[Chasmo]

As quickly as he could, Calum pulled from his pocket the flash drive to which he had transferred from his iPhone his slightly edited version Will's mom's "show" from the night before.

On stage in the meantime, Mrs. Parnell was playing her already significant advantage against Emily Duncan who was staring wide-eyed into the audience yet to respond to the devious diva's question.

"Would you like me to repeat the question Emily," the imperious moderator asked mockingly as uncomfortable laughter spread through the crowd.

Hearing nothing from Calum's mortified mother, Danielle continued apace, "perhaps while you gather your thoughts I'll put that question to Governor Palin. Do you Governor, find it odd that our resident socialist here is comfortable sending her son to a school whose population is likely to join the very "one percent" that she claims is running our country into the ground?"

Still smarting from her own figurative and nearly literal dressing down from Danielle Parnell, and having removed her white bolero jacket to cover while she sat the high slit that had been torn into her blue pleated skirt, Sarah Palin saw an opportunity, by piling on to the hapless Mrs Duncan's distress, to reclaim some of her own lost dignity and also to score some political points for her beloved Tea Party. With a smile on her beautiful face the alluring Alaskan rose from her comfortable chair on stage and, leaving her white jacket behind, approached in her towering blue heels, high-slit skirt and red, cotton sleeveless blouse the podium where Emily Duncan now stood.

Quite curtly, in her zeal to commandeer the ongoing narrative, a very determined Sarah Palin, with all forethought abandoned, attempted physically to wedge herself between Mrs. Emily Duncan and the podium in front of which the tongue-tied district attorney now stood. Had she stopped a moment to think her actions through the Governor may have recalled, on the one hand, that rudeness sometimes has consequences and, on the other, that a pesky nail remained unmoved since its last encounter with her seam weakened skirt.

For Emily Duncan, Sarah Palin's pushing her aside was the straw that broke the camel's back. Since before she even stepped on the stage to which she now found herself practically frozen Emily Duncan had been at best treated as invisible and, at worst, openly insulted by the two little prima donnas with whom she was supposed to be sharing the spotlight. Finally, determining that "enough was enough," the generally meek Mrs. Duncan reached deep within herself to find the strength to fight back.

"Excuse me," proclaimed the theretofore catatonic district attorney as, grabbing Sarah Palin by the shoulders, she gave the arrogant politician a shove and endeavored to retake the podium, "but that last question was for me."

What happened next would spell the beginning of a spectacular event for most everyone in attendance as well as the end of Sarah Palin's political career.

Caught by complete surprise when she was pushed harder by Mrs. Duncan than she could have imagined, or than Emily had frankly intended, Governor Palin lurched forward causing one of her sky-high Louboutin heels to catch on the power cable leading to the podium. Sensing her rival's ensuing fall, and despite her new-found confidence, Emily Duncan immediately tried to help by grabbing onto Mrs. Palin's sleeveless blouse where it crossed the Governor's firm, tanned shoulders. That act of selflessness, however, combined with the very nail that grabbed Ms. Palin's skirt only minutes before once again finding purchase on the weakened garment, was the beginning of the end for Governor Palin.

As time appeared to slow to a crawl, Sarah Louise Palin, who only eight short years before was a candidate for the second highest office in the land, was unceremoniously stripped both of her dignity and her clothes as the errant nail tore away her skirt and Emily Duncan was left holding her now empty red blouse. Worse yet for the stunned Governor, having avoided a fall due to Emily Duncan's altruistic efforts gone wrong, she was revealed to all standing in her sky high blue heels, a stars-and-stripes thong, a matching and heavily padded push-up bra and her bejeweled American flag necklace. A collective gasp from the assembled crowd was followed almost immediately by peels of laughter. The young men of the student body saluted the flag and Mrs. Palin's form in more ways than one while the women in the crowd, most of whom saw Sarah Palin for the arrogant attention hog that she was, were elated by her comeuppance. The Governor meanwhile, with her mouth hanging open, a daffy look on her usually smug face and her hands almost involuntarily moving between covering her breasts and her tight little be-thonged ass, looked infinitely more ill at ease than had Mrs. Duncan only seconds before.

Of course, laughing harder than anyone was Danielle Marie Parnell who couldn't believe her good fortune. Humiliating Emily Duncan had already made her day. Seeing this moose hunting hot-shot who thought to steal her spotlight now getting down on her haunches to scoot away in naught but her bra and panties was merely icing on the cake.

