The GOP (Dwight, Sarah Palin) PG
Title: The GOP
Author: crackers4jenn
Pairing/Character: Dwight, Sarah Palin
Rating: PG
Summary: For reasons unexplained, Dwight rapid fires questions at Sarah Palin. Who answers them. And that is all that happens in this story.
Spoilers: None at all.
***
Dwight looked over his stack of index cards, a sneer on his face. In front of him was Sarah Palin. Wildlife hunter. Republican delegate. Also, stern-looking, like Whistler's Mother in that old painting. He was a fan. Had it hanging up in the room assigned as Mose's, even those Mose slept in the barn.
Sarah Palin smiled.
Dwight leered.
"Question," he said, not taking his eyes off of hers. The thing about Schrutes? They have excellent periphary vision, which is how he also manages to read the scrawled writing on the index card. "Are you a legal resident of the United States?"
That smile--innocent in its nature, and therefore deceptive--grew. "I'm from Alaska. I know it looks like we're hanging onto Canada by the coattails, but, I assure you, that's hardly ever the case."
Dwight snorted. "More like clinging. If I was Canada, I'd start a revolution to amputate Alaska, like a diseased arm."
"Well, see, as a state, we provide--"
"Next question. Pro-choice or pro-life?"
"As a mother and, more importantly, I think, as a woman, I believe--"
Dwight makes a noise like a buzzer. "That was a trick. You failed. Follow-up: how do you feel about bears?"
Her smile falters. A weakness of her kind. "I'm sorry?"
"Five. Four. Three. Two--"
"Bears serve a planetary purpose, that's for sure." There are emphatic gesticulations that make Dwight wary of a surprise but not altogether unexpected attack.
"I see," he says, eying her over the bridge of his nose. "Explain."
"Well, bears, when implemented in the wildlife caste system, they--dog-gone this question, it's just so funny. I'm from Alaska. You'd think I'd know more about bears."
"Time's up. Your answer is incorrect. The correct answer is, bears do not serve a purpose. Bears are useless."
"I think we can agree to disagree there."
Dwight's upper lip trembles into something of a threatening, unimpressed snarl. "Next question. Subject: the War in Iraq. Based on a level of skills, one being less than zero and ten being Jack Bauer, rank our troops. Go."
Here she fidgets. Also where the interrogatee starts avoiding eye contact, which is a clear sign of disloyalty. "Ten, of course. Of course." What a contrived tone. "Our Nation's army is the best. I admire tremendously the men and women--"
A derisive snort on Dwight's part.
"--who have willingly gone through combat for our fine Nation. As a matter of fact, John McCain knows firsthand just how heroic these people fighting are. You think a socialist like Barack Obama has ever willingly fought for our Country? I'll tell you, right here in Scranton, Pennsylvania, the very mecca of our America's most loyal and patriotic, I'll let you in on a little secret. Barack Obama never has served for this Country. You know what. John McCain has. John McCain was a prisoner of war, for you, the American people."
Dwight waves the index cards in front of her face to cease the endless mouth-flapping. "What war? Name it. Ten seconds or less. If you can."
A substantial amount of stammering takes place, which makes Dwight wonder if maybe she has some neurological defense ploy to trick him into thinking she is an invalid. He wouldn't put it past her. "Well," she says, and she smiles playfully like the two of them are close friends. No. "Obviously he is a veteran of one of our finest wars."
"Yes." He is unsympathetic to her failure. Let her dig a hole. Here, he'll hand her a shovel. He'll have led her to the most pliant soil to make it easier. The shovel is cast iron. Efficient.
"--and the war that John McCain engaged in, who I admire deeply, on both a personal and, and a deep, profound professional level." An admirable pause. "That would be, World War II. Of course."
"A self-discipline I admire. Fighting a war at the age of ten. If only I had half the upper body strength at that age that he must've had, well. I probably would have fought in two wars, because my upper body strength would have been better."
Sarah Palin looks like a wreck. There is a feeble laugh that she uses in an attempt to--well, Dwight doesn't actually know. There are some motives born forth from the female psyche that still manage to evade him. Thus he continues to stare at her until her motives become more clear.
