Northern Exposure Redux: Miss Northwest Passage for Veep

David Brooks, your "A Speech to the Delegates" was a mean-spirited, vindictive hack job.
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/29/opinion/29brooks.html
Who ever told you you could do funny? Now here's funny.

Sarah Palin's Speech at the OMG, OMG Is Gustav the Second Coming Convention

ST. PAUL

My fellow Americans, I never expected to be speaking before you today. Like so many of you, I come from a hard-working, middle-class family. I was leading a miserable little life, married to an Eskimo snowmobiler in A-effing-laska for Chrissake -- no, they don't have thirty goddamn words for snow, now shut up and listen -- but, nevertheless, overcame great odds to live the American Dream.

As a child, I was abandoned by my parents and lived with a colony of plastic surgeons. We didn't have much in the way of material possessions, but we did have each other and the ability to fix each others' body parts. When I was good and fixed, stretched out to 5' 11" and filled out in all the right places, they started entering me...whoops...into some of them boondocks beauty pageants. I was second runner-up in the Wagamama Wagon Wheel Roundup (hey, the whole thing was rigged, I tell you -- Donald Trump was bonking the winner, Ashley -- haha, who's laughin' last, Ash-ole?). But I never gave up my dream: the dream of speaking at a national convention so that my legs could be gawked at by Rush lardgut Limbaugh and a buncha sweaty, drooling ole lechers. What the hell, what are you geezers in the front row doin' clutchin' twenty dollar bills in your teeth?
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In Denver, the Democrats showed America that they have cute daughters. A coupla such darling nappy-headed tykes. Well, on stage with me here are my five, count 'em again FIVE, real American kids. All blonde. All Republican. And, aaaaand...can you keep a secret...come upstage, Bristol honey, don't be shy, yeah, let the delegates see you in profile...ANOTHER REAL REPUBLICAN IN THE HOPPER! (Dammit to hell, Bristol, I thought I told you to flush that purity ring down the crapper.)

I tell you, brothers and sisters, REAL American kids are our secret weapon. How else do you measure FAMILY VALUES? Our motto is: YOU GOTTA BREED TO SUCCEED. Shout it out: YOU GOTTA BREED TO SUCCEED.

And it's more than a motto, my friends. It's the bulwark of our Republican platform and policy prescriptions:

Immigration policy: Breed more REAL American kids and who needs wetbacks to do lawns?

Foreign Policy and Defense: Breed more REAL American kids and you got cannon fodder for wars for the NEXT HUNDRED YEARS as John McCain promised.

Energy Policy: Breed more REAL American kids and you got cannon fodder for wars the NEXT HUNDRED YEARS to fight for OIL, OIL, OIL as John McCain promised.

Medicare: Breed more REAL American kids and who cares if old geezers live or die (whoops, sorry John, this plank may need some tweaking...but then again, come to think of it...ummmm......).
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I could go on and on, but I ain't no policy wonkette. For that, you gotta hear Mitt Romney, whose 116 days spent in Massachusetts out of the 1460 days he was governor of that lousy liberal Eastern media elite blue state (hey, we can call 'em names -- ain't got a snowball's chance in that hell anyways) made him uniquely qualified for absolutely nothing (sorry, Mitzi darling).

But I'll tell you one thing, my friends: MITT AND ANN ROMNEY ARE CHAMPION BREEDERS. Why, Mitt's already had five strapping boys by Ann (count 'em again: FIVE -- and who knows how many more by who else in spiritual unions -- those Mormons, ain't they a hoot?). And, aaaand -- wait for it -- those five...those FIVE -- and the oldest of those darlin' boys not yet twenty, jes' three years older than my own sweetie Bristol -- have already sprouted -- ohmygod ohmygod (pace Richard Russo) -- ELEVEN, yeah ELEVEN shoots. So, how many is that -- my 'rithmetic ain't so swift -- yeah, SIXTEEN, SIXTEEN more REAL American Republicans marchin' up the Mass Pike.
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My friends, over this past weekend I have gotten to know John McCain and his present wife Cindy real well. Well, not Cindy really, but John I got to know real well. John...Sidney...McCain...III. Cindy... Lou... Hensley ...McCain. Now those are some REAL all-American names to conjure with, ain't they? REAL. WHITE. ANGLO. SAXON. PROTESTANT. AMERICAN names. Sure, John's a short lil shrimp, jes' 5' 7", but he'll be a real hands-on President, I'll tell you that fer free. He's such a cutie pie. Why, he says when we're in the White House, that closet off the Oval Room would be jes' perfect fer our private Bible Study lessons, praise the Lord, so he can come into Jesus' bosom. (Actually, he said, Jeeezus Keeerist...mumble mumble...bosom, but that's what I think he meant.) And he says to call him Maverick -- he jes' loooves that Top Gun movie -- how 5' 6" Tom gets that 5' 10" Kelly even after ditchin' his plane and all.

