Sarah Palin Retards the News

Sarah Palin is back in the news.  Not just Fox News either, we’re talking real news here.  She’s up in arms over Rahm Emanuel’s recent use of the word ‘retarded’.   Palin asked on her Facebook page, “Are you capable of decency, Rahm Emanuel?”  Rumor has it she is still sitting around waiting for his reply.  Speculation continues to circle as to why Palin is so upset.  Many suggest it is because she has a toddler with Down’s syndrome and she may find Emanuel’s comment offensive as ‘retarded’ is often used to stigmatize those with mental limitations.  Others wonder if she is not truly upset about the original meaning and usage of the word as cited here from


[ri-tahrd, for 1–3]

–verb (used with object)

1. to make slow; delay the development or progress of (an action, process, etc.); hinder or impede.

–verb (used without object)

2. to be delayed.


3. a slowing down, diminution, or hindrance, as in a machine.

Perhaps she would find any of these personally offensive, especially definition numbers 1&3, as used in the following sentence examples:

1.  Sarah Palin retarded John McCain’s campaign machine with her ineptitude and general smarminess.

2.  Sarah Palin felt her meteoric ascendance to national infamy had irrevocably retarded her ability to govern the state of Alaska, so she quit.

3.  Fox News retards the progress of journalism each and every day, and now Sarah Palin has joined forces to help retard it even further.

4.  Fox News retards the thinking processes of countless Americans each and every day, and now Sarah Palin has joined forces to help retard them even further.

There is a growing campaign to do away with the derogatory use of the “R-word” – truly a worthwhile movement, long overdue.   Visit and sign a pledge to not misuse the word.  However, it is a perfectly good word to use in the correct context, as in the examples above.  So put an end to the misuse of this word and bring back its proper usage.

The Tell-Tale Voice

True! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? I am a political junkie after all. This election season has been like no other; can’t you see that? The feverish election had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the blue states and in the red. I heard many things in the battlegrounds. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I tolerated the woman. She had never, as a white male Christian, wronged me. She had never given me the insult she lavished upon my neighbors. You know, those people? For her oil rebates I had no desire. I think it was her voice! Yes, it was this! Her voice resembled that of a vulture — a thin-pitched shrill, hovering high and sticky with a toxic sugar. Whenever it crawled in my ear, my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to rip the speakers from my television, and thus rid myself of that voice for ever. But… for a time, I could not bring myself to do it. I was a nighthawk of political televised commentary. It drove my wife bonkers. But not as bonkers as you might say it drove me. Yet you would be wrong. As I have told you, it was my super-sensitivity rather than any deviant lunacy!

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to her ideas or her supporters than during the whole week before I silenced her. Around the office water cooler, I coolly praised her and her feisty running mate. And every night about midnight I turned the television on ever so softly! And then, when I had made an adjustment of volume just sufficient for my ear, I closed my eyes so that no sound could be heard in the silence but her words in a tiny piercing voice like that of a droning mosquito. Yooou Betcha! The voice would buzz in my ear alone, in the silence, in the darkness. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I listened in! I tuned it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb my wife’s sleep. It took me an hour to hear an entire ranting rally. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when her strange messages were ringing in my ears, I tweaked the treble ever so cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for now her voice sounded like a jigsaw through a pie tin), I tweaked the sound just so much that a single thin whine sliced through my brain, frying several synapses. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight. But, when I tried to dismantle the box, I found it was quite complex and the speakers difficult to separate, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the woman who vexed me but her evil message and that piercing piercing voice. Her r’s could make a pirate cringe and give up the sea. Yet every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the office and spoke courageously to her followers, calling her by name in a hearty tone, and praising how marvelously she’s riled her latest crowd. So you see they would have been a very surprised gaggle of loons, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I fried my brain with her cackling accents, as I contemplated disemboweling my televisions sound system.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in tuning the sound. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than that knob did. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I sat, focusing her voice little by little, and she not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps she heard me, for if she could see Russia from Wasila, perhaps she could hear my thoughts from Virginia, or even Ohio. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. The room was as black as pitch but for the blue glare from the screen (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of terrorists), and the slicing whine of her voice that sautéed my ossicles and pounded my eardrum like Tito Fuentes gone bongo-berserker! And yet I kept fine tuning it on steadily, steadily.

I had her voice reeling, and was about to completely melt my brain, when my thumb slipped upon volume knob, and my wife sprang up in the bed, crying out from the bedroom, “Who’s there?”