"I'm sorry," she says with that same elusive sound of amusement. "Gosh darn, that slip of the tongue. It was the Vietnam War that he fought in. Or Korean. Boy, you can't see either of them from Alaska, now can you? But seriously. The Vietnam War."
He nods. It's a deception. Abruptly he stops and pins her with an unwavering glare. "Will you penalize illegal aliens by any means necessary? Sometimes including torture." He rethinks this. "Chinese water torture."
"Well, now, Dwight. That's something the President will have to come to a conclusion on, but I can tell you that together, myself and John McCain, we will make it a priority to tighten our borders. Immigration into this fine Country will become a much more legalized process--"
"No, no, no." He's annoyed at her denseness. "Aliens. Extra-terrestrials. Unidentified flying--never mind," he sighs, frustrated. It's obvious that this is a matter he will never be able to trust the Government on.
Still, the idiot smiles blindly.
"Last question," Dwight announces. "Will you win this election? Eight words or less. Nothing larger than two syllables. And... go."
"You bet your ass--"
"And that is all. Thank you for your time, not really," he mutters under his breath, "and, uh, good luck, I guess. Except not. I never vote conservative."
She stands up to go, pumping her fist as she does so in a gesture of comradery. "Well, maybe we'll just hafta rope you in this year."
He snorts, standing up fast so that he is on his feet before her. You never want to be the one in a submissive position. "Uh, that would never happen."
"Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"
"No. We won't. I will NEVER vote conservative. I will also never vote liberal. I relish the dilemma."
"If you change your mind--"
"Not in a million, billion years."
That succeeds in wiping the impish grin off of her face. As she waves a farewell and is escorted away, Dwight sits back down, savoring the moment. There is only one thing, however, that worries at the back of his mind, and that is the threat of a hostile alien take-over.
It's no use dwelling on it, though. The beet farm has an adequate underground bunker Great-Grandfather Adalbrecht built in the '20s. He will be safe.
As for America...
Author: crackers4jenn
Pairing/Character: Dwight, Sarah Palin
Rating: PG
Summary: For reasons unexplained, Dwight rapid fires questions at Sarah Palin. Who answers them. And that is all that happens in this story.
Spoilers: None at all.
***
Dwight looked over his stack of index cards, a sneer on his face. In front of him was Sarah Palin. Wildlife hunter. Republican delegate. Also, stern-looking, like Whistler's Mother in that old painting. He was a fan. Had it hanging up in the room assigned as Mose's, even those Mose slept in the barn.
Sarah Palin smiled.
Dwight leered.
"Question," he said, not taking his eyes off of hers. The thing about Schrutes? They have excellent periphary vision, which is how he also manages to read the scrawled writing on the index card. "Are you a legal resident of the United States?"
That smile--innocent in its nature, and therefore deceptive--grew. "I'm from Alaska. I know it looks like we're hanging onto Canada by the coattails, but, I assure you, that's hardly ever the case."
Dwight snorted. "More like clinging. If I was Canada, I'd start a revolution to amputate Alaska, like a diseased arm."
"Well, see, as a state, we provide--"
"Next question. Pro-choice or pro-life?"
"As a mother and, more importantly, I think, as a woman, I believe--"
Dwight makes a noise like a buzzer. "That was a trick. You failed. Follow-up: how do you feel about bears?"
Her smile falters. A weakness of her kind. "I'm sorry?"
"Five. Four. Three. Two--"
"Bears serve a planetary purpose, that's for sure." There are emphatic gesticulations that make Dwight wary of a surprise but not altogether unexpected attack.
"I see," he says, eying her over the bridge of his nose. "Explain."
"Well, bears, when implemented in the wildlife caste system, they--dog-gone this question, it's just so funny. I'm from Alaska. You'd think I'd know more about bears."
"Time's up. Your answer is incorrect. The correct answer is, bears do not serve a purpose. Bears are useless."
"I think we can agree to disagree there."
