I AM TRIG'S BABY DADDY

...and your husband and youngest know it.

Congratulations Sarah Palin. In a sick Web 2.0 way you've won. Today the number of people checking this blog from the Google search "Sarah Palin Trig mommy" surpassed the number of people who have ever come here from the search "Jessica Alba perfect vagina." I am fucking disgusted, America. Let me remind you of something:



Readers, you'll be interested to know that the one post in which I ever mentioned Jessica Alba was a review of Good Luck Chuck and it happened to be the only post in which I didn't use the word "vagina." How strange! But let me pacify your feeble minds: Google Search is very complicated and only .01 percent of the world population understands its inner workings. Incidentally, those same .01 percent of people know the secret outcome of November's rigged election.


Now on the the fattier part of the post: THE DEBATES.

If I hear the phrase "You're right, John" one more time I'm going to retroactively abort myself.



WTF happened. It was our chance to seal the deal and we failed. We failed because we fell into the same pattern Democrats have fallen into since I hit puberty. We didn't attack, we defended. We spent time explaining the egregious lies the other candidate was spewing about us, without ever addressing the egregious lies the other candidate was building himself up on. Fuck The What.

Here's a little sing-a-long:

When John McCain goes I want to make sure that CEOs don't get huge severance plans...

you say Does that include your adviser who got a fat paycheck from Fannie Mae this month?

When John McCain goes My opponent is the earmark king of the Senate...

you say Funny he mentions this, since his running mate brought more earmarks to her state than any other Governor.

When John McCain presents himself as the Che Guevara of Washington...

you make it obvious that he's the Cliche Guevara and has voted with Bush 90 PERCENT OF THE TIME. And you beat it in, until it's a catchphrase.

When he smirks with his decaying yellow teeth, you smirk back a little with your nicely formed white ones. I'm not saying to be obnoxious, Barack. I know you were told not to be too heady. But when McCain gets sarcastic and paternalistic with you, respond to it. Show emotion. Make your most important points by emphasizing them. Bring up the fact that while he may not want to withdraw from Iraq, a desire that's costing us billions of dollars and lost lives every month, he did want to withdraw from the debates. As long as he smirks more, he'll still come off as the bad guy. Pizazz and nuance are not mutually exclusive, a smart lady once said.

My only hope is that this was a deliberate strategy to leave the McCain-attacking to Joe Biden this Thursday at the VEEP Debates. Perhaps since Joe can't attack Sarah Palin directly without seeming like a big meanie bullying a lil' lady, he'll spend the 90 minutes throwing punches against John McCain. Punches she won't be able to answer because she's in way over her poofed up head. Please do that Joe Biden. And for this advice I would like $5 and a bag of Sour Patch Kids.

First they're sour, then they're sweet!

Meet A Swing State Voter!

The stats: Gaga, age 87, resides in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Interests: Two And A Half Men; lipstick; Jewish boyfriends; the temple; me; me with Jewish boyfriends; rom-coms; sliced tomatoes; musical theater; local news anchors.

THE INTERVIEW

Gaga:
How are you little sweetheart!?
How you’ve been?
Have you seen any movies? I liked The Woman. Beverly slept through the whole thing! I was going to wake her but I though oh, let her sleep. I only wake her if she’s snoring. It’s a crazy show.

PR:
I saw it--Meg Ryan’s face looked terrible!

Gaga:
You know what I loved? That Burn To Read one. I was laughing and laughing. I drank a whole pop by myself so I had to go to the bathroom halfway through, but I couldn’t get up!

PR:
What are you doing tonight?

Gaga:
Tonight is Dancing With The Stars.

PR:
Can I interview you?

Gaga:
Can you what?

PR:
Can I interview you about the election?

Gaga:
Say! Talking about the election-- I was excited today because I keep saying oy vey obama isn’t going to get it and then I just happened to turn on The View and Clinton was on! He talked nice about mccain too, but when they asked him who was going to get it he said obama. He said he was sure he was going to get it. He was saying people have changed in America—different races and such, but that he was sure obama was going to get it.

