled by how Palin herself is testing my own beliefs about how I react to women in power.

Could I please get an RSS feed of your brain, Rebecca Traister? Because I believe it is a missive from God.

As for me, I've been unable to think about anything besides Mad Men and Sarah Palin. Because of this, or perhaps because the whole Sarah Palin escapade reads like a bad movie in the brain mush of my head, at night the two come together in odd combinations.

Well, that's not exactly true: Once in a while I think about the Unborn Child Twitter and wonder if the Palins' made Levi Johnston create it as a sort of community service penance.

My nightmares usually go something like this....




Sarah Palin: I love those hockey moms. You know, they say the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull: lipstick. Do you love hockey moms?

Don Draper: Can you stop talking?

Sarah Palin: Oh, Don Draper, I know how you like a tough cookie like me. I've heard allll about you. You have quite a reputation in Wasila. If my daughter got raped by a penguin I would make her carry it to term...Also why does everyone love that dyke Ellen? Do you think maybe....(caresses Don's face) you could get her fired from network TV for me?

Don Draper: Seriously, I said stop talking. I am warning you.

Sarah Palin: Can we do my place next time? I can see Russia from my house, you know. I know everything they're planning.

Don Draper: That's it.

Don grabs some nylons to tie up Sarah's hands but before he can wrangle her arms together, she pounces on top of him, ties him up, and proceeds to impregnate him (yes, it's possible. If Sarah Palin can call herself a feminist, I can say Don Draper has a mangina). Palin leaves him there for nine months, only sometimes bringing him a mooseburger for sustenance, forcing him to carry the child to term. "No exceptions for rape," she screams each time as she slams the door.

When I wake up usually I've wet myself.

I'm seriously terrified of November 4th.