April 26th, 2012
Upping her Street Cred, Sarah Palin Gets Fresh with Maureen Dowd

After feigning disinterest and complete oblivion to the matter for four years, Sarah Palin finally decides to confront NYT Columnist Maureen Dowd in an Open Letter to the Editor, addressing Dowd’s various public attacks on her since receiving Senator John McCain’s 2008 Republican Vice President nomination.

April 26th, 2012;

I saw you at the Cheescake Factory last night, making googley eyes on your iphone and kissy faces with your lip gloss. I think you were waiting for your hot date to show up. On his behalf, I’d like you to know that your ‘come hither’ face looks like an invitation to hell.

I was going to warn you, but Piper gets cranky when I’m late for her soccer practice and your date walked in a moment later with Ray Bans on, so I figured he was blind.

Anyway, I’ve got a bigger bone to pick with you – and no, I don’t mean a bone from the Caribou I shot with my Dad from a helicopter ten thousand feet high and roasted for dinner last night on a spit with the rest of my redneck family in the outback. I mean a bone like an idiom, which is a form of expression that takes on a specific meaning to an intended group of people, thank you very much.

You’ve been talking straight smack about me for five years now, Dowd.

You’ve published my secret diary, accused me of having solipstic meltdowns, ridiculed my smoked salmon, denigrated my Tea Party conservatism, questioned my primitive view of electoral politics, dissed my Mama Grizzlies and called me a nihlistic cheerleader. Oh, and apparently I make ignorance fashionable?  I’m sorry that my Updo offends you. I’m sorry that there are pro-America areas in this great nation. I’m sorry I didn’t get a B.A. from Catholic University.

When I wrote Going Rogue, you made all that hoopla about us having so much in common. What was that, reverse fucking psychology? Yes, we’re a pair of decent-looking Y-Fronts trying to carve out a pro-woman sisterhood in this dog-eat-dog world. But I don’t remember you winning the Miss Wallisa Beauty Pageant, or becoming the most popular governor in America. I do, however, remember you lifting a paragraph from Josh Marshall’s Blog on TPM and pretending it was your own. Funny, I don’t think I ever did that.

I question your integrity as a journalist, Dowd. You busted Joe Biden’s balls when he plagiarized a speech by Neil Kinnock. You won a Pulitzer for chrissake, and when you’re not smacking on lip gloss like a sixteen year old, you’re freaking hot as hell. Chris Hitch was intimidated by you, Michael Douglas used to bone you. John Tierney used to jack off in his office everytime he heard you flush the toilet.

Now your column is about calling me Caribou Barbie. What the fuck is a Caribou Barbie? I guess you’re right, I am the Queen Bee of Mean Girls. Wait – aren’t you the one who spread nasty rumors about my teenage daughter’s pregnancy?

You’ve spent far too long making a name for yourself by calling me names. It’s time I called you out. I don’t care what the lamestream media says, you are not a feminist. Susan B. Anthony is ashamed of you. Jill Abraham avoids you. You make Marilyn Monroe turn over in her grave. That’s right. Read it, and weep.

You know what sucks, Dowd? I wanted to like you. I’ve got a posse of my own, but Michele Bachmann is practically cross-eyed and Jan Brewer might as well be a beaver in a wig. We look like a bunch of sock puppets whenever the Tea Party Caucus actually holds a meeting. I could’ve used you. We could’ve been Romy and Michele at their High School Reunion, except the reunion is the 2008 presidential race and I slip McCain 10,000 mg of Levitra and make you my Vice-President. I’m talking cream blazers from Dolce & Gabanna and a seven percent body mass index requirement for all male Congressional pages… But I guess there’s no point in speeding down this Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

I’m just going to tell you what Track tells me every time a Blake Sheldon song comes on. Check yourself, before you wreck yourself.

Seriously Dowd, stop talking shit about me.

xo, SP

Comments are closed.