So there she was, the Future of the Republican Party, standing there yesterday like the spank-worthy centerfold of the LL Bean Christmas catalog, at a turkey farm, having just pardoned a fair fowl from becoming a crispy-skinned main course, as is the Chief Executive of a state's wont. And then she talked to the press. In front of a trough of blood and guts. While a farm worker was killing turkeys.
The Rude Pundit loves that worker - let's name him "Johnny Moustache" - for constantly looking at Palin and over to the side, where, one may assume, someone's telling him he needs to get to work, that the turkeys won't slaughter themselves. The Rude Pundit loves Johnny because the expression on his face says, "Are you really that fucking stupid? Are you really our fucking governor? Were you really almost the fucking vice president? Well, fuck me."
One could say that the media there set up Palin. And, goddamn, you gotta hope that's true, that some producer said, "Let's see if this bitch is as much of an idiot as everyone says she is," that the reporter intentionally asked if there were programs in Alaska "on the chopping block" and what Palin was going to cook at her family's Thanksgiving dinner. She's in charge of the turkey. No, really.
If you watch the un-blurred video of it, you will truly understand how hilarious it is. While Johnny offs the deliciously plump birds, Palin holds a cup of coffee and smilingly pontificates about life on the campaign trail, building up services in Alaska, the effect of oil prices on the state, how her kids are happy, how "neat" it was to come to the farm, how "You need a little bit of levity in this job," how she's there to "promote a local business" and not do something that "invites criticism." MSNBC reported that the photographer asked if she cared about the background; Palin said, "No worries."
And is there anything else you need to know about the end of the Republican Party than what's contained in this video? The disengagement from the reality that's right in their fucking faces?
(In case you don't watch it: what Johnny Moustache there is doing is sticking the thrashing bird into the funnel, cutting its throat, and letting blood drain out, occasionally pushing on the still kicking bird to squeeze more blood out, priming the pump, if you will. Welcome to the reality of Thanksgiving season. Gobble-gobble, motherfuckers.)