PR:
Was he good on The View? I missed it.

Gaga:
OY that Hasselhoff, for two years I’ve been saying they should fire her. First of all I can’t stand her voice, second of all she’s a staunch..i don’t know what you call it...crazy person, she keeps talking and talking but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There’s a Yiddish word for that.

PR:
Who are you going to vote for?

Gaga:
Obama!

PR:
Can you talk about why?

Gaga:
I like him, he's a nice young man. I think he's presentable. He's calm, he doesn't get exciteable. He's young. Nice-looking. Jenna saw in person! She said he was very good-looking, and sounds better in person than on TV.... Is that good enough?

PR:
What do you think of McCain?

Gaga:
First of all he's TOO OLD to be a president.
I think he'll follow Bush, he's got a lot of Bush's ideas.

PR:
Do you think he's a good speaker?

Gaga:
NO! (laughs)

PR:
Cindy McCain?

Gaga:
I think she's a stiff board—she's no asset. She's a billionaire, you know. Her father died, he had another daughter, he didn't leave her anything. He left it all to that one..... Say! I got a cute story to tell you. There's a cute guy in the building here I meet him a couple times, he wanted to carry my packages. He's really young really sweet, just adorable. So when I went to the Ordway to see Yankee Doodle Dandy, I thought god, the main guy, he looks just like him! I get in the car afterwards and tell your parents, I say, he's the actor in the show! The cute young guy in the building! So today I'm going up to wash clothes he's standing there with a bunch of boxes I said I have a question to ask you: are you an actor? He says yes. I asked: are you in yankee doodle dandy? He says yes. I told him! I said oh I just loved the show! He's going to be Tony in Tony and Tina when it comes back. I couldn't believe the whole thing. Isn't that funny?

PR:
Yes!

Gaga:
Your parents thought I was imagining it.

PR:
So funny.

Gaga:
Your grandma's pretty sharp!

PR:
I know! What do think of Sarah Palin?

Gaga:
I think she should stay home and take care of her 5 kids, I don't want her to be my president. She went 6 different colleges so I don't think she's the sharpest tack.

PR: What do you make of her popularity?

Gaga:
For a minute they didn't know who she was, then she was popular because she was a woman, now popularity is going down. Last week he won the week here, obama. In the polls. I think Minnesota ia going to be democratic.

PR: How are you getting to the polls?

Gaga:
Oh! And I didn't understand that lipstick joke. I thought it was so stupid, I couldn't make out what THAT was about for the life of me. Did you see SNL? Can you believe those two the way they looked alike? She's a pretty lady, but she needs a new hairdo.

PR:
Joe Biden?

Gaga:
I love him! He is so sweet. I heard his son is Attorney General of Delaware. He's married. And one of his sons is married to a Jewish girl!

PR:
How do you know?

Gaga:
It was in the Jewish World. He has two sons. You know his wife got killed—you know that story. They both grew up and one is married to a Jewish girl.

I Kissed A Cat And I Liked It.

Firefighter saves cat with mouth-to-mouth.

The Female Homosapien Finds Endless Ways To Manifest Her Laziness: REPOST

From the Annals of Great Moments in Patriarchy:

When I was a hot young thing of six, I used to take baths. Naked.... Fully naked.

If you don't remember, "baths" took place in showers, only you could sit on the floor because there weren't battling colonies of chlamydia and SARS fighting VIRAL WORLD WAR XVII (they're ahead of us in war terms) under the no-slip mat. Somehow getting married and living in a house in the suburbs keeps the tub as pristine as a wedding day virgin. It's, like, the power of love or the Sam's Club quantities of bleach readily available. Whichever.

Often I took these "sitting showers" with my sister. We were both naked during these sessions.

Fully Naked.