Sarah Palin knew she was finished. "I have to get out of here," she thought as, attempting to make herself as small as possible, she went from her haunches to her hands and knees and began crawling -- her fantastically toned, stars-and-stripes be-thonged ass facing the audience -- toward the back of the stage to safety.

"Ellie," the humiliated politician feebly cried to her friend Mrs. Kerr who, with her husband, sat slack-jawed on stage at the Governor's current predicament, "Ellie get over here and help me damn it . . . I'm practically naked."

But just as Ellie Kerr leaped out of her chair to rush toward her humiliated friend, the lights in the auditorium went out completely -- rendering the windowless space pitch black -- and the day began to take yet another oddly wonderful turn.

As uproarious laughter was replaced with the murmur of disconcerted surprise at the sudden darkness, the two large screens behind the stage -- along with an equally large mate at the back of the auditorium that permitted those on the dais to see what the crowd was seeing -- came alive with a high definition picture of the evening's moderator -- Mrs. Danielle Parnell. The feed was not a live one but rather appeared to show the comely counselor -- dressed in a power suit not entirely distinct from the one she now wore -- staring into a mirror in an incredibly cavernous and opulent bathroom holding a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other.

Neither the silenced and confused crowd -- nor Will Parnell who recognized the room on-screen as his parents' master bath -- had any idea what to make of the scene unfolding before them. Of course, the women in the audience -- most of whom knew the imperious Mrs. Parnell all too well and each of whom had already gotten a collective rush from the humbling of Governor Sarah Palin -- took no small amount of private glee at the site of little Ms. Fancy Pants admiring her own reflection while toting around a full glass and nearly full bottle of wine. Her constant admonitions about "appropriate" behavior clearly didn't apply to her home life. But that private glee was about to become very public and very uproarious as the image on screen -- caught through the mirror that the officious diva was facing but clearly filmed surreptitiously from behind where she stood -- continued to roll.

"I'll be right back beautiful," the sexy barrister purred to her reflection, "but first I need to get out of these clothes."

The assembled crowd couldn't believe what they were seeing -- or more importantly hearing. From the protection of the darkness wolf whistles and calls of "take it off baby" could be heard from the gathered teens. In the meantime, again under the cover of darkness, many of the Gonzaga moms who almost daily suffered the arrogance of Mrs. Parnell through her role on the Mothers' Guild, her generally haughty attitude and, most especially, her incessant teasing of their husbands and sons, were smiling from ear to ear at the spectacle before them.

Those dads in attendance -- many of whom had only taken the day off after being pressured by their wives to become more involved in their sons' activities -- were now riveted to the sight of Danielle on screen. How many times had she teased and then embarrassed so many of them. If only, they and their sons all prayed beyond hope, if only this little scene could continue. In just a few moments their prayers would be answered.

Danielle was thunderstruck. Who was behind this? How was it possible that just last night someone had filmed her in the privacy of her own home? "Oh my God," she thought to herself recalling what would come next if the film progressed, "I have to stop this now."

Reaching for the microphone on the Lucite desk behind which she sat blessedly hidden in the darkness, after quickly downing an entire glass of water -- that unbeknownst to her was laced with Emily Duncan's anxiety medication -- Danielle Marie Parnell tried as she had done successfully so many times in the past to reassert her control.

"Whoever is behind this nonsense needs to stop it this instant," she said with all the authority she could muster, but only causing the crowd to laugh more heartily at the voice coming from the darkness.

"I said STOP . . . THIS . . . NOW," she bellowed raising her voice to a crescendo but sounding more desperate with every word, "or as God is my witness I will . . ."

But before she could say another word, Calum Duncan, smiling broadly from the control booth, cut Mrs. Parnell's microphone and at the same time illuminated her on stage with a very bright spotlight causing the laughter in the room to become ever louder.

While Danielle stood dumbstruck, like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights, the screens on which her smiling face had just appeared went black before, in large, alternating, bright white and purple letters the words, ". . . OR AS GOD IS YOUR WITNESS YOU'LL WHAT?" appeared for all to see causing the crowd's laughter to grow even louder and the shock -- or perhaps terror -- on Danielle's ordinarily smug face to become even more pronounced.

