Alaska is the last frontier, although Jocko Weyland’s latest voyages to Detroit has proven that Detroit is the new frontier. An ever-expanding terra incognita. My friend Maz has spent several summers selling schlock jewelery to the tourists cruising the Inner Passage.

The stores charged 7 times cost.

As a diamond salesman I dream about that profit line, but my connection with Maz was not only gems. We drink together in bars around Brooklyn. The other night we were sitting in the Abbey. The TV was broadcasting news about Sarah Palin’s daughter breaking up with the father of her illegitimate child.

“Damn Levi Johnson.” Maz is an Iraqi-American. Very GOP. He loves Sarah Palin. His daughter had recently been engaged to the ex-hockey player. The world was loving this story.

“What he do that was so bad?” I was far from perfect. I had two wives. One I loved and the other I endured because of my daughter. Fenway’s mother had my heart. I suspected a secret magic potion. I hadn’t looked at another woman in 4 years. Something wasn’t right about that.

“He’s knocked up another teenager.”

“Not Sarah’s other daughter?”

“No, some bitch someplace else.” Maz swiped at his bald head. He sweated alot when he did cocaine. Me too.

“I wouldn’t have sex with any of them.” Mam’s love potion had rendered me her slave. Still the Palins weren’t my type. Too white. Too much tit.

“Good, because someday I’m making Sarah mine.” Maz snorted two rails of blow. Enough gak to OD an 8th Graders. I gave me the bag to destroy. It took less than two seconds. I glanced at the other women in the Abbey. None of them were as good-looking as Sarah Palin. Maz was thinking the same thing.

“One day.”

“I hope for you one day soon.” I hated the GOP, but would say anything for another line of ye-ho.

Go Sarah Go.

Get the eight-ball on the table.