Monthly Archives: October 2011

Sarah’s End Times



Paul and I occupy my yard


Halloween fun

I haven’t been working on any photo shoots because I’ve had a cold, and I’ve been documenting the twists and turns of our local Occupy movements. But I have been decorating my walkway and porch for Halloween. I love Halloween. Spooky decorations, spooky music, spooky lighting, lots of candy for everybody, and The Exorcist extended director’s cut. I’m in heaven. Anyway, here are a few pictures of my Halloween decor.

Husband requested that my annual life-sized figure have her head in her lap this year.




Hungry heads


Party next to graveyard.

Oh look! It’s my battered Sarah and Todd zombies!

I turned them into bag zombies.

Artistic shot.

The Fisherman and His Wife

Below is a story written by High Peaks. I did have to update it a bit, and make a few changes to account for prop limitations,  but most of the story is in its original form.

My thanks to the Brothers Grimm for their inspiration, and for allowing me to borrow, so generously, from their delightful story.

 To Sarah Palin,

who taught us all that while some fairy tales really can come true, sometimes we have to make our own way in life and succeed or fail based on our own merits alone, this story is humbly dedicated.

The Fisherman and His Wife

by HighPeaks

There was once a fisherman named Todd who lived with his wife Sarah in a comfortable home in the Mat-Su Valley in Alaska, a few miles from the sea. Todd used to go out all day long fishing; and one day, as he sat in his boat with his rod, looking out over the sparkling waves and watching his line, his float suddenly disappeared and was dragged away deep into the water; and in drawing it up he pulled in a great fish (Okay, so it was just a little salmon not going with the flow).

But the fish said, “Pray let me live! I am not a real fish; I am an enchanted prince; unhook me and let me go!”

“Oh, ho!” said Todd, “you need not make so many words about the matter; I will have nothing to do with a fish that can talk; so swim away, sir, as soon as you please!”

Todd freed the fish, and it darted straight down to the bottom, and left a long streak of blood on the wave. (For some extra fun, try to picture Todd saying “Oh, ho!”)

When Todd went home to his wife, he told her how he had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted prince, and how, on hearing it speak, he had let it go again.

“Did not you ask it for anything?” said Sarah.  “You are but a humble fisherman, part-time oil field worker, and snow machine racer who will probably never amount to much.  It is time that I made my mark on the world.  I should like a position on the Wasilla City Council. Go to the fish and tell him to give me this.”

“Wife,” said Todd, “I don’t like to go to him, for perhaps he will become angry; we ought to be happy with what we have.”

“Nonsense!” said Sarah; “He will do it very willingly, I know; go along and try!”

Todd went the next morning, but his heart was very heavy; and when he came to the sea, it looked gloomy, though it was very calm; and he rowed out to the spot where he had encountered the fish and called out to it.

“Well, what does she want?” said the fish.

“Ah!” said Todd, dolefully, “my wife wants to be a member of the Wasilla City Council.”

“Go home, then,” said the fish; “she is one already.”

So away went Todd, and, entering the Wasilla City Hall, he found Sarah sitting at a great curved oaken table with the rest of the council members, working on the monthly agenda.

“See,” said she, “is not this grand?”

“Well,” said Todd, “now we can live cheerful and happy in our comfortable home and you can do good things to help the people of Wasilla.”

“Perhaps,” said Sarah; “but let us sleep upon it, before we make up our minds to that.” So they went to bed.

The next morning when the Councilwoman awoke it was broad daylight, and she jogged Todd with her elbow, and said, “Get up, husband, and bestir yourself, for I must be Mayor of Wasilla.”

“But wife, wife,” said Todd, “why should you wish to be the mayor?” 

“Husband,” said she, “say no more about it, but go and demand this of the fish! I should be the boss so therefore I will be mayor.”

So Todd went away quite sorrowful to think that his wife should want to be mayor. This time the sea had a dark grey color, and was overspread with curling waves and little ridges of foam as he nervously called out to the fish from his boat.

“Well, what would she have now?” said the fish.

“Alas!” said Todd, “my wife wants to be Mayor of Wasilla.”

“Go home,” said the fish; “she is mayor already.”

Then Todd headed toward their home; and as he passed the modest city hall, he went inside and saw his wife Sarah sitting at a grand desk with a plaque inscribed ‘Sarah H. Palin – Mayor’, an imposing seal of the City of Wasilla mounted on the wall behind her, her freshly hired deputy administrator ordering lots of building supplies from Spenard Builders, and several council members gathered about her. All who were present were very respectful toward his wife.

“Well, wife,” said Todd, “are you mayor?”

“Yes,” said she, “I am mayor.”

And when he had looked at her for a long time, he said, “Ah, wife! What a fine thing it is to be mayor! Now we shall never have anything more to wish for as long as we live.”

“I don’t know how that may be,” said she. “Never is a long time. I am mayor, and boss of this small town, it is true; but I begin to be tired of that, and I think I should like to be governor.”

“Alas, wife! Why should you wish to be governor?” said Todd.

“Husband,” said she, “go to the fish! I say I will be governor, not a mere mayor.”

