Should Sarah Palin Shampoo My Crotch?

I thought for a moment that I would call this entry, "Why Sarah Palin Should Shampoo My Crotch," but then I decided my opinion would get lost in what is obviously an inflammatory title.

But then I let my dog out to use the bathroom and I started to think about this presidential race, Obama, McCain, Palin, Biden, the debates, everything that enrages and displeases me about the Republican ticket, and I decided that "Why Sarah Palin Should Shampoo Crotch" is actually not that bad of a title.

This is a hugely important election. I haven't met anyone who is "on the fence" with concern to their ultimate selection come Election Day. In fact, most people I encounter, spit vitriol in the direction of any perceived affront to their selection for the next President of the United States. So why not go with the Sarah Palin title? Republicans in this country over the last fifteen years have played the victim more expertly than Yo-Yo Ma has played the cello. How else could a party that spent the primaries crucifying Hillary Clinton for her "feminist" views turn around and, with a straight face, claim that Sarah Palin is being unfairly criticized because she is a woman? How else could a party that has been in power for the last eight years presume to call itself the party of change? How else could a party that consistently sides with the wealthiest five percent of our nation's populace purport to be on the side of "the people?" It's lunacy.

In the face of this sort of delusion, my choice of a blog title is completely inconsequential. We're talking about a party that has spent the last eight years driving our country into the ground, wheels sparking, engine flaming, bodies burning and still has the audacity to cry foul when the "liberal media" (what the hell is Fox News?!) suggests that the emperor may, in fact, be naked. No thanks. No high road for me. Sarah Palin, you may shampoo my crotch. and give it a nice trim while you're at it.

Dear God, WTF?

There are some things for which God should rightly answer. I'm not talking about big existential questions like, "Why are we here?" Or, "Why, if motivated by love, do You sprinkle a healthy dose of murder and mayhem into the world?" I don't think those questions really have answers, or at least shouldn't. I mean, if you knew the answers to those types of questions, why keep plugging away?

I'm talking about more basic questions like, "What the fuck is with the Duck-Billed Platypus?" Or, "Mormons? Really?!" Petty? Insensitive? Probably, but knowing the answers is not really going to spoil me for whatever comes next, and I think some questioning in that vein could give God a chance to show off his sense of humor. What I'm really turning over and over in my mind at the present moment is the nature and purpose of Poison Ivy. Why is this particularly virulent little bitch of a vine so prevalent in my part of the world? Specifically, my backyard. And why does my dog so desire to eat the chipmunk that lives under the protection of said virulent little bitch? And why, after hunting this innocent chipmunk, does my dog see fit to rub lovingly, almost cat-like, against my legs, arms, or any other area of exposed flesh? A sensitive moment of love between man and his best friend loses all of its touching, age-old warmth when man wakes up the next day to seeping blisters of itching unholiness on the backs of his legs. The STD parallel is just beneath the surface here, but I'm having trouble articulating herba-bestiality...which is probably a good thing. Just know that I feel betrayed and also very, very, very itchy.

So God, what the fuck? Poison Ivy? I mean, really?! Please, in your infinite wisdom, have some higher calling for urushiol. Please let this oily, nefarious resin somehow be associated with a cure for cancer or AIDS. Please have something up your sleeve other than a burning, itching, seeping, unsightly rash.

Let us pray.