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Penguin by Wiki Commons
"Sister Sarah, don't shoot me!" the penguin cried, as Palin loaded her clip.
"Well, co*k-a-doodle doo." Palin blasted the witless waddler into oblivion.
"Good one, Sarah!" Her father, Chuck, retrieved the prize. "Looks like a bullet-riddled knee sock."
"I can wear it to cheerleader practice!" Sarah beamed.
"Sarah, you're governor of Alaska," her father admonished.
"That's what I mean."
Please don't shoot--a plaintive cry trickled from a snow bank.
"What?" Sarah whirled. "Do I need a helicopter?"
They're penguins, dear," her father explained. "They don't run in packs."
"What then?" Her eyes rolled in exasperation.
"Pod. Or rather colonies."
"Todd? Oh, damnit. I think he's out shooting wolves."
"The rhythm of life," Chuck said. "Rat-a-tat-tat and Joe Six Pack."
"I love him!" said Sarah. "And his snow machines. But God made flipper birds for me--black and white."
"Take your time, honey. You've got lots of bullets. Just save the last one."
"For what?"
"In case"...Dramatically, his eyes swept the tundra..."you don't make it." He knew there was a reason flightless blubber birds could survive in treacherous terrain, in a land that in spite of melting glaciers, could appear as a gulag against global warming. Maybe it was Reality TV.
"But there are two of us," said Palin. "Why would I shoot you?"
"Not me!" her dad frowned. "Some things are worse than death! Like in Jack London!--Call of the Wild! The dog ran off with the wolves!"
"His name was London!" Sarah smirked. "He wasn't even a real American!"
"Can't you read the teleprompter?" her Dad frowned. "I was trying to make a point about bullets! Just read the bullet points."
"I'm Sarah Palin!" she roared. "I put the bullets in bullet points!"
"She's off script. She's going rogue," a voice behind a white sheet said. "Good. Let her run with it. Queen of the Bullet Points! Her off base will love it."
Sarah watched the ice. "Me against the world." She raised her Winchester. The birds could come out of nowhere. She knew the folklore. Prospectors pecked to death by ravenous penguins. Something the lower 48 would not understand about A-yaska. Just like they could not understand how-she-got-her clipped-German-accent, when everybody else spoke English. Truth be, it was not the penguin-quack impersonation she learned in hunting class; it was the crush she had on Arnold Schwarzenegger...a real Republican, who even if he could not speak English, really knew some'tin about guns. He-could shoot-em-yah-yah-you-betcha!"
Or, maybe it was the seal blubber stuck between her teeth.
"Sarah!" her dad yelled. "You're daydreaming! Forget Predator Three! Remember our relaxation technique," her dad said. "It's in the Good Book."
"No feathers, no fur"--she breathed--"Not even kosher." But there was something about the beady eyes...a collective confidence...or curse--They didn't blink. Or wink. It was like they could think! Maybe they knew what they were doing? Why, it was so unsettling! How dare they! Eggheads!"
"Don't forget, we're smarter than them," her dad added. "We have dominion."
"Pizza?" she said. "Out here?"
"I can't stand it anymore!"--The penguin waddled forward, holding his ears (of which he had none). "Put me out of my misery! Gag me with an anchovy!
"Flippers up!" Sarah shrieked. "On the ground!"
"You think I'm going to fly?" the penguin looked puzzled.
"Flippers down, then!" Sarah pointed her gun.
"Looks like you've got the upper hand," the penguin admitted. "I confess."
Sarah's trigger finger twittered. "Confess what?"
"What my daddy said," said the Penguin.
"Daddy?--" Sarah puzzled. "You can tell yourselves apart? You all look alike."
"Ok!" the webbed critter screeched. "Faceless egg warmer without a soul!"
"Don't act smart." She shook her seal skin chaps. "What did big bird with trousers say?"
"That Palin would pimp out a penguin if she could make a profit!, he yelled. "But he didn't mean it! Now can I go?"
"Sorry about'cha luk." Her eyes contracted. "But this is A-yaska. And I'm going to blast-ya. Maybe put it on Reality TV. That's what people want to see. Good for me. Oh, my bloodlust is starting to boil. "One, two, three." Her gun jerked upward as she unleashed tracer rounds into the hillside. An avalanche began to tumble.
"Off the mark!" the penguin darted. "Time to roll!"
"Russia-from-my-Door!" Palin's face contorted. "This means war!"
The snow banks came alive. Penguin marching music filled the air. Black and white blots emerged.. Flippers flapped; webbed feet flew. Penguins to the left; penguins to the right. Like tin soldiers. Moving as one.
CUT!