And then, with the spot still shining brightly on the usually perennially poised Mrs. Parnell, the screen came alive again this time showing at first only the empty mirror where Danielle had just narcissistically admired herself. In the next instant, however, to the staccato sound of high heels on marble, young Will Parnell's mom -- the always arrogant diva of Davidson -- strutted sexily into the camera's (and now the audience's) field of view wearing naught but a towering pair of black heels and a very, very short silk robe.

To a person -- except for Will himself who, with a torrent of confusing emotions running through his head and a bump in his khakis rising from his lap, remained pinned to his seat on stage -- the crowd went wild. But that was only the beginning. As she picked up a glass of wine that was sitting next to a spectacularly opulent lion-claw footed tub, the on-screen Mrs. Parnell again started talking to her reflection in the mirror.

"I told you I'd be back beautiful," she said lovingly to herself, "you look sexier every time I see you."

At this point the women over whom she had so long lorded her "beauty and intelligence," whose husbands and sons she had incessantly teased and whose collective enmity for her had for so long been kept at bay, were doubled over howling with delight.

"Oh my God this is fantastic," declared Rachel Miras pointing at the spot-lit and shell-shocked Mrs. Parnell from her seat on stage between Katherine Wray and Malcolm Biggs' mom Juanita, "that shattered look on her face is almost worth all we've had to endure up to now. Little Miss Perfect has no idea what to do next."

"The little tease most certainly had it coming," chimed in Quentin's mom Susan Kayser who like Will's friend Christian's mom -- Mrs. Tabash -- was tired of Danielle's parading around in front of her son and husband in her tight gym clothes and domineering power suits.

"You've got that right," enthused Katherine Wray in response, light-headed at the sight of Danielle Parnell on the big screen before her in just her heels and barely there robe. "I don't how this could get any better."

But then it did.

From his perch in the control room Calum Duncan continued to playback the video he had recorded less than 24 hours earlier. As the image on the screen again came to life, the crowd was treated to the site of the sexily attired Mrs. Parnell draining the glass of wine she held and pouring herself another. And then, amidst cries from women in the audience of "not so appropriate now," and "what a hypocrite," the onscreen beauty before them continued her conversation with the mirror -- this time clearly imagining a different audience.

"Do you honestly think you can compete with this . . . governor," the sassy and slightly tipsy suburbanite sneered, placing a highly manicured hand on her hip and throwing back her hair for emphasis, "well think again -- trailer trash."

Thinking on his feet, and to the raucous cheering of an already wild crowd made bolder by the cover of darkness, Calum Duncan shined a second spotlight upon Sarah Palin -- the intended target of the on-screen show off's insult -- who was now crawling on all fours across the stage wearing nothing but high heels, patriotic panties and a matching bra. Stopped dead in her tracks by the sudden blinding light, the mortified Governor -- whose stylish gold rimmed glasses slipped down the slope of her normally upturned nose as she raised her head in shock -- shrieked, "oh my God . . . oh my God . . . Ellie . . . Stuart . . . someone please cover me!!"

"Oh, I think you've had more than enough coverage this evening governor," came the voice of energized Emily Duncan before she was interrupted, as if on cue, by the on screen Mrs. Parnell.

"And what about you Duncan," the image of Danielle mocked -- this time clearly imagining Calum's mother Emily as her audience, "how does an out of shape loser like you -- with your unexercised body in your ill-fitting polyester suits -- even imagine that you belong on the same stage with this."

As the boys in the crowd went absolutely wild at the scene before them and even the women who had always hoped for Mrs. Parnell's downfall covered their mouths in shock and embarrassment, the recorded image of Danielle Marie Parnell untied the sash holding her robe together and, letting the silk garment fall open to reveal her sculpted abs sitting above the translucent front panel of her lacy, black La Perla thong, as well as its mate of a push up bra, arrogantly proclaimed, "you can't imagine -- because you don't belong here -- you fat cow!"

Almost drowned out completely by the collective gasp of the gathered Gonzaga mothers and the hysterical howling and continued cat calls of their husbands and sons, a mortified and increasingly hysterical Danielle Parnell -- the spotlight still trained upon her but now without a functioning microphone -- began, after chugging another full glass of water futilely to scream at the screen, "make it stop . . . make it stop . . . that . . . that . . . that's not me . . . turn off the camera . . ."