(Sorry, I am trying to attract more "hits". Since Jessica Alba got pregnant I've lost my core audience of readers coming to my blog from a "Jessica Alba, perfect vagina ratio" Google search, which I find to be a troubling sign of the patriarchy. I'm sure her vagina is still a wonderland, dudes. PREGNANCY IS NOT THE END OF A SEXUAL BEING, okay?)

As my Mom gingerly washed our pre-nubile limbs she would sing to us, as moms are apt to do, especially moms with terrible singing voices like ours. We had a song for almost everything. Brushing teeth was enjoyed to the tune of "Brush ur teeth! Sh Sh ShShShhhhh" (use your imagination for the musical qualities). We also all had personalized bedtime lullabies. Mine was "Pretty Little Lauren, Meow, Meow, Meow" which taught me to paw like a sexy cat so I could get started with my plot of sexual- world-domination-resulting-in-matriarchal-rule, just as soon as my breasts grew in nicely.

In the bath, my Mom sang the song based on the 1921 movie The Sheik as she sudsed our hair and instructed us to close our eyes. The Sheik, of course, was one of the great feminist silent films of the early twentieth century. A feisty, independent Englishwoman goes galavanting through the Arabian desert, much to the consternation of her male English peers, only to be kidnapped by a Sheik and made his sex slave. The white dudes are all like "Well, she durn deserved dit!" and the once feisty, now besotted Englishwoman is apparently so taken with her rapist's arabian serpent (if you know what I mean) that she falls madly in love with him. This is a rom-com, my friends. Pretty much like Knocked Up.

The song went as follows (also with chords, if you want to learn to play it like I am right now!):

I'm the sheik of Ar - a - by;

Am7 D9 Am7 D7 G Bm7 Am7 D7
Your love be - longs to me.

Bm7 Edim Bm7-5 Am7 D7
At night when you're a - sleep,

Am7 D9 Am7 Cdim G Fdim Am7 D7
In - to your tent I'll creep.

During the "into your bed, I'll creepy, creepy, creep" line Mom would run her hands up and down our stomachs, tickling us and making us erupt into fits of giggles. Rape insinuations are so fun! Please hire me to write a Modern Love column--"What The Sheik Taught Me About Orgasming."

I don't blame mothers, because that is retarded, but I will admit that it took awhile to shed myself of my Sheik-based notions of love, that is, the idea that I should fall in love with anything that puts a dick inside me. Now I just fall in love with anything that goes inside me with my consent, not excluding gynos, abortion vacuums, tampons, and various dildos. It's the endorphins, duh.

But for other women who escaped being Sheikified at an early age, there is hope for you. I offer this video from The Son of The Sheik, the 1926 sequel, as a lesson of what to watch out for. Notice the "I'm Going To Rape You" eyebrow expression. Also, be aware that you should never put yourself in the situation where you are in a silent film, because you CAN'T SAY "NO" IN A SILENT FILM, and the courts will fuck you over on that.

Like Don't Be Such A Hater, MmmKay?

Where is the Sarah Palin fan fiction? I mean, it's so easy. I'll give all you quivering Sarah Palin enthusiasts a head start. Begin your tale of political lust and longing with Charlie Gibson as the protagonist, asking Mrs. Palin, " So what do you think about the Bush doctrine?"

She'll slyly pull up her skirt revealing downy fur pubes, the smooth silky white color of an "unendangered" Alaskan polar bear: "You're referring to this bush, right Charlie? Do you like my fur merkin? It's so funny, I killed this polar bear on the day I gave birth to Trig. I didn't even notice he was crowning. Do you think that's sexytime, Charlie?" (Insert male name at the end of all SP lines. Repeat male name as often as necessary to buy time.)

What a big, bad naughty old boys' club, you've been.



I've never had faith in premonitions or the musical Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat until now, when it seems all feminists are having simultaneous nightmares about Palin.

