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New Fiction From Sarah Palin

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Alamy
Alamy

Congrats on your new book deal, Sarah, and kudos to the editors at Harper Collins for having the wisdom to give you a shot at fiction. I am so looking forward to reading your soon-to-be-ghostwritten fantasy novel about the War on Christmas. It's already on my Amazon wish list along with Rand Paul's upcoming book, Is the Earth Really Round or Just a Flat Circle? (Of course, I plan to boycott that disgusting new book about Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan called Dead Souls.)

Of course, as you know, your book will not be under my Christmas tree this year because MSNBC agents have prohibited the sale and purchase of Christmas trees. But maybe I'll be able to buy a bootlegged one and somehow evade the 10-year federal prison sentence imposed by Frank Rich. By God, it'll be worth it! What's Christmas without a tree?

My wife is devastated about the Christmas wrapping paper ban that was forced upon us just recently by Stephanie Miller's liberal thugs. Good thing the neighbors are Jewish and have lots of Mazel Tov wrapping paper.

But I'll be honest with you, Sarah. The fact that the Washington Post won't let Rite Aid sell Christmas lights doesn't bother me that much. The bulbs always go out, probably because they've been sabotaged by undercover editors at The Nation.

What am I supposed to tell my kids about Santa? I can't tell them that he's being hidden in an underground cell in Roswell, New Mexico because Rachel Maddow said he was a UFO. And whose lap are my kids supposed to sit on? Ed Schultz's?

Also, what about those FEMA concentration camps that the New York Times set up for Christmas carolers? How do I explain that, Sarah? Do I say they're for Yuletide singers who can't focus?

And what am I going to do on December 26 when Christmas shopping starts? Stay home all day and poke needles into my Lawrence O'Donnell voodoo doll? How's that going to help the economy? I'll bet that was Paul Krugman's idea.

You know what I love, Sarah? I love that story you tell about how you got the idea for your novel from your neighbor, that godless, liberal op-ed writer who shops at Whole Foods, the thoughtless bozo who had the nerve to complain about your Christmas decorations. So what if you had 60,000 Christmas bulbs on your house and in your yard? So what if they illuminated most of Alaska and could be seen, as you said, "By all the people on Jupiter and probably Putin." Is that a reason to complain?

What a jerk.