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear her lie down. She was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as riled perhaps hearing the whirring of a horde of flies buzzing in a distant field in another state.

Presently, I heard from my darling wife a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief — oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. The thought of her in the White House. I say I knew it well. I knew what the woman from Wasila felt, and pitied her although I chuckled at heart. I knew that she too had been lying awake ever since the first inception on the national stage, when she had accepted a duty she had no claim to. Her fears had been ever since growing upon her and that of her maniacal base. She had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. She had been saying to herself, and frothing fans, “It is nothing but the darrrrned Liberrrals in the chimney, it is only a pesky terrrr’rrrist creeping around,” or, “It is merely a Gotcha Jourrrnalist with her probing microphone.” Yes she has been trying to comfort herself with these sustaining fears; but she had found all in vain. all in vain, because Truth, in approaching her, had stalked with its glowing light that enveloped the victim. And it was the hopeful influence of the unperceived light of Truth that caused her to feel, although she neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of the real “real America”, that could stomach neither her spiteful words nor that piercing, piercing voice.

When I had waited a long time very patiently, finally my wife had gone back to sleep. I resolved to turn up the volume a little — a very, very little tweak of the knob. One half-tick higher on the dial – this one goes up to eleven. So I turned it — you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until at length a single dim wavelength like the thread of the spider shot out from the speakers and shot straight into my brain.

It was a spoken shriek, cackling, whirring open like speedboat on blocks, and I grew furious as I listened upon it. I actually saw the tone with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the woman’s face or person, save that lipsticked mouth that spewed forth such sibilant sound!

And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? Now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, slow sound, such as a mad dog makes when cornered. I knew that sound well too. It was the humming of the old television’s speakers. It increased my fury as the buzzing of fluorescent tubes incite the clerk into insomnia.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the volume knob motionless. I tried how steadily I could to maintain her tone upon my ear. Meantime the hellish hum of the speaker increased. It grew longer and thicker, and louder and louder, every instant. It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this from a near-silent darkness sent me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the humming grew louder, louder! I thought my heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbour! Or worse yet, perhaps a supporter of the shrill woman! The time had come! With a loud yell, I threw open back panel of the TV and lunged at its innards. It shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged it to the floor, and pulled the heavy speakers from the trunk. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the sound wailed on with a muffled reverberation. A remnant of her voice entwined with the electric hum of the speaker. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The television was dead… and with it, the voice. No pulsation. Tone dead. This sound would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the appliance. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. And my wife never stirred.

I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye — not even my perceptive wife’– could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.

When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o’clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of Republican headquarters. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night, and he’d woke to discover a yardsign vandalized; suspicion of terrorists had been aroused; information had been lodged at the office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream and my wife had slept soundly though. I took my visitors all over the house, even showed them my Country First campaign posters. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to a chamber, where I showed them more campaign treasures, secure, undisturbed, and virulent. They seemed particularly pleased with my postered socialist puns! In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them, I was a supporter and not in fact a communist nor a terrorist, but a God-fearing capitalist of blind allegiance to the morals and values of the Party. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness — until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. I supposed that I was likely sounding much like her. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, SLOW SOUND — MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A MAD DOG MAKES WHEN CORNERED. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations, as if I were in attendance of one of the rallies; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no. They heard! — they suspected! — they KNEW! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! For those too reminded me of her! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again — hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! —

“Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! — here, here! From my television, from these speakers! — it is the incessant shrillness of her hideous voice!”

Needless to say the Republicans left my house quickly. They’ve not returned or bothered to call anymore. Not even robocalls. My wife was peeved about the television, and the floor boards. But we got new carpet out of it. Also, we decided not to replace the television. That was a great decision. It has been exceedingly good for our relationship. I sleep so much better. I’m not up late every night “taking in the news”. Best of all, I don’t hear that voice all the time. That voice. That piercing, shrieking voice! That insidious sound…

At least I don’t hear it as often.

Behold! A great animated version of Poe’s original Tell-Tale Heart:

Could Her Emails Be Hiding Secret Palin Baby Names?

Considering she only showed up to work about a third of the time she was supposed to, a thorough scour through her official communiques probably wouldn’t turn up much. But let’s have some fun speculatin’ as to what might be on those ding-dang pesky old emails anyhoo!

Much is made of Sarah’s lack of experience in.. well just about everything. However, making and naming babies is something she knows very well. I bet some of these secret emails contain long lists of possible baby names she had considered, or she might be considering for future progeny.

