You Want the Palin Brawl? Here it is.
I’ve been asked countless times over the last couple days to weigh in on the Palin’s drunken rumpus that has now dominated the national news cycle. I’ve been begged. BEGGED. “You of all people!” “I’ve been waiting!” “Don’t let us down!”
Honestly, I would rather be rolled in French fry grease, sprinkled with sea salt and fed to the ravens. It may be the same reason I disdain tabloids, and rubbernecking accidents. But because I love you I will weigh in, in whatever manner there is left to weigh in on the Hindenburg that is the Palin family.
I knew as soon as I read Amanda Coyne’s original piece, I knew what was going to happen. I’ve lived the Palin news cycle more times than I care to remember. And so I watched from the sidelines as the story went from local blog, to local blog, to news website, to a national story. The pattern has always been the same – three days from first report to national headline. It’s like dropping a gallon of milk and watching the unstoppable lake spread across the kitchen.
When I read the details, I found myself feeling strangely unsurprised. But aren’t we all, deep down, utterly unshocked? We may think we’re surprised; it may feel like we should be surprised, but we know already about Sarah and Todd’s screaming arguments, the dented refrigerator from the hurling of canned food. We have seen what happens to people, especially kids, who are rewarded with fame and riches despite having done nothing to earn them. We see everywhere in the tabloids, and gossip columns, and celebrity magazines those who are fueled by high-octane blend of narcissism, entitlement, and idiocy. This was bound to happen. If you subscribe to the theory that everything that has happened has created exactly the circumstances of the present moment, it was destiny.
After Palin was cut loose from any sort of professional handlers, somewhere a scary disaster countdown clock began to tick. The Secret Service, or a well placed earthquake might have prevented this from happening. But when the barn door was thrown open, the Thrilla from Wasilla was unchained, off the hook, and running free. Free as the wind blows.
It took longer than I thought. It’s like when there’s no seismic activity for a long time, and the pressure builds on a geologic fault. When the massive tectonic plates finally give way, the earthquake is spectacular, and the devastation is… Palinesque.
Aftershocks of Alaska’s trashquake even made it to the pages of the New York Times, which means it registered at least an 8.2 on the “Cluster” scale, as Sarah might call it. We’re famous again. Yay.
Most of the details of the drunken rumpus are known at this point, and take but a few minutes of googling and following links, but I did talk to my own source who had a couple things to add to the growing body of first person accounts. Sarah and Todd Palin were invited to a birthday party for Mark and Matt McKenna, twin brothers who own McKenna’s Paving, a successful business in Anchorage. The party was held at an address in the South Anchorage community of Oceanview. I lived in Oceanview once upon a time. It’s nice. There are tree-lined streets, and lilac bushes, and lots of little cul-de-sacs where kids ride bikes in circles and play hopscotch. Nothing much happens there, and that’s why people like it. When people throw parties, they are usually subdued back yard affairs. I never saw the police once in the five years I lived there. And if I lived there still, I might be sitting on some sweet cell phone video right now which I could share with you. Wouldn’t that have been something… But, alas.
The Palins arrived at the party, but not just Sarah and Todd who were the only actual invitees from the clan – the whole fan-damnily and some other tagalong friends from Wasilla turned up in a stretch Hummer limo. Because, of course they did. The party was an adult and relaxed event, with most guests at least in their 30s. Reports have come in that Track got into a fight with an ex-boyfriend of Willow’s. But according to my source, the initial fight started when Track and his buddy were aggressively pursuing… how shall I put this… “romantic relations” with some female guests. They were allegedly explicit and crude in their depictions of what they’d like to do with and to the ladies, expressing a desire to “bend them over on the lawn,” according to my source. Apparently the lawn was large enough to include places one could be “bent over.”
Hey. You guys wanted this… don’t look at me.
As Track and his companion were wooing the ladies with honeyed words, certain individuals took exception to it – namely the husbands of the women in question, whose presence right there with their wives the whole time was no deterrant to our confident and ambitious Casanovas from the Mat-Su.
Track did not fare well in the ensuing confrontation with the spouse. The irate husband punched Track with the full force of his annoyance, and the young Palin ended up “spread eagle lying on the grass.” You could say someone did end up bent over on the lawn, but not in the way he first envisioned.
Track’s buddies then got involved in the fracas to defend the honor of their fallen comrade, others followed, and soon Bristol Palin began to punch the host in the face for reasons we do not fully understand. Repeatedly. Then Todd showed up and joined the scrum, ending up with a bloody nose out of the deal. Did I mention that it happened to be his 50th birthday? He probably won’t forget the big 5-Ohhhh.
Then Sarah shrieked, “Don’t you know who I am?” and other such things making clear the importance of the Palins, and the lack of importance of the non-Palins to whom she was speaking. She then apparently tried to fling herself on top of the giant dog pile into the middle of the melée.
If there’s one thing the Palin’s have learned from the last six years it’s that the darned media is ruthless, and every little thing you do is scrutinized, so you keep your nose clean, and walk on eggshells. Oh, and “keep the children out of it.” Don’t forget that one.
After tiring of being punched in the face, our host informed the Palins it was time for them to go home. Bristol’s young son Tripp was apparently sleeping in the back of the Hummer limo at the time, blissfully unaware of intoxicated mommy’s raging fists of fury.
The fight ended up involving about 20 people, but eventually the police arrived, and the marauders piled into their limo and headed north to the wild lands from whence they came. But not before Track ripped his shirt off and stood in the road giving the one finger salute to departing guests. Ok, I kind of loved that part.
“Alcohol may have been a factor,” said the police report filed later.
The day after the incident occurred, Sarah tried to do damage control and got on Twitter claiming “I was traveling yesterday, so I’m posting Todd’s 50th birthday greeting a day late.” If by (air quotes) “traveling” she meant sitting in the back of a Hummer stretch limo sitting next to Todd and his bleeding nose, with her shirtless drunken son and his randy friends, her street fighting daughter and the rest of the intoxicated hoard, then yeah… she was “traveling.”
Somewhere out there, a Hummer limo driver is sitting on a gold mine. Call TMZ, sir. Be a patriot. Call them now.
It should be mentioned that at least as far as I know, Sarah Palin does not drink anything but diet Redbull, and skinny white chocolate mochas. While governor, she didn’t even let Todd drink beer, forcing him to sneak off to the garage alone to enjoy his foamy amber coping mechanism. So, we can assume if this pattern of behavior has held true, that as she struggled to throw herself into the thick of the brawl, she was stone cold sober. Which in some ways makes it worse. She can’t even blame the alcohol. She can only blame the crazy.
But at the end of the day, you who have followed this blog since the 2008 days probably have no difficulty picturing Track standing half-naked in the road, middle finger held high and proud. You can see Todd after one too many beers hurling epithets about lady parts with a bloody nose. You can picture Bristol popping the host of a party in the face with a right hook, or six. And you can surely imagine Sarah screeching, “Do you know who I am?” in her platform American flag shoes.
So, that’s really it. I don’t know what else to say except blame John McCain, and thank your lucky stars that this will never happen on the White House lawn.
There’s no word yet if charges will be pressed. And no pictures or video of the incident have turned up so far. So my last contribution will be this eerily lifelike composite drawing, assembled and inspired by the accounts of witnesses to the carnage.
It’s hard to know when the next trashquake will strike. But the host of the party was heard to say, “next year, we’re just going to keep it family.” Good plan, sir. Someone give that guy two aspirin and a raw steak.