Anais Knot

Thanks to an old amigo burrowed deep within the bowels of commercial publishing, I’ve snatched several excerpts from Bristol Palin’s upcoming memoir. The budding young celebrity is carving out quite a career. Snagging a coveted spot on “Dancing with the Stars”, Bristol wowed TV addicts with stiff caterwauls about the gaudy studio without inflicting permanent testicular injury to her arm candy. Although an uncouth (and jealous) liberal sniper compared her moves to that of a “dancing cartoon cow”, Bristol’s gamy attempts to tango wooed viewers who love Jesus and His flock of precious zygotes. It’s a god damned shame that she didn’t win the shiny silver ball. Christians are a persecuted minority.

Wise beyond her twenty years, Bristol’s memoir could very well rejuvenate the Family Palin brand. If the yet untitled memoir is anything like the sneak peaks, I predict a bright future for America’s most famous unwed mother and ambassador for teen sexual abstinence.

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Willow and me went to Clay’s party. Clay’s a dick, but his dad keeps beer in the garage. Clay’s dad is a dick, too. Carl’s always copping a feel when he pretends to hug me. Yuk! What an asshole. Levi said Carl asked him if we were fucking. That pissed me off. So I cornered Carl and got right in his stupid face. Carl’s such a faggot. His face got all red and shit. He won’t even look at me in church.

Levi and me were boning. Mom shouted through the door, “Hey, you two better be ‘doin homework in there!” Levi was stoned and started giggling. I started giggling because Levi was giggling. Mom said, “What so funny?” I said, “Math.” Levi said, “Yeah, we’re ‘doin multiplication.” And Mom said, “What’s that?”

I couldn’t believe I was knocked up. I was so pissed. Mom and Dad were like, “great, way to go” -- like it was my fault! Dad really yelled at Levi, and called him a dipshit. Mom shoved me into the kitchen and was saying stuff like, “Is he too cheap to buy rubbers? Really, Bristol, you couldn't just give him a hand job or BJ.” And then I got all mad and said, “Why should he have all the fun? Most of the time he pulled out. Besides, Levi said rubbers made his dick hurt.”

When I was really bored, I’d count the times Cindy McCain blinked. We called McCain, Gramps McCreepy. I can’t believe nobody noticed him staring at Mom’s ass when she was giving a speech. Once, he came into the hotel room when I was watching MTV in my underwear. I’m like, hello?, I’m in my underwear. He tried to pretend he wandered into the wrong room. I said, “Take a picture next time, it lasts longer.” Snap!

Thoughts on Mubarak

The blizzard came and stayed. There’s so much sub-zero snow outside that the rottweiler really doesn’t know whether to shit or go blind. I’m encouraging her to pee and shit outside. I even put on actual clothes, boots, gloves, black ski mask the rottweiler carried home several years ago, and shoveled an area big enough for her to squat down without exposing her butt and doggy poon to what Lutherans call Schnee. The things we do for love.

When I write “actual clothes”, I mean garments not associated with debauched lounging. I’ve become so comfortable in my daily sloth that I think nothing of engaging in small talk with the occasional guest wearing dirty sweat pants, ill-fitting pullover and what can best be described as very cheap house shoes. To complete my look, I omit shoving into place Dr. Benway’s handmade upper dental partial. Wearing the porcelain prosthetic feels unnatural, like drinking coffee after 7:30 AM with no pick me up. Every now and then a Jehovah’s Witness pays their dues. Imagine if Larry David wrote the scene where Clarice Starling meets Jame Gumm. They usually make a hasty retreat when I insist that they listen to the audio version of Nimoy’s “I Am Not Spock” as a token of my appreciation for the free Watchtower.