Dear Jason “Jet-Set” Wright, my mainest man, please accept this open letter to you with which I begin (or end) my life as a poster on

You know I envy your great life…  In fact, I am quite jealous: Not because you are making all those big book bucks… (my wife would only spend that too…) Not because women all over America are probably throwing their lingerie at you, (at my age, they would just throw industrial strength panty hose…) Not because you get face time on TV, (I’ve been told I have the face for radio…) But, because you are getting to meet real V.I.P. liberals in your travels who are shocked and dismayed at the Sarah-Tsunami.  It must be so much fun to look at their hollowed eyes, dropping jaws, and gnawed nails – clear indications of reality-intolerance in liberals. In one of your guest appearances with us, do play to our innermost fantasies*, our secret dreams we do not share; tell us about the pain and suffering of liberals and how Sara Barracuda has torn their very heart from their wretched political chest!  Do tell us about the screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth you have seen off-camera as liberals have watched Obama fall from “anointed” to disjointed, from “chosen” to frozen, from “savior” to, alas, misbehavior. As a song said, “Sweet dreams are made of these, who am I to disagree?”

(In one fantasy, I tie Patrick Keegan to a chair and replay Sarah’s speech at the RNC over and over and over and over…  Not sure how the fantasy ends.  Not sure I want it to…)