I moved as quickly as I could against the sea of press, and Palinites.
Scanning over the heads, I searched for the Delaware Witch, but she had
disappeared as if by magic.
There was an audible pop and a whiff of ozone. A bluish light flooded the
bus’s attached stage. In marched Sarah, Bristol, and Piper. Sarah played
the flute. Bristol limped along at her side carrying the flag. To make her
limp more authentic, her mother had taken one of her shoes. Piper
morosely pounded out the cadence with a wooden spoon on a saucepan.
Battle wounds were simulated by a wrapping of Quilted Northern,
(courtesy of the Koch brothers) marked with splashes of catsup. They
played a passable “Yankee Doodle.”
“This week of touring has been one of the best of my life. Just yer typical
vacation, reminding America how important it is that we know what our
strong foundation is all about.” The half term governor paused to let the
profundity of this statement sink in. “Whenever we visit historic places, we
do these little patriotic tableaus. Tableau is a French word.” She
continued, “Which is where we got Lady Liberty and prostitutes.” Sarah
winked. “We also love to sing around the campfire. Todd usually plays the
guitar, but he cut his finger on a Miller Lite tab.”
Sarah shielded her eyes from the spotlight. “I see somebody that plays
guitar. Chris, get up here.” A spotlight swung in my direction. “Give him a
hand folks, he’s shy.” Hands jostled and propelled me to the stage. I
squinted into the lights. Sarah adjusted the mic. I stood next to her
adjusting my G string. The guitar was badly out of tune.
“This is going out to all those people in the little pockets of what I like to
call the Real America.” Sarah beamed. “I’ll start, then I want ya ta join on
in.” I played a C cord on the guitar.
“This land is my land.
This land ain’t your land.
So get off my land,
Go find your own land.
This land is my land.
This land ain’t your-er land.
This land was made for me not you.”
(Repeat ad nauseam )