An Open Letter to Sarah Palin

Dear Sarah,

Two days ago you announced that you’re resigning the governorship of Alaska. When I first read the headline, I thought “Hooray! Maybe those ethics probes are finally paying off, or maybe she’s been knocked up with another baby who’ll be named ‘Flipper’ or ‘Arithmetic.’” My heart fluttered with excitement.

Then I read the whole story. You claim you’re stepping down for the sake of your family and because you don’t want to be an ineffective lame duck governor. But many pundits are speculating that the real reason you're resigning is to better position yourself to run for president in 2012. After I stopped laughing at this absurd notion, I remembered that I’d had the same reaction when then-governor of Texas George W. Bush announced his presidential bid in 2000. “Ha, ha!” I thought. “That unqualified idiot doesn’t stand a chance!” And look how that turned out. This is why I can’t get a job as a political pundit.

Thus far, you’ve been coy about your future plans. I’m sure your resignation will be good thing for the fine folks of Alaska and for the wolf population there, which will no longer have to fear you gunning them down from a helicopter. (The wolves, I mean.)

You wrote rather cryptically on your Facebook page that you’re leaving the governor’s office early to pursue a “higher purpose.” I’m hoping that maybe you’ve been called to be Pentecostal preacher or a traveling faith healer. You’d be good at that, since it involves constantly talkin’ and praisin’ God and speakin’ in tongues and healin’ folks with your magical touch and whatnot.

But I fear that you really are going to run for president, even though you’ve constantly carped about your “unfair” treatment by the “liberal media,” which would only intensify if you ran for the highest office in the land. I have to admit that when Stephanie Miller of Salon dubbed you “Caribou Barbie,” I was mortified. How dare she insult a classic American doll like that? No offense, but a Talking Barbie doll has more intelligent things to say than you do, and is less repetitive.

I’m troubled by this thought: What if you actually become our president? I’m not a religious man, but if that should happen, I’d start a petition to have your scalp examined for the presence of the numbers “666.” Surely you couldn’t become the leader of the free world without some kind of supernatural help, and I’m pretty sure God isn’t quite that cruel.

While I believe that your chances of becoming president are slimmer than Ann Coulter’s anorexic arms, I’ve been wrong before. To be honest, I feel far more qualified to be president than you are, but honestly, the thought of me occupying the White House should rightfully horrify everyone. Catch my drift here?

It’s too bad we’re at opposite ends of the political spectrum, because with my brains and your beauty, together we could make a formidable presidential ticket. Politics aside, we do have at least one thing in common. Like you, I’m not that good at geography and often confuse North Virginia with West Dakota, although I do know that I cannot see Mexico from my house. We also have complementary skills. I know the names of major foreign leaders, and you know the names of major fashion designers. You’re good at rousing the rabble and communicating with dumb people, and I’m good at strategizing and hiding in undisclosed locations. Ours could be a political union made in the ninth ring of hell. Alas, there can only be one mentally unstable narcissist at the top of any ticket, and neither of us could ever play second fiddle to the other. C’est la vie, mon cher.

There are still three years to go till the 2012 Republican primary, which is a political eternity. Maybe by then you’ll have your own TV talk show, which is a rumored possibilty. You could be the Oprah for Dummies. And you could start your own magazine and call it “Sarah: Tips for Conservative Cougars.”

Whatever the case, I, like the rest of the American public, will be watching with our usual mixture of fascination, disgust and horror.

Keep up the hilarious work.

Sincerely,
The Angry Bald Man

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