Eve Ensler is dreaming of destroyed white purity. That's a big step for a woman who made her career writing about a "Little Coochie Snorter".

I dreamt last night that Palin was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice.

Sarah Palin rape dream? Like, in the environmental sense?

From the upcoming Vanity Fair feature, "A Day With Ensler, Producing Her New Work: Cold Cunt Farm."

"Vagina mother-fucker!!!" roared the bear.

"Okay, that wasn't bad," Ensler directs. "But stick your tongue out a little more, and really let that line just boil up from the bottom of your stomach."

From a real New York Times piece: Sarah Palin calls her opponents "haters." Since reading this, I've been unable to stop using the phrase. This morning my roommate was in the shower when I had to use the bathroom so I shouted "Girl, don't be such a hater! I gotta pee. You don't know me. You do not know me. BETCH, you're a hater. You're a serious urine hater." It makes me feel sophisticated when I incorporate presidential lingo into my everyday interactions.

Rebecca Traister, the woman I want to be when I grow up, also has night terrors about Sarah Palin:

I have been dreaming about Sarah Palin. (Apparently, I'm not alone.) I wish I could say that I'd been conjuring witty, politically sophisticated nightmares in which she leads troops into Vancouver or kindergartners in the recitation of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God." But, alas, mine have been nonsensical, kiddie-style doozies in which she kidnaps my cats, or enjoys a meal with my girlfriends while I bang on the restaurant window. There's also a chilling one, in which a scary witch stands on a wind-swept hill and leers at me.

What troubles me most -- aside from the fact that there is suddenly a Republican candidate potent enough to so ensnare my psyche -- is my sense that these are dreams in which it matters very much that Palin is a woman.

I have been writing about feminism for more than five years; I have been covering the gender politics of the 2008 presidential election for more than two. And I am absolutely gobsmacked by the intensity of my feelings about Sarah Palin. I am stunned not only by the way in which her candidacy has changed the rules in the gender debate, or how it is twisting and garbling the fight for women's progress. But I'm also startled by how Palin herself is testing my own beliefs about how I react to women in power.

Could I please get an RSS feed of your brain, Rebecca Traister? Because I believe it is a missive from God.

As for me, I've been unable to think about anything besides Mad Men and Sarah Palin. Because of this, or perhaps because the whole Sarah Palin escapade reads like a bad movie in the brain mush of my head, at night the two come together in odd combinations.

Well, that's not exactly true: Once in a while I think about the Unborn Child Twitter and wonder if the Palins' made Levi Johnston create it as a sort of community service penance.

My nightmares usually go something like this....




Sarah Palin: I love those hockey moms. You know, they say the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull: lipstick. Do you love hockey moms?

Don Draper: Can you stop talking?

Sarah Palin: Oh, Don Draper, I know how you like a tough cookie like me. I've heard allll about you. You have quite a reputation in Wasila. If my daughter got raped by a penguin I would make her carry it to term...Also why does everyone love that dyke Ellen? Do you think maybe....(caresses Don's face) you could get her fired from network TV for me?

Don Draper: Seriously, I said stop talking. I am warning you.

Sarah Palin: Can we do my place next time? I can see Russia from my house, you know. I know everything they're planning.

Don Draper: That's it.

Don grabs some nylons to tie up Sarah's hands but before he can wrangle her arms together, she pounces on top of him, ties him up, and proceeds to impregnate him (yes, it's possible. If Sarah Palin can call herself a feminist, I can say Don Draper has a mangina). Palin leaves him there for nine months, only sometimes bringing him a mooseburger for sustenance, forcing him to carry the child to term. "No exceptions for rape," she screams each time as she slams the door.

When I wake up usually I've wet myself.

I'm seriously terrified of November 4th.