Dwight's upper lip trembles into something of a threatening, unimpressed snarl. "Next question. Subject: the War in Iraq. Based on a level of skills, one being less than zero and ten being Jack Bauer, rank our troops. Go."
Here she fidgets. Also where the interrogatee starts avoiding eye contact, which is a clear sign of disloyalty. "Ten, of course. Of course." What a contrived tone. "Our Nation's army is the best. I admire tremendously the men and women--"
A derisive snort on Dwight's part.
"--who have willingly gone through combat for our fine Nation. As a matter of fact, John McCain knows firsthand just how heroic these people fighting are. You think a socialist like Barack Obama has ever willingly fought for our Country? I'll tell you, right here in Scranton, Pennsylvania, the very mecca of our America's most loyal and patriotic, I'll let you in on a little secret. Barack Obama never has served for this Country. You know what. John McCain has. John McCain was a prisoner of war, for you, the American people."
Dwight waves the index cards in front of her face to cease the endless mouth-flapping. "What war? Name it. Ten seconds or less. If you can."
A substantial amount of stammering takes place, which makes Dwight wonder if maybe she has some neurological defense ploy to trick him into thinking she is an invalid. He wouldn't put it past her. "Well," she says, and she smiles playfully like the two of them are close friends. No. "Obviously he is a veteran of one of our finest wars."
"Yes." He is unsympathetic to her failure. Let her dig a hole. Here, he'll hand her a shovel. He'll have led her to the most pliant soil to make it easier. The shovel is cast iron. Efficient.
"--and the war that John McCain engaged in, who I admire deeply, on both a personal and, and a deep, profound professional level." An admirable pause. "That would be, World War II. Of course."
"A self-discipline I admire. Fighting a war at the age of ten. If only I had half the upper body strength at that age that he must've had, well. I probably would have fought in two wars, because my upper body strength would have been better."
Sarah Palin looks like a wreck. There is a feeble laugh that she uses in an attempt to--well, Dwight doesn't actually know. There are some motives born forth from the female psyche that still manage to evade him. Thus he continues to stare at her until her motives become more clear.
"I'm sorry," she says with that same elusive sound of amusement. "Gosh darn, that slip of the tongue. It was the Vietnam War that he fought in. Or Korean. Boy, you can't see either of them from Alaska, now can you? But seriously. The Vietnam War."
He nods. It's a deception. Abruptly he stops and pins her with an unwavering glare. "Will you penalize illegal aliens by any means necessary? Sometimes including torture." He rethinks this. "Chinese water torture."
"Well, now, Dwight. That's something the President will have to come to a conclusion on, but I can tell you that together, myself and John McCain, we will make it a priority to tighten our borders. Immigration into this fine Country will become a much more legalized process--"
"No, no, no." He's annoyed at her denseness. "Aliens. Extra-terrestrials. Unidentified flying--never mind," he sighs, frustrated. It's obvious that this is a matter he will never be able to trust the Government on.
Still, the idiot smiles blindly.
"Last question," Dwight announces. "Will you win this election? Eight words or less. Nothing larger than two syllables. And... go."
"You bet your ass--"
"And that is all. Thank you for your time, not really," he mutters under his breath, "and, uh, good luck, I guess. Except not. I never vote conservative."
She stands up to go, pumping her fist as she does so in a gesture of comradery. "Well, maybe we'll just hafta rope you in this year."
He snorts, standing up fast so that he is on his feet before her. You never want to be the one in a submissive position. "Uh, that would never happen."
"Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"
"No. We won't. I will NEVER vote conservative. I will also never vote liberal. I relish the dilemma."
"If you change your mind--"
"Not in a million, billion years."
That succeeds in wiping the impish grin off of her face. As she waves a farewell and is escorted away, Dwight sits back down, savoring the moment. There is only one thing, however, that worries at the back of his mind, and that is the threat of a hostile alien take-over.
It's no use dwelling on it, though. The beet farm has an adequate underground bunker Great-Grandfather Adalbrecht built in the '20s. He will be safe.
As for America...