And that Cindy Lou, ain't she jes' drop dead gorgeous? Sure, she's a mite shorter than me, but she's got oodles and boodles of dough she inherited from her dead pappy and she's got a face job to die for. (Hey, I grew up with plastic surgeons, I told ya.) Jes' 'nother of John Sidney's willowy blondes, you say? A carbon copy clone of Carol before she shrunk a bit? Who else, huh, who else? Vicki Iseman? Who are you, buster, an embedded DemocRAT? A New York Times reporter? Out. OUT. OOOOOUT.

(Sgt. Wootten of the Alaska Dogsled Police tasers offender, dumps twitching body out back of the convention hall.)

We all know John Sidney could have become a desk Admiral even though he ditched his plane and all (well, maybe not, not after ditching his crippled wife and kid as well), but he chose to put his ego aside to become a Senate liaison, arranging liaisons for Senators (and a coupla two fer himself on the side, I bet -- that John Sidney, what a card !) and keepin' their supplies of Scotch safe for democracy as they were boondogglin' in Saudi. From there, it was a hop, skip and a jump onto Cindy (wash your dirty minds out with soap, you ), buyin' a few elections, savin' a few S&L's, helpin' out a coupla builders and Telcos, and now its onward and upward to becoming President of the United States and redeemer of the whole WASP race. America, what a country!
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As for me, there really ain't much to tell. No, really. Truly.

Well, awright, I got Mr. Todd Impalin' for a husband. He's out carousin' 'bout 'leven months of the year, yet I gets five kids. Go figure. (I thought he'd be shootin' blanks last time, but noooooooooo...I TOLD YOU TO GET IT SNIPPED, MISTER...you did? When? All right, all right, can we have this discussion some other time?)

Been huntin' 'n fishin' since I was a tadpole. (Crowd sings: Killed herself a polar bar when she was only three......Sarah......Sarah Palin). Was mayor of Wasisname, pop. 5,740. Whoopee ding. Moved up to Juneau, pop. 31,140. Double whoopee dingding. Been tryin' to hightail it outa that frozen wasteland fer years, and now here comes John Sidney and gives me my chance. Praise the Lord. God is Great (whoops, that's what those heathen Hajjis yell). Is America a great country or what?

But I get real mad when people say I got no foreign experience or nothin'. Look, I been to the lower forty-eight, haven't I? How much more foreign do you want? I went to school in Moscow, Idaho -- the Athens of the West -- should get two points for that. I shushed some Russkis trawling for tuna outa Anchorage harbor that one time -- Karl says we can build 'em up to be the lead dogs for the invading Imperial Russian Navy. And I went ballistic on them Canucks corralling caribou up Ketchikan way.
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Now I know I weren't John Sidney's first, second or mebbe even his tenth choice. The K Street cabal were rooting for Chauncey Gardiner, but he was dead. John's first choice were Katherine Harris -- that squirt were the only one shorter than him he could find -- but no dice, Jebbo's got first dibs on her, I guess.

Kelly McGillis were next, how could he not give her a tryout, she's John's all-time favorite gal. The L-word didn't put him off, he says he's too broad-minded (wink wink) for that. In fact, he says it would add a certain je ne sais quoi or did he say menage a trois, whatever, John just loves his French. But the handlers nixed it: the homos wouldn't vote for the ticket anyways (other than Ralphie, Grover, Billie, Dinnie and the rest of those neocon sweeties) and the Hillary L-crowd polled off the charts for me. Now ain't that a hoot!

Then came Mariel Hemingway -- John Sidney just loooooved her -- but the NRA put the kibosh on that one 'cause of what happened to Papa.

Then that b**** Paris -- can you believe she turned John Sidney down 'cause she were dating Hussein Obama? Well, John nailed her good through that ad, didn't he? That's my John, he can be sooooooo mean. But mostly only when he's a tad likkered up, rest of the time he's such a sweetie.

Then there were ... who? Cynthia Geary? Who's that? Ohmygod ohmygod ... you don't mean Shelly Tambo ... Northern Exposure ... Miss Northwest Passage ... she was such a goddess ... the one who secretly married that hunky hockey player and then shacked up with that runty ole guy that owned the bar. (What's that you say? Life imitating art? I. DIDN'T. HEAR. THAT.)

Well, long story short, after he'd thoroughly personally wetted all the other candidates, yesterday John Sidney propositioned ... I mean, proposed to ... scratch that, nominated me.
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