I’ve been quite busy, as I usually am this time of year, so I haven’t been able to keep up on my plastic mockery. I’m currently working on a prop-heavy set, which slows me down. I’m also leaving town for a few days tomorrow. I apologize for my slowness. I promise to have a couple of stories soon. In the meantime, here is my version of PlasticLand art, a flying monkey checking out the bumpit I made Sarah out of styrofoam and electrical tape.
Posted in bumpit, flying monkey
Bristle kicks off her two-stop book tour at the Mall of America, AKA tomato central, in the great heartland of rill America. There she meets her most ardent fans, who traveled many minutes and stood in short lines so that they could get a signed copy of their role model’s memoirs.
To avoid the kind of attempted tomatoing that Bristle’s mom got at this mall, the book signing is being held in the back of the bookstore (too bad!) and patrons are being searched for squishy objects (I heard that the tomatoes that guy threw at Sarah were hard. He apparently didn’t quite get the concept of tomato-throwing, and he was a lousy aim).
They aren’t exactly expecting a giant crowd for Bristle’s book signing. Luckily, some of the nuttier fans who came to mom’s signings (like that lady wearing the godawful t-shirt with Sarah’s giant face plastered on it) have apparently decided that they own enough Palin books.
Bristle arrives at the mall.
This is where rill Americans do their book shopping.
Hi everybody! It’s me, Bristle!
I’m famous!
I can dance!
Queen of the Mall!
Bristle’s fans eagerly await their signed copy of her book.
Bristle, Bristle! We want to be like you!
Girls, um, it’s not easy being me. I’ve had it rill hard.
Bristle, if it’s a girl I’m naming her after you!
Bristle, my baby-daddy won’t pose for pictures. What should I do?
Um, girls, those baby-daddies are such ass…um…gnats. Get your mom to threaten them.
Bristle, Bristle! Is it better to get married or stay a single teen mom?
(yikes! Who is that in line?)
Um…well…both is better, as long as somebody pays you. Just cancel stuff after you cash the check. My mom does it all the time.
Yup…um…girls, abstinence pays, um…as long as you do it after the baby. Um…at least while people are looking.
I’d better get to signing these books. Security must have the rest of my fans waiting somewhere else in the store.
I haven’t done a plastic mayhem episode in quite some time. I believe we are much overdue for one. This one comes to you in the spirit of Brazil. I always thought that Robert DeNiro didn’t deserve his fate, but I can think of somebody else who more than deserves a similar fate.
It was early evening in Scottsdale. The sun was finally low in the sky. Sarah, alone in the Arizona house since she sent Piper packing, had just settled in with her favorite bathrobe, her crunchwrap supreme, and a couple of diet Dr. Peppers.
Sarah needed to console herself, because it was email dump day.
More Dr. Pepper.
Sarah knew that there was nothing much left in those emails after her minions spent two and a half years removing anything that might seriously taint her image.
But she also knew that people were still laughing at her about Paul Revere, and they were picking apart the emails and calling her a petty bitch.
Crunch crunch. slurp slurp.
I’ll show this whole flippin’ lamestream country that I’m better than they are.
What’s that noise?
Flutter flutter, crackle, knock knock.
Hmmm….I can’t imagine that my security guards would let anybody through the gate without letting me know.
I pay those flippin’ guards more than they are worth.
Flutter flutter, crackle, knock knock.
Sarah put down her crunchwrap and decided to go check the door.
I need a butler.
It better not be those Mormons or I’m firing those flippin’ guards.
I swear this stupid state has more flippin’ Mormans than Idaho did, there, when I was there.
Sarah reached the door and peered through the spyhole, but nothing was there. She opened the door.
Bloody flippin’ hell! What is it?
Sarah backed up in panic as a strange sight greeted her eyes.
Security! Security! Where are those flippin’ guards??!!
Aaaackkk! Go away go away!!
In whirled a cyclone of paper, a veritable vortex of spinning sheets.
They swirled around Sarah, fluttering and flapping, slapping at her face.
Help me, help me!
The papers spun furiously, knocking Sarah to the floor. As she was pummeled, she could see that they were emails, her emails, covered with sharpie marks.
Faster and faster they flung themselves at Sarah, slapping her face harder and harder, trying to get up her nose.
Sarah could feel tiny paper cuts on her legs as she flailed to keep the papers out of her mouth.
Flippin’ help me!
The emails swoooped and dove, battering Sarah from all sides.
nooooooo…..!
Down she went amid the flappings of thousands of sheets of emails.
The emails plastered themselves onto Sarah. A crunchwrap supreme landed on her face.
More and more, faster and faster, they piled on.
Sarah couldn’t breath. She had paper in her nose and mouth.
She struggled to free herself from the ever-building mountain of paper.
Flutter, swoop, crackle!
he….lp…
No help for Sarah as the emails swirled in for the kill.
The sun continued to set.
With a last flip flap, the mountain of emails settled on Sarah.
Quiet descended upon the house.
The emails let out a gentle sigh.
And the cosmos rejoiced. Much rejoicing.
Posted in Arizona, crunchwrap supreme, email dump, emails, plastic mayhem, Sarah Palin
