Saturday, September 06, 2008
IMO this sort of crazed but funny BS from the UK will get the Reps many more votes
My Week: Sarah PalinAccording to Hugo Rifkind
I’ve been John McCain’s running-mate for a few days now. People say, what about the scrutiny? But I’m used to scrutiny. I’ve been the Governor of Alaska for 20 months, and for 19 of them I’ve had every photographer in Wasilla camped outside my house. All of them. Jed, Wilbert and Ezekiel. So don’t tell me I don’t know about pressure!
I kill stuff. That’s what you gotta understand. I’m just your average hockey mom who kills stuff. And then uses that stuff to cover her house. Wall to ceiling. You think that’s a fake raccoon skin lampshade? You think this carpet ain’t real moose? You think that singing fish on the wall wasn’t a real fish? I killed stuff more often than Barack Obama had hot dinners. I killed stuff more often than I had kids. And I had a lotta kids. Seven? Nine? Who’s counting?
How perfect is Sarah Palin’s First Dude?
John McCain and me, we talk the same language. When we first met, that much was clear. “Sit yourself down, John S. McCain,” I said to him. “Shift Mr Stuffed Beaver out the way, hang up your coat on Mr Elk Head, and let’s get to know each other. I’m a hockey mom. I kill stuff. I went to Germany once.”
“That’s probably all I need to know,” yawned John S. McCain. “I wonder if you’d like to be vice-president?” Then he met the kids. Well, the nearest kids. Trig, Track, Willow, Piper, maybe a couple of others. That’s how it works in this family. We stumble out of the maternity ward, and reach for a dictionary. “A great pleasure,” said John S. McCain, shaking them all by the hand. “And what do you call your dog?” “A footstool,” I said, and I gave it a little push. “Look. It’s on wheels.”
Today I address the Republican convention in Minneapolis. Am I nervous? Of course not. When I was campaigning to be Mayor of Wasilla, the whole town came to a public meeting in my own front garden. I couldn’t be nervous after that! Although we did nearly run out of paper napkins.
I’m going to talk about what I stand for. Freedom. Oil. Guns. Teenage pregnancy. How does Barack Obama have the nerve to pretend he speaks for America? The man is 47 and he doesn’t have a single grandchild. Talk about out of touch. Talk about aloof.
John S. McCain calls me to check if there might be any other scandals breaking in the next few days that he ought to know about. “Just to be clear,” he says, darkly, “you aren’t keeping your daughter’s boyfriend tied to a chair at gunpoint, or anything?” “You old kidder!” I say, cheerfully. Then I hand the shotgun to Todd and tell him I better take this call upstairs.
You think I don’t know about foreign policy? Step outside my door, go 700 miles and I’m in Russia. President Valdomer Lenin is virtually my next-door neighbour. Here in Alaska, we sometimes have to go 700 miles just for groceries. And then, once we’ve shot our groceries, we have to go 700 miles back home. Understand this, America. This hockey mom is not inexperienced. This hockey mom is in charge of Alaska. Do you know how big Alaska is? It’s twice the size of Texas! Hell of a lot of people, too. Almost three quarters of a million people. And I’m not even related to half of them. Maybe more.
Posted by moderationist at 3:10 AM