Sex With Sarah Palin; A $50K Personal Appearance Fee Away?

 

So. The early summer tomato harvest is finished and the big barn is brimming-over with the luscious red orbs. Efforts started early this morning moved from harvesting to processing. I’ll be in charge of grilling and smoking and Gram heads-up the sun drying team. Streaker Jones came at six am to help Gram and her crew to load up for the trip to his mushroom plant.

Everyone except Gram wears a hood for the trip. Streaker Jones is powerfully protective of the exact location of his psychedelic mushroom operations.

I’ll be smoking and grilling here to the ranch. I use a variety of woods, which I both blend and use separately, to smoke and grill tomatoes. I like mesquite for grilling. It has a flavor so strong and a fire so hot that I find it inappropriate for actual smoking. It can be too strong and make the food taste like nothing but mesquite smoke. If I wanted a smoked tomato that tasted like mesquite smoke I can always lick a mesquite briquette.

I also use oak, pecan, apple, peach and cherry wood. The oak and pecan are in big chunks of trunks and major branches. But the fruit woods are mostly smaller lengths of smaller branches and used in concert with oak or pecan. The Squirt wanted to be my main assistant for tomato smoking, so I assigned her the initial task of fetching the fruit wood sticks from the wood shed and stacking them by the smokers.

The shed sits maybe forty yards from the smokers, and I need a full cord of fruit woods for this year’s smoking. The miniature dog is thirty minutes into her job and already bitching about it.

“Holy shit, Bwana Mooner. C’est beaucoup de fucking bois.”

“Yea,” I told her, “that is a lot of wood. But you standing here bitching at me won’t get it moved.” Saying that embarrassed me. I sounded just like my Gram.

“Sie klang wie Gram, Senor Culo Agujero,” the soon-to-be-my dog said to me.

“I’m sorry, Squirt. I can be an asshole sometimes.” I hate it when I engage the same parental tools as my elders used on me. I stooped to pick her up and planted a big kiss right between her eyes. Her short fur is soft and sweet-smelling after our shower this morning.

Have I told you that Squirt and Honor the cat take showers with me now? We’re a fucking shower-taking sideshow. I’m teaching them to sing in the shower and our current song is the old Kinky Friedman and the Texas Jewboys hit, Waitress Oh Waitress, Come Sit On My Face.

Their favorite line is, “Eatin’ ain’t cheating, it sure ain’t no disgrace.” Mine too.

But here’s the thing. With Sarah Palin touring the country and saying stupid shit the last week, I had another camel toe dream with her in it. It was Sarah fucking Palin, The Daft Scots Lass and The Reckmonster in this one. The four of us were in the shower together with Squirt and the cat.

The Reckmonster made a joke by saying, “Look here, we’ve got four pussies, a dog and a giant asshole taking a shower together. Who needs the giant fucking asshole?” And they kicked me out of my own shower.

In the dream, I padded from the bathroom to lay on my bed, still dripping wet from my shower. I was there with my eyes closed and feeling sorry for myself, lamenting the loss of joy I was to have from soaping the three women into a lather. Then I felt someone snuggle into bed with me. Whoever it was sidled up beside me and began the prelims for a blow job. I didn’t open my eyes to see which lady it was because, quite honestly, given the proper circumstances I would have sex with any of them.

My order of preferences would be the Reck, the Scots Lass and then the brain dead Republican shitball. I don’t really know the Scottie except for reading her stuff over the last week, but I can tell that she’s my kind of woman. The Reckmonster can turn me on with a simple, “What the fuck?”

Sarah Palin is an elephant in a different room.

I’m ashamed to say that I would have sex with her. I have already spent maybe a hundred hours of therapy working on the problem. Translated into meaningful terms, my willingness to bang Sarah Palin is already a $20,000 problem. Hell, for a $50,000 personal appearance fee she’d likely come to the ranch and blow me.

Maybe not. That might be wishful thinking. Would I be breaking any laws to ask her? I guess my main concern would be violating the Mann Act. I could go to Arizona to mail my request since she’s in Arizona now. Seems she has an affection for the A states. But wait. Is the violation of the Mann Act if the request to break a law crosses state lines of if the act itself crosses state lines? Need to call Jeff, my attorney.

And the Scots Lass lives in South Africa, but grew up in Scotland. I’ve been married to an African woman, but not a white African woman, and not a South Africa inhabitant. I must be wondering about that stuff since she was in this dream. I find her charming and sexy as all get-out. But don’t go climbing all over my ass. Go first to the Daft Scots Lass’ site at http://www.gillianhefer.blogspot.com and read some of her stuff. Then judge my affections.

OK, and I know she’s a married mother and quite happy and all of that. I’d still, under all of the right circumstances, sex her up. Just saying.

I’m seriously fucked up. But I’m loved and I have an ample supple of icy cold Carta Blanca beer to get me through today’s grilling and smoking.

Manana, y’all.

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2 Responses to “Sex With Sarah Palin; A $50K Personal Appearance Fee Away?”

  1. Squatlo says:

    Mooner, you’re a twisted individual. Not only do you draw me in with the tomato smoking story, then ignore descriptions of the actual process you’ve gotten me interested in learning about, but then you dash off to the showers with Reck, the Scots Lass, and Sarah Palin.

    Personally, I know I couldn’t handle any of them, much less all three at once. It’s all I can do to survive soap. Soap’s such a slut.

    Anyway, next time you’re droning on about tomatoes, get back to smoking them for a few minutes. I don’t need wood stories, tell us how you actually smoke them. On racks, in boxes or trays, with little bandanas on their little faces?

    Be pacific… Not that I’ll ever be in a position to waste precious tomatoes (we have limited supplies still green on the vine) but I’m curious about the process.

  2. admin says:

    Squat. OK, more smoked tomatoes in your future. I need to rethink the $50 grand for sex with Sarah Palin. I don’t think I’d pay that much.

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