But no one was listening.

In the meantime, Emily Duncan, enraged and with new found confidence, had temporarily abandoned her pursuit of Sarah Palin and was making her way across the darkened stage to confront for the first time the woman who had so often -- just as her latest onscreen episode unquestionably demonstrated -- made her life miserable through snide comments, eye rolls, threats and other put-downs. "Well not anymore," thought Emily whose wish to see Danielle Parnell on the losing side of Karmic justice had at last come true, "not any more you little tease -- this time your mine!"

But before the newly invigorated Mrs. Duncan could reach the real live Mrs. Parnell, the latter's beautiful on screen doppelganger took another sip of wine and again began to address the mirror in front of her.

"You see . . . ladies . . .," the barely dressed arrogant diva continued to address what she at the time had only imagined were Sarah Palin and Mrs. Duncan, "these good men and boys aren't here to hear you drone on about your lunatic fringe political views . . . and they're certainly not here to see either of you. No . . . they've come -- or they soon will -- to see only one thing – me, right boys. They all want to see me and you cows all want to be me."

As the boys of Gonzaga along with their dads and male teachers -- to a man completely aroused -- all cheered to signal their agreement with the sexy solicitor's assessment for why they were there and the boys' moms, sisters, girlfriends and female faculty all felt their blood boil at the unbridled audacity of the tease on screen before them, that self-same on-screen sexpot let her tiny silk robe slip off her shoulders and onto the floor revealing her perfect be-thonged ass to their equally hungry and judgmental eyes.

On each of two large screens a nearly 35 foot tall image of Danielle Marie Parnell, the officious and arrogant diva who had forever looked down her nose at everyone gathered in the auditorium, now stood before them -- drunk -- wearing only her towering heels, black lace thong and matching push-up bra. On stage, and still dressed (at least for now) Mrs. Parnell stood catatonically taking in her own humiliation.

But the show was far from over. As the film continued, the onscreen Mrs. Parnell put both hands on her hips, and pushing her spectacular ass outward purred again at her reflection.

"This is what you want isn't it Mr. Hess -- not that dumpy Rebecca . . .," the preening snob teased as the live Adam Hess, who as a trustee of Gonzaga was sitting on stage next to his wife Rebecca, adjusted himself in his seat just in case the lights might come back on and otherwise catch him with a giant tent in his pants due to his raging hard-on. Rebecca Ross meanwhile was already out of her seat and, like Emily Duncan, making a bee line for the spot-lit show-off on stage.

" And this is why your hag of a wife isn't even on the stage any more isn't it Dr. Kerr -- or should I call you Stewie -- you loser," the tipsy cinematic diva went on to the complete shock of Dr. Stuart Kerr who also had been struggling in the dark with his own "feelings" over Mrs. Parnell's performance. His wife Ellie, meanwhile, who was already up in an effort to assist the nearly naked Sarah Palin who remained frozen on stage, turned quickly upon hearing Danielle's mocking to -- like Rebecca Ross and Mrs. Duncan -- get her hands on Danielle Marie Parnell.
Unlike the other two pursuers, however, Eleanor Kerr knew that the seams of Mrs. Parnell's very fashionable leather power suit had been weakened, a fact she hoped to use to her and the crowd's advantage and pleasure very soon. What she didn't then know was that the evening had a plan in store for her as well.

From on screen, Danielle's arrogant diatribe continued, this time directed squarely at her son's young friends who had spent the prior night at a slumber party in her very home, "and this what all of you imagine while you're ogling me from behind isn't it boys. That's right Calum, that's right Quentin, and Malcolm and Christian . . . you little perverts don't think I notice -- well I do -- you disgusting freaks. None of you can resist this. Well too bad you miscreants because you're never going to see it."

Nothing says "fighting words" to a roomful of mothers of high school aged boys than does some teasing temptress -- particularly this one -- always baiting and now mocking their sons.

"That brazen hussy," shouted a female cry from the crowd.

"Oh my God, the nerve of her," came another.

But if the mothers sitting in the audience were shocked, those women whose sons were mentioned by name were outraged, and although Emily Duncan, Rebecca Ross and Ellie Kerr were already closing in on Mrs. Parnell, Susan Kayser, Juanita Biggs and Christian Tabash's mom Anne were not too far behind.

