We All Need a Tweditor – Palin Edition
Before we begin:
WHY must you continue writing about HER, you demand to know.
PLEASE stop giving her attention, you insist.
As soon as you pretend she’s not there, she will evaporate into the ether, you delude yourself.
I plead guilty to a personal, professional, and morbid fascination with the enduring social and political impact of the trainwreck from Wasilla. Some people are really into sports, or photograph their lunch, or amuse themselves by taking Facebook quizzes to find out what color aura of what punk rock band’s totem animal they are, or other ultimately inconsequential hobbies. And as long as cable news studios in New York and DC—from MSNBC to Fox—use Sarah Palin as a chew toy, I will resist the notion that I’m obligated to ignore the circus when I can practically see it from my house. I’m just going to wait until my editor lays down the law. Wait, that’s me.
Now let’s get on to the business of not winning a Pulitzer. You can run along if you’ve had enough. I understand.
Oh, and I’m the blue aura of The Sex Pistols’ totem desert iguana… if you were wondering.
ANCHORAGE, AK—After She Who Makes Sounds With Her Mouth shrieked something about impeachment this week, one of her offspring rose to her feet in rousing support of her mother’s idiocy. It was the offspring named either for the bay of salmon, or the Connecticut home of ESPN (depending on Mama Grizzly’s story du jour) aka Bristol who echoed the call for a coup d’état.
You may or may not agree with our two political scholars’ proposed course of action. I’ll leave that to you. But one thing I noticed while visiting the Twitter profile of The Least Credible Abstinence Spokeswoman in History – Bristol’s tweets are “edited by Nancy French.”
When a message of 140 characters is too steep a linguistic mountain to scale, bring on the Palin family ghostwriter, I say! Why, she’ll turn pablum into nonsense and back again before you can say, “wait…wut?”
Palin, Inc. retained French (or shall we call her “Freedom?”) to pen literary masterworks like the unintentionally hilarious Good Tidings and Great Joy: Protecting The Heart of Christmas, which I read so you wouldn’t have to. See my vodka-soaked chapter-by-chapter analysis here. She also was the literary tour-de-force and moral center behind Bristol’s own “book” called Not Afraid of Life which details her journey into motherhood, launched from a tent campout weekend supervised only by her future baby daddy Levi Johnston, and a couple gents called Bartles, and James™.
The morally erect Mrs. French seems to have a rather severe irony deficiency, given who her most famous clients are:
Oh, not YOU, Bristol and Levi. Not you. Your non-marriage is the stuff of literary masterwork, and French’s paycheck, not cultural decay.
You know, of course, how this goes. When a young woman of color has a baby out of wedlock, she is resented as a spiritually flawed drain on society, and Exhibit A for why our nation’s once-stellar moral character is circling the drain. When an unmarried conservative white girl shows up with a bun in the oven, she is to be commended for her “commitment to life” and her bravery. She don’t need no baby daddy albatross around her neck, or any “entitlements” either – well, other than her last name, and the wealth and power of her parents, and an invitation to Dancing with the Stars, and a ghostwriter for her book, and the financial support of a nationwide abstinence campaign.
I mean, let’s face it. If those other people wanted to not contribute to the decay, they should just get married to… whoever. And if they won’t play ball and save society, then they should just go be on Dancing With the Stars too. Or are they just LAZY?