The world runs on secrets. Not once, but twice, have my squidz and I discovered a gravelly sand-like substance in the lentil carrot salad at the Whole Foods' salad bar. Lest you not understand what I'm getting at, consider that the Whole Foods' salad bar is pay per pound. Lest you still not understand what I'm getting at, consider that I'm insinuating someone is mixing in sand with the salads to weigh them down, thus spreading outrageous prices to innocent mixed greens consumers. When their cover is blown, WholeFoodsGate is going to be bigger than the Enron scandal. It could decide Election 2008 via the following breakdown: McCain voted against farm subsidies, resulting in higher prices for vegetables, causing Whole Foods Corp. to scam the scale. What nitty-gritty floppity-flapping folk-fooling scandal-schnoodling! It induces enough fervor to make you see the abstract form of Jesus in the contours of your organic sesame tofu.




A run-down of what I believe about various conspiracies so you can appropriate my opinion as your own during party conversation:

1.) 9-11 Conspiracy: The White House Job.

I was devastated by this documentary Loose Change a couple years ago when I decided to watch it one day home sick with the flu. For fourty minutes I fully believed the Pentagon let the attacks of 9-11 happen for their own political gain, until I noticed that my roommate's cat had been gnawing on my ankle during my NyQuil-enhanced viewing, tearing my skin for a good fifteen minutes while I drooled over slow motion clips of the WTC buildings going down. I took that as a sign sickness was diluting my brain and I needed to rest and drink fluids instead of watching YouTube conspiracy theories. I had called in sick to work, not retarded.



Interestingly enough, said roommate with the cat was a public school teacher in the Bronx and every one of her kids believed Loose Change with feverish devotion. Viral video is the best and worst thing that ever happened to conspiracy theories. It both aids and refutes conspiracies-- helping them spread like wildfire but also giving them an aura of diminished validity (i.e., a hard cover book about a conspiracy, however crazy, seems is much more authoritative than an Internet rumor.) As the SAT would say:

The Internet is (kind of)to Conspiracy Videos as Pakistan is to the Taliban.



2.) The Moon Landing.

I don't believe it. Sorry. Neither does my astrophysicist sister and she's what they call an expert.

I would also argue, if drunk and pressed, that Paris Hilton will be the first American on the moon when she blasts off in Richard Branson's yet unbuilt space shuttle then hits her Emergency Eject button upon discovering the lack of amenities on board.

Don't believe me? Exhibit C-Cup:


It's all here in Hilton's moon chart. Maybe if a nice John McCain supporter had taught an illiterate adult like yourself how to read (astrological charts), then we wouldn't be having this argument.

3.) Scary Al*en Landing At Roswell.

If you'll recall from an earlier post, I'm terrified of aliens. My fingers are trembling right now as I type these words. My only consolation is that I know from M. Night Shyamalan's Signs that aliens are afraid of water. Since I've just wet my pants, that gives me about 15 minutes to write this section.


The plot of The Happening went just as I surmised: Aliens invade, chaos ensues, America doesn't have enough water to kill all the aliens so Zooey Deschanel starts singing She & Him songs, causing the population to collectively weep, and thus defeat the extraterrestrial invaders.

Um, Roswell happened. Never forget. Have you read Philip Corso's The Day After Roswell? Corso is a former Pentagon official! What more do you need from me? I'm scared. On a dewy morning in July 1947 the government found spaceship wreckage, four alien bodies, and one barely alive little alien, which they shoot. That is the truth.

“Hey, this one’s alive, “ Arnold heard, and turned around to see one of the little figures struggling on the ground. With the rest of the medics, he ran over to it and watched as it shuddered and made a crying sound that echoed not in the air but in his brain. He heard nothing through his ears, but felt an overwhelming sense of sadness as the little figure convulsed on the ground, its oversized egg shaped skull flipping from side to side as if it was trying to gasp for something to breathe.

When they turn this into a movie, Samantha Morton is going to play the little extraterrestrial that almost escaped.

Pitbull with lipstick=.....Hockey Mom?