The auditorium and stage were still dark save for the spotlights shining on the paralyzed Mrs. Palin and the dumbfounded Danielle. That said, those rings of light were sufficiently broad to reveal to the confounded counselor the small army of women heading her way. Ordinarily, the capable and confident uber-MILF would have easily found a way to cow the approaching horde of angry mothers and -- despite the complete humiliation that had already befallen her -- lived to fight another day. But for some reason Danielle -- unlike her now hyper-aroused son -- was not quite feeling herself. Her perennially sharp instincts were somehow dulled and her normally facile mind seemed in a haze. In short, she was increasingly but unknowingly in the grip of Emily Duncan's anti-anxiety medication.

Notwithstanding her incomprehensible sluggishness, Mrs. Parnell knew she needed to do something to escape the pack of angry women heading her way so -- feeling more lightheaded by the moment, and as Calum trained the spotlight on her every move -- she began to climb from the stage onto the large Lucite desk before her.

What happened next, a coming together if you will of the Mrs. Parnell on-stage with the Mrs. Parnell on screen, would become legend in the halls of Gonzaga High School. As Calum Duncan again permitted the "Danielle Parnell Show" to roll on screen, and the larger than life image of Will's mom, after taking yet another hit of wine, began a sexy strip tease to the erotic strains Purple Rain playing on her fancy sound system, the on stage Danielle, standing spot-lit atop of the giant Lucite desk and whose eyes had at this point begun to glaze over, also began gyrating -- in her sky high heels and leather power suit -- to the music of Prince's masterpiece.

"Take it off baby," thundered the cries of lustful teens still under the protection of darkness "show us your tits."

While on stage the "anxiety free" Danielle Parnell smiled devilishly as the lust she so dearly craved was directed powerfully her way -- and as she responded by teasingly undoing the top button on her tight leather suit jacket -- the on screen Mrs. Parnell was already coyly peeling off her bra . . . what great tits . . . to the unbridled joy of the watching men and unchecked laughter of their gathered wives and moms.

Stunned by what they were witnessing, Emily Duncan and the small group of pursuers that had gathered behind her stopped dead in their tracks.

"I think she's lost her mind," laughed a mystified Rebecca Ross loving that the clearly out of sorts Mrs. Parnell was poised to bring more humiliation on herself than any third party could have.

In the meantime, now unaware completely of where she was, Danielle Marie Parnell, the managing partner of one of the largest law firms on earth, had just pulled from around her neck the lace dickey, that to all prior appearances looked to be an appropriate and full blouse, and thrown it into the darkness. Then, dancing so sexily as to leave not a flaccid member in the house -- and thanks to the earlier efforts of the still shell-shocked Sarah Palin and her friend Ellie Kerr -- Mrs. Parnell quite literally tore off her tight leather skirt to reveal a tiny, translucent, red, lace thong with the blue bars and white stars of the Confederate flag emblazoned across the front.

With her fantastically exercised legs and thong-covered ass on full display for all to see, and as the crowd's excitement continued audibly to grow, the once imperious diva -- dancing erotically to the strains of Prince's Purple Rain -- next tore open the front of her sexy, black, bolero style leather blazer and, sending buttons flying, revealed more than a hint of the lacy Confederate flag themed push-up bra that matched her oh-so-inappropriate panties.

"Can you believe what that tramp is wearing," shouted a disgusted Juanita Biggs to no one in particular, "that little tease deserves to have that tiny ass of her's tanned."

As Mrs. Biggs stewed, the men and boys in the still darkened auditorium continued to cheer wildly at Mrs. Parnell's wanton display. Behind that cheering, and as the wives and mothers of those men and boys laughed heartily at the usually arrogant narcissist's inexplicable self-destruction, Governor Sarah Palin sought to make a break from her own on-stage disgrace. Crawling as quickly as her hands and knees would take her from the now static spotlight that had once surrounded her, the panicked politician wanted only to get off the stage and cover up. Unfortunately for her, her retreat from the light caused her to crawl squarely into the legs of a now colossally confident Emily J. Duncan.

"And just where do you think you're going you little tease," demanded Mrs. Duncan of the cowering governor as merely feet away from them Mrs. Parnell -- still desk top dancing -- tore her blazer off and threw it into the crowd.

"Please . . . please just leave me alone," pleaded Sarah Palin in a stage whisper to the woman who all day she had treated with disdain, "haven't I suffered enough."

