Iowahawk has a piece up that just eviscerates Joe McGinnis and the boatload of journalists (including the likes of Tina Fey) that suffer from Palin Derangement Syndrome . As Kim noted earlier this week, Joe McGinnis, who is finishing a book on Palin, recently rented the house next door to the Palin family in Wasilla, Alaska.
Assuming a persona of the Palin that occupies the inside of McGinnis’ head (as opposed to the real Sara Palin), Iowahawk covers the entire spectrum of PDS symptoms with withering sarcasm. Here’s a sample:
Oh hi there! I was out shooting caribou on the Arctic Cat and saw your synapse lights on, and so I said to myself, “now, gosh darn it, Sarah, you’ve been living inside this nice person’s cerebral cortex for, what is it, almost two years now? By golly, it’s about time you dropped in at their frontal lobe with a plate of your famous homemade Alaska welcome wagon cookies and introduced yourself.” So anyhoo, I sure hope you like ’em. Don’t want to give out a family recipe, but the secret ingredient is baby seal. I clubbed ’em fresh this morning!
Oh my goodness… you look kind of confused. I get that a lot! You were probably thinking, “hey, I only wanted to move next door to Sarah Palin — now what in the goshdarned heck is she doing inside my brain?” Well ya see, the deal is I’m not Sarah, but boy I gotta tell ya, we sure do get mistaken all the time! No, I’m just a plain ol’ homunculus Sarah Palin that your own id created to sublimate your deep-seated psychosexual neuroses. Or so those egghead books say, anyway. But if you ask me that sure sounds like a lot of elite Anti-America liberal professor gobbledegook! By the way, your id says hi.
Gosh darn it, where the heck are my manners? Here I am, gabbing away, like some plainspoken chatty old chatterbox, while you’ve probably got things to do. I imagine you’ve got an important op-ed or comedy skit to write about that other Sarah Palin, the one from corporeal reality. And why she’s irrelevant and ridiculous and such. Oh no, don’t worry, I won’t take it personal. After all I’m not her, remember? Though I bet it can probably get confusing trying to keep straight which one of us is which, and who really said what. Tell you what — why don’t you just take the cookies as my gift, and I’ll drop by later when it’s more convenient. Or, if you like, I’ll just be on my way and let you live in peace. You tell me. After all, I’m really only a figment of your imagination. Just stop thinking about me, and poof — I’ll mush the ol’ dogsled straight back to your subconscious forever.
…Now where were we? Oh yes, Tina Fey. Now, just the other day Tina… umm… is everything all right? I mean, you have the strangest look in your subthalamus. Oh…! Oh, this. The bikini. Funniest thing. Turns out once I’m inside a liberal’s head, It’s like poof! Off with the clothes. I tell ya, it’s gotten to the point that I really don’t even notice it anymore. No, don’t be embarrassed or ashamed, most of your friends don’t even give me the bikini.
Whoa! Did you feel that? I think I felt a little earthquake! Oh — I see. It was just you, banging your head against the stair banister trying to get me out of it. Trust me, you might as well give up on that, because it’s not gonna work. Just ask Tina Fey. Say, what’s this on your coffee table – a scrapbook? Goodness sakes, I love scrapbooking! It’s so much fun isn’t it? And such a wholesome pastime to keep American families connected. Do you mind if I take a look at yours?
Now that’s different… I gotta say I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many pictures of me in one place. And all of them with the eyes cut out! Now, maybe I never went to a fancypants college like you did, but I can tell that is very artsy and avant garde. I wonder what it means? No, no — don’t give me any hints! Is it some kind of latent pathological response to the struggle between your libidinal and destrudinal impulses?
Go over to Iowahawk and read the whole thing. Good satire is impossibly hard to write and this may be the best takedown of a liberal icon in years.