Sarah Palin is voicemails you can’t understand,
Sports bras that cut off your circulation
and kittens on the highway.
She’s a prostate exam in an alley.
She’s the girlfriend who shrinks your favorite shirt and then cheats on you.
She has a Ziggy Stardust tattoo.

Sarah Palin is cellulite.

Sarah Palin is the squiggly line in your eye fluid.
She’s drunk tractor trailer drivers.
She finished the soy sauce and didn’t buy more.

She’s the roommate who leaves porn on their pillow.
The friend who eats your depression cupcakes when you’re not looking.
The sister who steals your boyfriend, your fuck buddy and your dog.
The co-worker who steals post-it notes and tells management it was you.

Sarah Palin killed a panda.
A baby panda.

Sarah Palin gives out expired yogurt on Halloween.
She’s the stains on your father’s pants,
she’s the cause of diabetes’ proliferation.
She’s bus seats with pee soaked in,
and flash floods during your parade.

Sarah Palin has no networks on facebook,
she goes to a bar and asks for a cup of olives.

Sarah Palin lost your phone contacts.
She punted a baby bunny
and flushed all your weed.

Sarah Palin doesn’t share her extra-large popcorn,
she kneed the Salvation Army Santa in the balls.

Sarah Palin broke your grandfather’s hip,
she sold Allied secrets in the war,
and she opposed the integration of dance-based TV shows.

Sarah Palin hates unicorns.
She pokes holes in the condoms at free clinics.
She deactivates the smoke detectors in orphanages.

She sent your mother a nasty email,
and mooned your Great Aunt Barb.

She never says ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes,
she castrates local pets on Wednesdays.

Sarah Palin is dirty mustaches,
unfunny perverted email forwards.
She’s jumping on your bed, screaming, when you have a hangover.
She ate the desert you’d be saving for three days,
and left a tampon on the plate.