"Not even close," smiled Mrs. Duncan as she reached down to grab the fleeing politician.

Moving to evade the determined Emily Duncan's grasp, Sarah Palin quickly climbed onto the chair that sat behind the large desk upon which Danielle Parnell remained dancing in her Confederate flag bedecked bra and thong and towering high heeled shoes. Unfortunately, the retreating Republican was not quite quick enough to elude Mrs. Duncan's hand and, as Sarah Palin continued her escape onto the spotlit Lucite desk, her stars and stripes bra remained behind held tightly within Emily Duncan's fingers.

The resulting scene -- namely the former Governor of Alaska, wearing only her very high heels, American flag thong and matching bejeweled flag necklace, effectively doing a desktop "dance" of shame as her hands flew between covering her ample, exposed tits and her nearly naked bottom all while standing next to the nearly naked and still sexily gyrating if heavily medicated Danielle Parnell -- practically brought down the house.

But that scene only became more raucous when, still dancing in her head Mrs. Parnell decided to grab Sarah Palin from behind as a make-shift dirty dancing partner. Caught completely unawares by the hands encircling her waist, and throwing any hope of preserving her dignity to the wind, the mortified Mrs. Palin did a quick half-spin in her stilettos and slapped her unwanted dance partner soundly across the face.

In that instant, despite whatever effect Emily Duncan's watered down medicine may have had on her earlier, Danielle Marie Parnell's self-awareness, however slowly, finally began to return. She felt a sting on her cheek and, looking somewhat blurrily through her burgundy Prada cat-eye glasses, recognized Governor Sarah Palin's face glowering at her.

"What are you looking at," demanded Mrs. Parnell as the return of her arrogance outpaced the return of many of her senses, "and where in God's name are your clothes?!?!"

No sooner had that fateful question left her lips then was Mrs. Danielle Parnell, glancing up at the two large screens behind her, confronted with her own image, at this point naked save for her high heels and a smile -- wine glass still in hand -- dancing lewdly in her opulent bathroom at home. But that discovery paled in comparison to her next one that was brought on by a familiar voice coming from the darkness.

"Her clothes," laughed Emily Duncan heartily, "the better question for you Parnell is where in God's name are your clothes."

"My clothes," the confident uber-Milf thought to herself, "my clothes are exactly where they should . . ."

But before her mind finished its thought, Danielle Parnell's eyes, glancing down to where they expected to find her very fashionable, very sexy, very powerful Prada leather suit, encountered something quite unexpected. As her arms fell to her side, her jaw dropped open, her eyes opened in shock and her very fancy cat-eye glasses slid down to the tip of her perfect little nose, Mrs. Danielle Parnell realized she was wearing nothing but a pair of towering high heels and her very naughty Confederate flag thong and matching push-up bra -- her private, dirty secret now on very public display.

And then -- despite some continued confusion brought on by the bright light that seemed to be shining only on her and the cowering Governor Palin, and not quite appreciating yet the raucous laughter and cat calls coming from the darkness -- the full weight of where she was started to sink in . . . Sarah Palin . . . Emily Duncan . . . oh, no . . . oh no, please no . . .

"Oh . . . m-m-m-my . . . G-g-g-god," the mortified mother simultaneously stuttered and shouted, "I-I-I-I'm . . . . I-I-I-I'm . . . I'm . . . . p-p-p-p-ractically n-n-n-n-aked . . . at G-g-g-g-gonzaga!!"

"Oh my," mocked a smiling Emily Duncan as her son brought the house lights up so that the two women who had sought to embarrass his mother could get an even more bitter taste of their own medicine, "do you have a stuttering problem dear . . . how embarrassing."

The sudden sight of the crowd increased the already intense humiliation of the two civil war lingerie wearing divas a thousand fold for now they could see the large throng of men, women and, mostly, teenage boys, shouting, clapping, pointing and laughing.

Teasing her former tormentor even more, now with the benefit of everyone watching, Emily Duncan mocked the stunned Danielle Parnell yet again, "I'm sorry Dani . . . . if I may call you Dani . . . would you like me to repeat the question?"

Although she heard Mrs. Duncan's voice taunting her, Danielle's eyes -- unfortunately for her -- had locked with those of her son Will who, standing only feet from his nearly naked mother had the belt and button of his khakis undone, fly open and, but for the surprise engendered by the house lights coming up, was about to put his hand down his pants.

