Why, America, Why?

As I flipped through the internet Tuesday night before falling comatose into bed I came across a terrifying title that went something like, “BRISTOL PALIN MAKES DWS FINALS.”  First of all, I had to figure out what DWS meant.  Isn’t that the discount shoe company?  No?  How about Down With Sexy?  Daft White Singers?  Dirty Western Scoundrels?  But no…I was way off.  DSW means Dancing With the Stars. (the T is silent)

In case you didn’t know, Bristol “the Pistol” Palin, daughter of Sarah Palin and baby mama of that guy who posed nude for Playgirl, is a contestant on Dancing With the Stars.  She’s a star now?  For what?  Being a teenage mom?  Putting up with crazy Sarah Palin?  Surviving winters in Alaska?  Obviously, in my blonde idiocy I’ve missed something.  Anyway, the girl looks pleasant enough in a medicated, milk of magnesium sort of way.  Like McMurphy after Nurse Ratched got to him.  I mean, I’m sure she’s sweet as can be, but I’m not necessarily saying she’d  be the first one I turned to for stimulating conversation, bless her heart.  Plus, her tendency to sell her story over and over again to the highest bidding tabloid kind of reminds me of the Loco Lohans, which when you think about it, makes sense.

Apparently, Bristol’s succession to the finals is not without controversy.  If I read the article correctly, she’s a cardboard-esq dancer who has continually scored at the bottom.  The judges are not fans, but since the voting is done via the American people, Bristol the Pistol is on her way to the finish line.  Middle America has not lost its love for all things Sarah Palin.  All I know is that the writing on the wall looks clear and evident to me…Sarah Palin is coming back in 2012.  Like a bad case of syphilis, that woman is here to stay.  If she ever makes it to the White House I’m going to have to move to Europe.  The very idea of her in power makes me cringe.

So good luck, Bristol.  I definitely would prefer a win for you over one for your wackadoo mom. 

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