What might be some of the names she’d come up with, I wonder. She has a tendency to name her children after places, events and things important to her. Her son Track was named after her technique for finding her way home in the snow. Her daughter Piper was named after a favorite wrestling hero of the mid 80’s and it is also a tip of the hat to the many oil workers in her fair state. Her daughter Bristol is named after Sarah’s favorite pharmaceuticals company (she has since had the name legally amended to Bristol-Meyers Squibb Palin). Her youngest child Trig is named after the pesky college course that kept her bouncing around from school-to-school for many frustrating years (The course was actually Pre-algebra, but who’s gonna name their kid that, huh? Geez!).

Sarah’s still young and there’s plenty of birthin’ left in her I reckon. So, when this silly old election is over and she can get back to doin’ what she does best, what might she name her next four kids?
Considering recent events in Sarah’s life, I came up with a quick list of names she might currently be considering.

Yukon, Sled, Gauge, Trigger, Chopper, Fox, Blast, Gov Jr., Veeper, McCalin, Surge, Couric, Huffington, Kos, Limbaugh, Hannity, Sadr – oh… well, maybe not that last one.

What do you think? Offer some more names for the forthcoming Palin brood.

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We’ve gone from Silly Season to Hate Week. What’s next, Kristallnacht?

It seems like only yesterday we were talking about candidate’s third grade essays and their political implications. Ah, gone forever are those halcyon days of silly season – only a few months, but so so long ago. This week there has certainly been a change in the seasonal winds. Temperatures on the campaign trail have plummeted as the tone has turned bitterly cold. This week has been reminiscent of Orwell’s Hate Week, a systematic campaign designed to solidify rage and abhorrence against “enemies of the Party”. It is a short and slippery slope from hate rallies to Krystallnacht – out and out violence and destruction in the streets

John McCain is old enough to understand from history what can happen when rage seethes unchecked. He remembers the lunatic-days of Fascist Europe and Red China. He remembers the blind fervor of America’s own Red Scare that ruined the lives of so many. He knows the damaging power of frenzy. However, the cat is out of the bag and he seems powerless to contain the ire of his supporters. To his defense, he has tried to rein in the ignorance and acidity of his crowds. Yet, they boo him, ignore him. They want to hate no matter what their candidate may say. Sarah Palin on the other hand seems eager to nourish their rage. A day after McCain tried to regain his crowd back under his control, Palin further riled hers with cruel suggestions that Obama is a baby-killer. The crowed bayed their utter contempt.

History can teach us that these hate-mongers are in fact a minority of the larger community, yet their opinions win the day. They are loud, aggressive and tend toward violence. They intimidate the majority into keeping silent or even following along. Present day Germans still carry the shame of the silent masses of their grandparents’ generation. Literature demonstrates that dissent may exist in individual hearts within a state-controlled mob; yet social pressures overpower personal disquiet. Winston and Julia, in Orwell’s 1984, both secretly revile the socially imposed “Two-Minute Hate” sessions. Yet, they participate and even quietly critique each other’s degree of demonstrable vehemence. Our society is becoming reflective of these examples. For the past decade, we have gravitated to radio and television programs where hosts and audience members scream over each other, fed by a common hate for a common enemy. To publicly shout out your rage somehow makes you more loyal, or more honorable, or more knowledgeable than your neighbor. It continuously ratchets up the impassioned disdain for the other side, until any common ground is completely eradicated from the equation. These periods creep up throughout history – moments when public furor is stoked by rage for a common political goal. The French and American wars of revolution. The Bolshevik Revolution. Hitler’s holocaust. Stalin’s purges. Pol Pot’s genocide in Cambodia. The Balkans. Rawanda. Darfur. It continues, regardless of ethnicity, geography or culture. For all of our beauty and brilliance, this is one of our more sordid human characteristics. An angry man can be rational. An angry crowd? Don’t hesitate. Turn and run.

History and Literature offer glimpses into our future. So does mythology. During this dizzying descent into chaos and ire demonstrated at McCain/Palin rallies, we are reminded of Greek Mythology. Sarah Palin resembles a young Pandora. The powerful gods sought to punish humans for Prometheus’ crime of stealing fire. So, they decided to create a woman from the Earth. Unquestionably, the ancients had misogyny issues. The referred to her as a “beautiful evil” but they named her Pandora. Each god bestowed upon her a unique“gift” and placed it in a gilded box. Of course we all know what happened then. Driven by curiosity, Pandora peeked inside the box and let loose all the evils of the world. Greed, vanity, slander, envy and pining spread throughout the world and changed our lives utterly and eternally. Talk about a bad first impression.

