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One of the first cliches they teach you to rid yourself of at all costs in Journalism 101 is to never begin a column with the dictionary definition of a word. It’s hack, it’s played out and almost as unoriginal as opening with a quote from Bartlett’s.

That said, I would be remiss not to start things off by pointing out that I commented to co-workers at the bookstore I work at that “going rogue” would make an ideal sexual euphemism. Yep, you guessed it: somebody else already stepped on my punchline.

As I’ve stated before in previous posts, I work selling books and coffee for a chain that rhymes with Barnes & Noble. (Shhh!) One of the many curious things that happened the day Sarah Palin’s biography was released was that we got a call or two about two separate parodies with the same title: “Going Rouge.” One is a coloring book, one is not. Both look hilarious in their own right; great title either way. What made this interesting to me personally is that it was impossible for us to order these books. One might even go so far as to posit this was done on purpose.

Which isn’t that paranoid a thought to think, believe it or not. After all, this is sadly not a tactic even confined to the right wing side of the political spectrum. I distinctly recall not being able to place any orders for Al Franken backstock after he secured the DFL nomination for Minnesota Senator. Being a fan of Franken’s comedy, this was more than a tad disheartening. That is the sort of cowardly behavior I would expect of pathetic Ann Coulter types.

And speaking of complete idiots, I wrestle now with the notion that even discussing Sarah Palin gives her more legitimacy than she actually deserves. Like my Mom always said: if you ignore them long enough they’ll leave you alone. After all, that’s the same rationale Richard Dawkins and Stephen Jay Gould employed by making the formal decision to never formally debate a creationist/intelligent designer. The more attention is paid to Palin, the more it appears she has something valid to contribute to political discourse. And IMOHO, she simply doesn’t have what it takes for heavy intellectual lifting.

But upon serious reflection, this is simply too juicy to ignore. The comedic possibilities are literally endless. It gets better every day. I’d stop just short of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson’s famous proclamation that it’s “better than sex.” Certainly not better than “going rogue.”


I am he as you are he as you are me

It’s like you’re standing outside a fancy steakhouse just staring into the window, hungrily licking your chops while holding a pink slip and the personification of everything you believe is wrong with America offers you their leftovers. What’s a man to do, provided he’s not a vegetarian of course?  And where the hell is this nonsensical metaphor heading, you may ask? It’s leading you to news that the same man responsible for a quickie Palin election season parody helped edit her book. I mean, c’mon people! How in the Sam Hell did that happen? And why was I not contacted first? *sigh*

Now I realize it’s 100% unfair to automatically assume that if some of the people responsible for the book happening are unapologetic racists, that makes the Palin constituency automatically closet racists by proxy. That’s not the claim I’m trying to make here, not in the least. Hell, I’m sure a certain amount of hard core racists held their nose and voted for Barack Obama last November.  But the amount of backpedaling and censoring and video-taking-down and lawsuit-filing and such does make you wonder if these nagging allegations are substantive after all.

Credit DitchWalk for asking the question no one else seems to have the necessary cojones to ask: did Palin actually write any of this? Seriously, aside from submitting all the gory hunting party photos she happily posed in, what credit can she take for any of this?

Who cares, right? We’re pretty sure Teri Hatcher wrote hers and anything is better than that. I’d rather plod through Japanese stereo instructions than suffer through that that festering bowl of dog snot.

Wrong. Dead wrong with your Devil’s Advocate argument, dude.

It cheapens the definition of “truthiness” but that’s a boring barroom philosopher exercise. More importantly, it cheapens what I’m doing right now: writing.  The reason why my Journalism degree is worthless, the reason why the media industry has all but collapsed, the reason why I work 5 part time jobs without health care…it’s all because nobody’s figured out how to get paid to write after the Interweb Tubez up and changed the game. (With the noticeable exception of Vice.) If you say writing doesn’t count, it won’t count. If you say writing is a more of a hobby than a “real” job, than it will stay a hobby. If you believe writing doesn’t matter, it won’t matter. And where does that get us as a culture? Writing blogs no one reads, just another lonely dreamer’s voice in the wilderness that will never properly be heard.

Wow, that got a lot heavier than I originally intended. Sorry about that, everybody.

Schizopolis 4-Evah

Per usual, FunnyOrDie is THE clearinghouse to visit if you really want to beat a dead meme horse into the ground with a minimal amount of effort. My three current favorite Palin parodies are as follows:

  1. Pageant tape with snarky MST3K commentary.
  2. The Sarah Palin Show, with very special guest Sarah Palin. Only on Fox!
  3. Godwin’s Law states, as we all hopefully know by now, that any position of strength is immediately negated the nanosecond you play the Hitler card. However, this sly spoof on the amazing-in-it’s-own-right 2004 German film “Downfall” is for the win, as the kids say nowadays.

No, I'm Spartacus!

In other news: the rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Also, apparently treating white kids like they are black kids works about as well as asking men to pretend to feel what it’s like to be a woman. Let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, my bio-fuels project is apparently moving along swimmingly. And in case you were looking for inarguably the worst commercial of all time, I already went to the trouble of finding it for you so you didn’t have to. But hey, things could always be worse: you could have gotten called onto the carpet to explain why exactly you green-lighted this bad boy to everyone in corporate.

This just in: Kanye West is a gay fish. Which is way better than Mormon vampire teen romance novels any old day of the week.

I’m out like Seacrest.

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