I turned on the TV today and ya know what I heard? That old gas bag Lou Dobbs says he's gonna try to run for President in 2012. Well, let me tell you something, that fat boy has never run for anything in his entire pudgy life, so he better not start now unless he wants to have a heart attack trying to outrun a slender, campaign-trail-tested political Olympiad like me. I've had my eye on 2012 ever since John's people wrapped me up in designer duds. Lou Dobbs better check himself before he wrecks himself in a race against yours truly.

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Not many people know about this, but me and that little jailbaiting twerp Levi Johnston are gonna be going toe-to-toe in the square circle this Saturday. That's right, crazy as it sounds I, Sarah Palin, have every intention of bare-knuckle boxing Levi Johnston in a secret underground match in just a few short days. I've been chugging protein shakes and training with a guy who looks just like the old fella from Rocky because it turns out the guy who was in Rocky is dead now. And ya know who else is gonna be dead soon? Levi Johnston, just as soon as he meets the twin terrors that are Margaret and Nancy. That's what I call my fists. Margaret and Nancy. Margaret's on the left 'cuz she's British and they're still good-for-nothin' socialists.

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Finally, some good luck! Now that I'm sitting pretty in Hollywood (and haven't told a soul), it's about time I got a decent payday. It turns out I'm the most interesting person in America right now and I've got the mega book deal to prove it. Suck on that, Kate Gosselin! Anyway, just like my main homie Biggie used to say before some hatin' wanna-G with no sense of honest patriotism laid him out, mo' money, mo' problems. I'm sitting on a buck twenty-five with a serious multiplier on its tail, so now I've got to spend some time figuring out what to do with it. Here's what I've got so far.

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As we stood on the roof, the wild lights of hungry Las Vegas screaming into the black of the night, I pondered the strange journey that brought me to this conclusion. It was no less than waking from a dream, some banal dream of what life might be were the whims of fate as cruel as the Greek masters would have us believe. I felt my own blood dripping from my fists, too wrought with adrenaline and exhaustion to feel pain. Bernard flipped an errant gear from his loafer where it had landed at the end of the fury and he told me it was over. It was all over.

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* We have been on Mrs. Palin's trail for several days now. I have managed to decipher from the little bit of Cantonese in my language training that our employer somehow landed within a mile of her conference appointment last week following her altercation with the unspeakable creature that attacked the boat. Not only did she survive the impact, Mrs. Palin was actually capable of successfully conducting her speech. At this point, the lot of us are seeking out Mrs. Palin each for his own reason. Alec is certain she must have acquired important information about the internal arrangement of the beast that attacked us, while Grant has dedicated himself to writing an epic account of her heroics he intends to title "Going Rogue: An American Life". As for myself, Bernard Magnusson III, I seek only to fulfill my duties and maintain the spotless integrity of my work history. Mrs. Palin's diary entries for this period have been pieced together from fragments of intel I have gathered on this journey through the labyrinthine society of modern China.

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