"W-W-W-Will," the once imperious uber-MILF stuttered at her stunned son, "d-d-d-d-don't look at mommy . . . and s-s-s-stop . . . t-t-t-touching . . . y-y-y-yourself."

Laughing hysterically at the scene before them, the mothers of the boys that Danielle had called out by name gladly joined the verbal assault.

"Isn't that what he always imagines while he's ogling you from behind," teased Mrs. Kayser.

"You know none of the little perverts can resist you," teased Mrs. Tabash.

Thunderstruck by the sight of his humiliated mother, a scene he had always longed for but one that overwhelmed him nonetheless -- and despite Danielle's protestations to look away, Will Parnell began almost mindlessly walking toward her just as Ellie Kerr made a bee line for the catatonic Sarah Palin. What happened next presaged the close of one of the most memorable days in Washington, D.C. high school history.

"Oh no you don't Eleanor," shouted Emily Duncan, as yet another self-absorbed show off of a woman who had long minimized the now confident district attorney sought to end the Governor's shame before Mrs. Duncan was ready.

But because Will -- moving zombie-like toward his mother -- had managed to get himself in between the two women, Mrs. Duncan was unable to get a hold of the now quickly moving Mrs. Kerr. Thus it was in a last ditch effort to impede Sarah Palin's rescuer, that Emily Duncan grabbed the undone buckle of Will Parnell's belt and, pulling it from his pants, sought to lasso Ellie Kerr's ankle. Although that plan itself failed, karma provided a "Plan B" whose consequences were infinitely more satisfying.

As Will Parnell's now belt-less and open pants fell to his ankles, revealing a Confederate flag Speedo -- two sizes too small -- that the young man had bought himself online after discovering his mother's naughty underthings while searching through her closet recently -- the startled student fell forward and -- in an attempt to break his fall -- grabbed heavily onto the side of Mrs. Eleanor Kerr's black wrap around dress. As cell phones recorded them for posterity, the calamitous consequences of young Will's fall quickly ensued.

First, a startled Eleanor Kerr unintentionally pirouetted out of her dress which went crashing down beneath Will Parnell whose surging manhood was rather crushed by his fall. That action -- which revealed the avid runner in nothing but her high heeled shoes, black silk thong and matching push-up bra -- although mouth-wateringly sexy in and of itself was made devilishly more so in light of its 50 something wearer.

Unfortunately for the formerly buttoned-down beauty and the intended target of her rescue, Ellie Kerr's strip inspired spin also caused her to fall forward over the edge of the Lucite desk on which a petrified Sarah Palin still stood rooted next to Mrs. Parnell. Rather than saving her old friend, Mrs. Kerr managed to run squarely into the back of the humiliated governor's legs which in turn caused the latter woman -- attempting to break her own fall -- to grab from behind the sexy Confederate flag bra of Mrs. Parnell.

In a scene that would have done Vaudeville proud, a now topless Danielle Parnell toppled into the powerful arms of Emily Duncan, while Governor Sarah Palin ended up face down in the Speedo covered lap of Will Parnell who -- having just managed to get himself in a sitting position on the stage floor, greeted the Governor's arrival by soaking the center of his ridiculously small underpants. His mother meanwhile had been pulled by Mrs. Duncan over the latter's knee and was about to be served up the comeuppance of a lifetime.

Smiling at the cheering men, boys and women in the gathered auditorium Emily Duncan began the end of her longtime nemesis.

"Well Mrs. Parnell," Emily Duncan smiled,"it looks like my ill-fitting suit which . . . what did you say . . . is heavy on function and light on style . . . proved to be the outfit to have on tonight doesn't it?"

"P-p-p-p-please . . . ," the once imperious alpha lawyer began to respond.

"Why there's that embarrassing stutter again Dani," Emily Duncan interrupted using a name that Mrs. Parnell routinely shot people down for muttering as unworthy for a groan woman; "my name is Danielle" she would always say.

"Maybe if you shut up for once," Calum's mom continued while running Will Parnell's belt which she still held in her hand softly across Danielle's be-thonged bottom, "it won't be such a problem."

And then, undoing the severe bun atop the broken MILF's bowed head as men and women roared with appreciation, Mrs. Duncan devilishly continued, "I don't think this very grown up, east coast, Republican hair style matches those hillbilly panties you're wearing there Dani."

