It’s time we face up to the truth. We’re deathly afraid of Sarah Palin.
No, look. Look, I don’t like it either, but it’s too late to deny it. The RealAmerican Palindrones are on to us. They’ve flocked to Amazon’s and Barnes & Noble’s websites in order to gaze in adoration at the picture of the cover of Going Rouge: An American Story, and sing the praises of America’s Savior. And her book. You betcha. Even though they haven’t read it. Also. And they’ve let the world know our shameful secret, damn them:
After reading lots of negative comments about Sarah Palin posted mostly by closed minded liberals I have come to the conclusion that they are really frightened by a strong, decisive woman who has proven herself to be a true conservative.
I’m so ashamed!
In addition, what the lefty-lefts fear is that she appeals to “real” people, unlike Obama and his cronies who are definitely from the “elitist” crowd.
Please, please stop tormenting us!
As much hipe [sic] as the liberals would like to stir up about Sarah, and believe me they won’t stop until after 2012, they can’t admit that she scares them to DEATH.
Oh God, not ALL CAPS! How can we deny anything written in ALL CAPS?
I just can’t figure out how they know. Did they sense our laughter was a ruse to hide the shrieks of fear? Did they detect the quaver in our voices as we mocked that accent or dialect or speech impediment or whatever the Hell that is? And what will happen if they realize that should Sarah Palin win the GOP nomination for PotUS, all the dirty Islahomocommies will run screaming for the Canadian border?
Gosh. I sure hope they don’t find out!
While I’m thinking of it, do NOT check out this horrifying post at Wonkette. You won’t sleep for a week.
Sweet weepin’ Jeebus with a flyswatter, check out this spider crawling up and down the Pope:
I think it crawled over his actual head at one point (damn the AP camera for cutting away). Did he know it was there and thus display a preternatural ability to ignore pests like spiders, roaches, ants and pedophiles? Or would he have shrieked comically, ripped off his silken white beanie and trampled it beneath his red Prada pumps if he had realized an actual spider was on him? I guess we’ll never know.
To amplify a point Mrs. Polly made earlier, yes, Birfer Queen Orly Taitz does bear a disturbing resemblance to the Lonely Goatherd puppet from The Sound of Music. I wonder who’s pulling her strings?
Also, why don’t more people dress ducks up and parade them around in human clothes? As bipeds, ducks carry it off a lot better than Chihuahuas and housecats. And since they have wings and beaks rather than paws and teeth, it’s much more difficult for them to cast off the humiliating garments:
The troubling Tribble-wearing trend has been noted here in the past. Now it is revealed as a bipartisan affair—an insidious fad infecting such seemingly unrelated politicians as a disgraced former Democratic congressman and an Ayn Rand-worshipping, teabagging GOP candidate who happens to be the son of the original Paultard.
View the indisputable photographic evidence after the jump:
It was bound to happen eventually. We were walking by the animal rescue folks near the Rumproast HQ yesterday afternoon and decided to check it out. That’s when we saw lil’ seven-weeks-old Biscuit and after a long petting/holding session, she totally suckered us in. She took to the apartment very quickly, follows both of us around like a dog, scampers everywhere, already appears to be quite a climber (uh oh), loves curling up near or on us to sleep, and right at this moment she’s in an intense wrestling match with my bare right foot. Ladies and gentleman, meet Biscuit…
The great thing about snail watching is that even if you see a big honking snail who is, in his or her own way, bolting away at top speed from the gigantic scary biped who suddenly appeared in the carport, you still have more than enough time to find your crappy camera phone, fiddle around fruitlessly with the settings to improve the photo quality, take and erase several crappy pictures and settle in exasperation on a blurry close-up. And, after all of that, the snail will have moved approximately three inches. But he or she made his or her escape during the night. Where on earth do they go?