“Ah, wife!” replied Todd, “the fish cannot make a governor, I am sure, and I should not like to ask him for such a thing.”

“I am the mayor,” said Sarah, “and you are naught but my husband; so go at once!”

So Todd was forced to go; and he muttered as he went along, “This will come to no good, it is too much to ask; the fish will be tired at last, and then we shall be sorry for what we have done.”

He soon came to the seashore. The water was quite black and muddy, the sky was dark and stormy, and a mighty wind blew over the waves and rolled them about, making it impossible to put his boat in the water.  He went as near as he could to the water’s edge and there was fear in his voice as he again called out to the fish.

“What would she have now?” said the fish.

“Ah!” said Todd, “she wants to be governor.”

“Go home,” said the fish; “she is governor already.”

So Todd headed home again, this time by way of the state capitol in Juneau.

He came to the imposing building and went inside, and he saw his wife Sarah sitting at a very grand and magnificent desk, finely carved and ornamented, and her office was appointed with the plushest of carpets and trimmed with the richest of fine woods polished to a wonderful sheen.

The head of  her security detail of Alaska State Troopers stood at her side, at a respectful distance, and her new lieutenant governor stood at an even more respectful distance.

And before her stood state legislators, aides,  and cabinet members, each more deferential than the last.

Her luxurious executive jet stood ready nearby to whisk her away to anywhere her heart desired with but a simple telephone call from her chief-of-staff.

Todd went up to her and said, “Wife, are you governor?”

“Yes,” said she, “I am governor.”

“Ah!” said Todd, as he gazed upon her, “what a fine thing it is to be governor!”

“Ah, Husband,” said she. “We shall see. You are but the First Dude, so I need you to squash that slimy ex-brother-in-law of mine.”

“Wife, I would enjoy that, but who will feed our children?” said the First Dude.

“Bah!” said Sarah. “They can make macaroni and cheese. I need to change my clothes and go to my Anchorage office. This Juneau does not appeal to me.  Call the pilot and have him fire up my jet. Quickly! I have had enough of this place.”

“Ah, wife,” said Todd, as he gazed at Sarah’s new Anchorage office. “This is a very fine office, and close to home too.  What a fine thing it is to be governor!”

“Husband,” said she, “why should we stop at being governor? I will be vice-president.”

“O wife, wife!” said he, “how can you be vice-president? There is but one vice-president at a time in all the land.”

“Husband,” said she, “I will be vice-president this very day.”

“But,” replied Todd, “the fish cannot make you vice-president.”

“What nonsense!” said she; “if he can make a governor, he can make a vice-president; go and try him.”

And so Todd went again to the sea.  The roiling sea and dark, forbidding sky sent shivers of fear through him.

“What does she want now?” said the fish.

“Ah!” said Todd, “my wife wants to be vice-president.”

“You strain the very limits of my powers, young man.” said the fish; “Dick Cheney is already the vice-president and I fear that he would kill me and cook me and eat me, were I to make your wife vice-president.  You will have to tell her that this is the best I can do.  Go home.  Today she is the running mate of John McCain.”

Then Todd went home, and found Sarah surrounded by the national media who impatiently shouted their questions to her, and she was clothed in a costly wardrobe of the finest garments that RNC money could buy. Cheering voters swarmed her rallies, and she was the darling of the Republican Party.

“Wife,” said Todd, as he looked at all this spectacle, “are you vice-president?”

“Not yet,” said she, “but I am the Republican nominee.  That will have to do, for now.”

“Well, wife,” replied he, “it is a grand thing to be the nominee; and now you must be easy, for you can be nothing greater.”

“I will think about that,” said the wife.

The next months passed like a whirlwind; at last the day of decision was upon them, but alas, the Republicans lost the election, and Sarah did not become vice-president.

Sarah returned to being governor, but it was boring, and hard, and icky. Each night as she went to bed, her sleep was troubled for thinking what she should be next.

“Surely,” she thought, “I am not the vice-president because I failed to reach high enough. That washed-up has-been McCain dragged us both down.  Had I been at the top of the ticket, we should certainly have won.” At this thought, she was very angry. That fish was a hater who deliberately sabotaged her plans.  The fish did not think she had enough gravitas to be a heartbeat away from the prize. Sarah knew she needed to show that fish that she was very gravitasy.

At last, as she was dropping off to sleep late one night, inspiration came to her. She put on her robe and went out to the couch where Todd was sleeping and slapped him on the head.

When he did not stir, a quick punch to the cojones got his attention and he sat up on the couch with a gasp of pain.

“What is it now, wife?” said he, exasperated.

“Husband, go to the fish and tell him I must write a bestseller, become a Fox News commentator, and get rich enough to buy more houses than John McCain.” Todd was half asleep, but the very thought frightened him as it would any sensible man, so much so that he started and fell off the couch.

“Alas, wife!” said he, “cannot you be satisfied with being governor?”

“No,” said she, “I’m quitting that  stupid job tomorrow afternoon. It is as dead to me as that fish will be if he doesn’t give me what I want.  I shall not rest until I am rich and famous. Go to the fish at once!”