"But don't worry," the suburban D.A. said as she reached into the pocket of her sensible suit jacket and pulled out two small rubber bands, "I think I've got just the thing for that pretty hair of yours."

As Emily Duncan put Mrs. Danielle Parnell's ordinarily perfectly coiffed hair into make-shift pig-tails, to the mortification of the once proud women splayed across her lap, cameras, cell phones and the national press caught it all on camera for posterity's sake.

"And this very womanly make-up you're wearing," Emily continued dabbing into a nearby water pitcher a tissue she had taken from a box on the large desk at which she now sat, "I think . . . given how much of a distraction you believe you are to the boys here . . . well . . . I think it may be best if we just wipe that off."

While the likes of Katherine Wray, Rebecca Ross, Rachel Miras and Juanita Biggs doubled over with laughter, Mrs. Duncan pulled Danielle's head -- which was hanging off the DA's lap -- up by the hair and roughly wiped the perfectly applied make-up from the bemused beauty's shell-shocked face.

"That's much more like it," smiled Emily as Danielle tried meekly to protest.

"Not so sexy now are you," cried Mrs. Tabash.

"I don't think our boys will be chasing you anymore," cried another mother.

"Speaking about our boys -- the little perverts, miscreants and disgusting freaks I think you called them -- well it looks to me from your messy, panty wearing son over there that the biggest one of all may live under your own roof. If he were my son I'd give him quite the spanking . . . but since he's yours . . . I'm going to go ahead and spank you. And while all of these men and boys may want your ass, all of us women and girls want to see it get tanned. "

As a look of horror passed across Danielle's normally smug face, and the crowd roared at her impending punishment, Emily Duncan whispered into the stunned MILF's ear.

"This," Emily sexily purred as she put Will's belt squarely in front of Mrs. Parnell's frozen gaze with one hand and squeezed the broken diva's firm ass with the other, "is so going to beat that!"

As Mrs. Duncan then began to rain down swats down on Mrs. Danielle Marie Parnell's firm but reddening ass, the latter, now crying like a baby, wildly kicked her feet until her very high, very sophisticated Prada heels went sailing off into the crowd, leaving them with the image of a little girl being disciplined by her mother for some very naughty behavior.

That image was only enhanced once Mrs. Duncan, having satisfied her long held desire to for once make Danielle Parnell look like a loser, stood the shoe-less diva up, tore her Confederate flag thong from her hot but punished ass and, slapping that same ass, sent the denuded prima donna running for cover.

The last that Gonzaga saw of its former Queen Bee mom was a short, crying, pig-tailed girl, bereft of make-up and whose pussy was shaved bald, dragging her now pant-less son (who came again when she tried to lift him up), naked from the auditorium. As the boys and men in the crowd, many of whom like Will Parnell had deposited their excitement in their pants, thought of the contrast between the tiny pig-tailed streaker who had just run from their sight and the dominating diva who had taken the stage less than an hour before . . . well . . . suffice it to say . . . . the former was "palin" in comparison.

Epilogue

Before the week of Political Awareness Day was out, Sara Palin had returned to the Alaskan wilderness in hiding, Will Parnell had been expelled from Gonzaga, Ellie Kerr had been soundly if privately spanked by her husband Stewart and Danielle Marie Parnell had been unceremoniously voted out -- well at least as a lawyer -- of the large international law firm that she had run with an iron fist since she was 40.

Some months later, however, after Emily Duncan's rising notoriety had permitted her to move from the Davidson District Attorney's Office to a partnership at Mrs. Parnell's former firm, a rumor began spreading around DC that Mrs. Danielle Marie Parnell had returned to the halls of SmythKnight. And while no one by exactly that name was on the employment rolls, a short girl, sensibly if unfashionably dressed, usually in a long ill-fitting poly-blend skirt and matching jacket and often in pig tails, did indeed have a seat outside the fashionable office of Mrs. Duncan (now quite fit from months of training with Zeke and far better dressed in light of her sizable raise).

What's more, whenever it would ring to the desk at her small station, the little girl could be heard to answer the new partner's phone . . .

"H-h-h-h-hello . . . M-M-Mrs. Duncan's office . . . th-th-th-this is D-D-D-Dani speaking."