Got an advance copy of Sarah Palin's stunningly coherent autobio yesterday. Here's the first chapter.
The press has reported falsely, by the way, that the title is Going Rogue. Shouldn't surprise you that the press got it wrong, because they never get ANY facts straight when it comes to Ms. Palin.
Going Rouge: An American Life
To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born. I can prove it. Birth certificates, particularly long-form birth certificates, are a handy thing to have, and I have one. It says plainly, that I was most definitely born in Sandpoint, Idaho, to Sarah (my mother) and Charles (my father) Heath (their last names, which I proudly took). All of my relatives are American. We were all born in the US, so I am an American, and this is my American life.
You know, people who aren’t born American are unfortunate souls. In my travels, and when looking out of my kitchen window at the land beyond, I can see into the eyes of the foreign people, and there’s nothing in those eyes but sadness and yearning. When I speak to people in other countries, they hang on my every word, waiting for me to tell them how wonderful they are, perhaps, or that everything is okay even though they’re not from Alaska. Or Idaho. Or any of the states comprising real America.
I recently went to Taiwan, I think, and was struck by the despair of the Chinese people who want desperately to be American, but can’t be because their government is Chinese. I said to the people, “It’s okay. Not all of us can be as lucky as me. America needs you to make our stuff. You serve a purpose.” A timid young man in the third row raised his hand and spoke in the native tongue--the Chinese have a beautiful language! It’s so full of vowels!--which the interpreter interpreted for me: “But lovely Sarah, if we can’t be American, we at least want to have you as our leader.”
Obviously, I was flattered. Who wouldn’t want to be king of China? And his statement roused the crowd. Cheers! Chants! I waved down at them from my balcony, and, through the interpreter, assured them that while I’d be a benevolent king, I could never forsake my own country. “I’ll support you in the only way I know how,” I said. “I’ll continue shopping at Wal-Mart.”
I met Todd at Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart is an important way of American life, and most of the significant events in my life have happened there, including the conception of my first child, and the birth of my second. Yes, we named Track after the lighting section of Wal-Mart where he was spawned. Bristol was born in the meat department, so you can guess what we named her after!
As I was saying, I met Todd at Wal-Mart, in Wasilla, and it was love at first sight. He was buying shells for his Winchester Model 70 Stealth II, and I was picking up some milk. He stood behind me in the cashier line, and made a remark about my buttocks and quarters. I giggled, and remarked on the size of his shells. “You must have a big gun,” I said. He blushed.
Blushing is a distinctly American thing. People in other countries lack the right complexion necessary to blush, except for Europeans, who lack the ability to be embarrassed and therefore simply never blush at all. Instead, Europeans get flushed, like after sex or before a socialist vote. To be American is to be blushing in a line at Wal-Mart. And that was me, standing there with my milk, staring at Todd’s strong hands cradling 100 rifle shells, mulling over the prospect of a quarter bouncing off my rear end. Who could resist? I gave him my number, and we had our first date not long after.
Oh, it was so romantic, you know, the way he took me to a movie (Beethoven’s 5th!) and then to the Dairy Queen for one of those vanilla cones dipped in chocolate (I think it’s called the Obama now, but back then, it was called a Dipped Cone). Dippy things are so American! We Americans love dips.
Sometimes, when I’m eating cheese dip on my front porch, I see the poor people of Russia lined up along their near-by coast, staring at me. Such longing! If only I could be their king too. King of the world! I’d bring dips and blushes and Wal-Mart to everyone, and we could all be Americans, and have an American life!
Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.
- ► 2016 (25)
- ► 2015 (23)
- ► 2013 (31)
- ► 2012 (20)
- ► 2011 (42)
- ► 2010 (83)
- ▼ October (6)