As soon as she took the national stage at the Republican National Convention, Palin cranked up the ire. Her introductory speech went beyond the cynical sarcasm typical of any political forum. Her words were rude, belittling, cruel and bitter. And her audience lapped them up like mad dogs. Moreover, Palin clearly set the tone that night for their campaign, culminating with the rallies we see now in the closing weeks of this race. Our new politician on the scene has let loose all this ugliness and now its fire spreads. At these events people arrive armed with ignorance and vile. They call Obama a terrorist, yet can’t explain why they think that. They inaccurately call him an Arab thinking this is synonymous with evil. They have let their minds and their fears run amok. Like all fires, they feed off one another until nothing remains but destructive heat and smoldering ash. McCain cannot control them. He cannot apparently control Palin either. His base has overwhelmed him and he must feel the shame of allowing the creation of this Hydra. Palin controls the crowds now. She stokes the flames of hate and seems hell-bent on burning down the house with everyone in it.

But, remember the mythology. All was not lost when Pandora’s box was opened. Elpis remained to comfort and illuminate mankind in this sinister, dark new world. Elpis was the spirit of Hope. And for all this spreading ugliness, slander, envy, greed and all, we have a clear source of hope in this election. Will we make the right choice?

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Maybe I ain’t no genius, but I’s sure is smarter’n her!

Sarah Palin’s overnight emergence (literally) on the national scene has taught us all some valuable lessons in political maneuvering. A “game-changer” will hold the entire base in awe, but for only about a week – unless he/she can say something intelligent at that point. Also, a fresh-faced political outsider can shout out anything to a crowd of like-minded people and they will rave like mad dogs, even calling for blood (again, literally). However, Palin has affected us all in ways we may not have realized. She has made us all more intelligent.

Palin has blundered her way through some painful presentations that have made audiences cringe. Some of the most noticeable gaffes have been when she proudly said that she could see Russia from Alaska or when she couldn’t recall a single Supreme Court decision besides Roe v. Wade. She also couldn’t name a single printed news source. Then she frantically admitted to reading them all. She didn’t know the Bush Doctrine. She named the wrong U.S. military commander in Afghanistan. She certainly said some things that made all of us irritated that she’s honestly within a very-probable stroke away from the presidency. However it also filled us each with a quiet sense of pride. As we loudly screamed, “I can’t believe she is that stupid!” We quietly considered, “I’m not that stupid. Am I?” Then we secretly reassured ourselves, “No, I am definitely smarter than her.” Then we all covertly sought to ensure that we were indeed smarter than Sarah Palin.

Google was inundated with searches for “Alaska view Russia”. People learned that in fact someone could in fact see Russia from Alaska if they are standing atop an igloo on a specific island at the height of spring for one day only and only for about an hour. If we didn’t get all that, we did at least learn that Sarah Palin can not in fact see Russia from her back porch.

As for Supreme Court decisions, most of us out of high school could have easily tossed forth Brown v. The Board of Education – an easy no-brainer, go-to decision. But most of us might not immediately be able to recall the names of any of our other favorites. Therefore if we were ever on an RV with Katie Couric and she asked us, we too might look stupid. She wouldn’t let us get away with just tossing out Brown v. The Board. She would have smiled her ferociously cute smile and said, “What others?” And then, we would be found out. Can’t have that. So, we checked out some of the other big decisions we agree with but can’t think of their names. What else is there again? Scopes? Come on, there has to be something more recent! So we do a quick search – just to remind ourselves. Oh, yeah, there was that Lawrence v. Texas. I agreed with that one. Individual rights and all, you know. Super, that was just five years ago. Oh, but I can’t be talking about that one with Katie, not first off anyway. I will have to bury that one in my list a bit. What else? There were all those Guantanamo decisions, in the past few years. I liked those. Would Katie let me get away with just calling them “those Guantanamo decisions”? I better write them down. There were four?! Okay after some searching you might end up with a list of four or five that you can proudly carry into work on Monday, or even sit down for a “friendly” with Katie. But you can stand tall knowing that, with Brown v. The Board you knew more than Palin!