And so Todd went. But when he came to the shore the wind was raging and the sea was tossed up and down in boiling waves, and the ships were in trouble, and rolled fearfully upon the tops of the billows. In the middle of the heavens there was a little piece of blue sky, but towards the south all was red, as if a dreadful storm was rising. At this sight Todd was terribly frightened, and he trembled so that his knees knocked together; but still he went down near to the shore, and with his voice quaking in fear, again called out to the fish.

“Well, what would she have now?” said the fish.

“Alas!” said Todd, “my wife wants to be rich and famous. She wants a bestseller, a job at Fox News, and lots of money and attention.”

“Go home,” said the fish; “she is famous already, the check is in the mail, and tell her to have somebody else write the book and the Facebook page.”

Then Todd went home, and found that Sarah was on tour with her new book, there was a new studio next to the house, and SarahPAC had mailed him a salary check for $10,000.

Sarah on her book tour.

Sarah the Pundent.

More pundenting.

Greta asks Sarah the tough questions, like, “Can I have your recipe for moose chili?”

Sean Hannity and Sarah love to pundent together.

Sarah likes to give speeches, as long as they include a big check, a private jet, a security detail, fancy transportation with black-tinted windows, and, of course, bendy straws.

Sarah works on her foreign policy gravitas.

Todd texted his wife.

“Wife,” texted he, as he looked at all this spectacle, “are you rich and famous?”

“Not enough,” texted she, “but this will have to do, for now.”

“Well, wife,” replied he, “it is a grand thing to be rich and famous; and now you must be easy, for you can be nothing greater.”

“I will think about that,” said Sarah.

Sarah spent a couple of years being rich and famous, and making appearances on Fox News, but people still mocked her and her family, dissed her reality show and looked at her emails, and the bad bloggers made fun of her hair. She knew it was all the fault of Obama and that fish. She knew that her enemies would be punished if she were president.

The next morning when Sarah awoke it was broad daylight, and she yelled out to Todd on the couch, and said, “Get up, husband, and bestir yourself, for I must be President of the United States.”

“But wife, wife,” said Todd, “why should you wish to be the president? That is a hard job and it doesn’t pay very much.”

“Husband, it is the finest title in all the land,” said she. “Say no more about it, but go and demand this of the fish! I will be president.”

Todd went off shivering with fear; and as he was going down to the shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the very rocks shook. And all the heavens became black with stormy clouds, and the lightnings played, and the thunders rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great black waves, swelling up like mountains with crowns of white foam upon their heads.  Todd crept toward the sea and, cowering face down on the rocks, cried out in terror for the fish to come.

“What does she want now?” said the fish.

“Ah!” said Todd, “she wants to be president, as it is the finest title in all the land.”

As Todd looked on fearfully, the fish erupted in violent paroxysms of raucous laughter, its gills working feverishly as it desperately tried to catch its breath.

“President…President!” it wheezed between gurgling snorts of its uncontrolled fish laughter.  “Are you kidding me?” the fish scoffed.  “All the magical powers of all the enchanted-prince fish in all the oceans of the world put together wouldn’t be enough to make your wife the president.  Now go back to your home in Wasilla and don’t ever come back here again or I will take back all that you have and kick your pussy ass!” the fish said, sternly.

And so Todd left the sea with a heavy heart and went back to his wife Sarah, who met him at the gate of their compound in Wasilla with divorce papers in hand, no longer a councilwoman, no longer a mayor, no longer a vice-presidential nominee,  no longer a governor, no longer famous for anything but the crazy, but rather just the ornery, rich, botoxed  soon-to-be-ex-wife of a humble fisherman, ex-part-time oil field worker, and aging snow machine racer who was hoping for alimony.

The End


These photos are in roughly chronological order, and, with the exception of the preggers photo that shows her hair and glasses in the early days, they are the public face of Sarah.

More fun with dolls

I’m working on my Halloween display this week. I’m a little behind because of that big photo shoot I’ve been doing. Here is a picture of one little scene along my front walkway.

Occupy PlasticLand

We stand in solidarity with the Occupy movement.

Who wants to play with our Troll?

I was hoping to collect at least one more troll comment before I let you guys take turns kicking the furry little stupnik, but I don’t get many of them. The other one I had a few months ago was fun, but I accidentally threw it out. So this guy will have to do. He is humorless and doesn’t have the intelligence to understand the difference between satire and parody (look it up, dude).  He also uses punctuation incorrectly.  And they/their is plural, not singular, which is what the sentence should have  (I only go after the punctuation and grammar of humorless people, so the rest of you can relax). He’s all yours.  Have fun!

That was the most belabored, retarded thing I’ve ever read. I can’t tell which was worse… the fact that whoever did it, sat around and basically played dollhouse or the fact that the characters are clearly written by someone with a huge bug up their ass. Not only do they have a bug up their ass, but they haven’t the intelligence to satirize properly.

And sadly, the irony here is that you’re calling the Alaskan’s made up drama hounds. That’s precisely what you do: make up drama. And if everyone in Alaska is a bunch of attention whores trying to cash in, what does that make you for having an entire wordpress dedicated to a Palin fantasy?

No wonder this is a wordpress blog.