This week on "The Perils of Sarah Palin," Alaska governor, veepstakes loser Sarah Palin continued jumping in front of microphones and cameras and saying things that never needed to be said for ... I don't know ... the amusement of schadenfreude loving Liberals? Late night comics? Evil Keith Olbermann? Why is she talking again? (And why is Joe the Not Plumber going to Israel to cover the bloodbath in Gaza?)
But most of all, why is she talking about this?
Palin also complained about reports suggesting that Trig Palin was not her son and said she was "frustrated" by rampant rumors about her and her family. However, mainstream media stayed away from such rumors, which were fueled by bloggers and others online and the supermarket tabloids.
"I wasn't believed that Trig was really my son," she said. She called it a "sad state of affairs."
"What is the double-standard here?" she asked. "Why would people choose to believe lies? What is it that drives people to believe the worst, perpetuate the worst?"
"When did we start accepting as hard news sources bloggers, anonymous bloggers especially?" she asked. (Huffington Post)
Why does Palin even bring up Andrew Sullivan's favorite sexy Palin conspiracy theory? No one in TV or in print touched this shit as they did not want it to get on them, stinking up the joint. This was PURELY an internet phenomenon. Yet, she talks about it openly as if the New York Times had reporters bribing her OB/GYN. As if Bill O'Reilly was giving in-depth chats on the status of her daughter's hymien with the rest of The Factor. Why even discuss it, you media-un-savvy nimrod? Why?
As I wrote on Facebook Friday (and feel compelled to share here), I just don't get why she would even bring it up or entertain questions about it. It would be akin to Hillary Clinton taking questions about her assistant allegedly being her Lesbian lover or that she killed Vince Foster. I mean, no one who considers themselves serious media would touch that shit with a 10 foot pole, but Sarah is literally dancing on the pole with pasties on. I mean, GET OFF THE POLE, woman! GET OFF THE POLE!