“News sources? Well, I prefer to get my news from a number of sources, mostly on the internet. Did you know that internet news sources now far outpace the printed press. Yes, it’s true. Hm? Which ones do I read? Oh, well I am glad you asked. I usually start off with my personal news settings from Google news. Yeah, I like to balance it out, so I am not getting my news filtered through a partisan lens. I don’t shy away from the New York Times, but I like to counterbalance it with some of my favorite columnists from the Washington Post. But mostly, I like an international perspective. I subscribe to The Economist. I really think they have a firm but friendly perspective on America’s roll in the world. The Guardian is good too. Of course, there is the Wall Street Journal. Oh, and Time and Newsweek of course – usually just peruse the headlines on those. So, yeah… really a pretty balanced array of news sources for me. Hm? Which Washington Post columnists? … Shit!”

Now, as for Bush’s Doctrine, I will defend Palin on this one. It is so far, the only defense I will make on her behalf. When Charlie asked her about the Bush Doctrine, I too began to rack my brain. What did he mean? There are so many! Bush’s domestic doctrine? – Which has reigned in our civil liberties systematically over the past 8 years. The judiciary doctrine? – putting 2 judges on the supreme court who refuse to make left hand turns while driving for fear they might start thinking incorrectly; or illegally firing district judges who wouldn’t follow Bush’s party line? How about Guantanamo and extraordinary rendition or enemy combatants? How about his fiscal doctrine, the furious deregulation of banks and their overlord financial institutions? How about blood for oil? That’s a Bush doctrine. So, I thought Palin’s response was acceptable, “In what respect Charlie? You mean Bush’s world view?” Oh! He meant preemptive invasion. So now that is THE Bush doctrine? That is just the first chapter. Still we all knew more about it than she did. She just got lucky on that one.

I knew the guy in Afghanistan was a McSomething, and NOT McCain nor McDonald’s. I like to think that in a debate I wouldn’t have just winged it with “McClellen”. I would have just said “the commander in Afghanistan”. No one but Katie would have called me out on it, certainly not Biden. The folks I talk to day-to-day wouldn’t have known his name either. But we all do now. As soon as I heard her say it, I knew it didn’t sound right. Sure enough, within minutes the blogosphere was bombarded with corrections. McKiernan. We’re all straight on that one now.

So, in her own way Sarah Palin has done our country a great service. In direct defiance of her blatant ignorance on issues vital to anyone seeking the second highest office in the land, we have all become smarter. Now, thanks to Palin dumbing-down the interview process, we can all proudly say, “Hell, if she can do it… I can do it better.” Now, let’s all hope, and pray (and vote) that this is the last service she does for our nation.

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Was Palin Flirting With Every Man in the US, or Just Me?

As I watched the 2008 Vice Presidential Debate I felt personally uncomfortable. I felt like my girlfriend and I were out for dinner trying to enjoy the evening but the waitress kept coming over and overtly flirting with me. During the debate, I kept glancing over to my girlfriend, who wisely ignores these trainwrecks, checking to see if I was somehow getting in trouble here. I was just trying to watch a debate. I did not expect such… er… personal attention. She held my eyes and spoke to me familiarly like a neighbor, waiting just next door. But I was strong in the face of those smiles and winks and I thought I might have caught a blown kiss in there too. I held my ground. I would not be lured unto the Siren’s rocks. It helped immensely that the familiar neighbor talk was largely a major turn off. I guess plenty of fellas out there would respond to all the darn tootins, heck yeas and you betchas, but they made me cringe.

Then I asked myself what if a male vice presidential candidate spoke in this manner. I think we call them land sharks or lounge lizards. I usually just call them greasy or creepy. What if Joe Biden had spent the entire night flashing that million dollar platinum grin directly into the camera, cocking his head, dropping the occasional wink and head bob? I think his name would be on a sexual predator list by now.

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Palin = Quayle

Twenty years ago Dan Quayle was plucked out of obscurity to solidify the republican base behind George Bush, Sr. He was a staunch, eerily conservative VP candidate who appealed to a broad swath of American fundamentalists. Today, we’ve been dealt a new Dan Quayle, but in lipstick. Sarah Palin has the same uncompromising fundamentalist stances that appeal to a small but highly mobilized population of our country. They are commonly referred to many circles as ‘the crazies’. They love her. And they loved Dan Quayle. They always love people who agree with them, simply because they agree with them when most people do not. Do you know the difference between Dan Quayle and Sarah Palin? And I don’t mean lipstick. The real difference is that George Bush, Sr. didn’t have to hide behind Dan Quayle. We must remember we have a Presidential candidate there at the Sarah Palin rallies – a candidate who is dodging issues. John McCain, like his insta-celebrity running mate, dodges the issues and refused to talk real policy. It is classic evasive maneuvering, meant to dupe the people.