Jan
27th
Tue
27th
“You will recall that Bill Kristol was the droolingest of the drooling dorks who went over to Sarah Palin’s house for a crabcake orgy while he was cruising the frigid waters of Alaska with all of his National Review and Weekly Standard friends, who up until that point were all virgins. After this transcendent crab-fucking fest, Kristol decided that Sarah Palin had to be the vice president, and he badgered a feeble-minded old war veteran into nominating this succubus under the theory that the only thing Americans like more than a pretty lady is a pretty lady who snarls angrily about “big city values” in an election that will be decided by urban voters. Sarah Palin, who might otherwise have settled into a long and uneventful career as a muklukked mother of eleven living on the tit of Alaska’s oil lobby, was unwittingly thrust into the national spotlight, where she failed repeatedly to formulate a single sentence with proper subject-verb-object agreement. She was an offense to intelligent two-legged mammals everywhere, particularly ones with breasts. Thus! Bill Kristol has been wrong about everything, ever, but he was particularly wrong about Sarah Palin, who turned out not to be a shining light for the future of American conservatism but instead was the delusionally self-important and willfully ignorant little maggot who crawled out of American conservatism’s festering corpse, wearing a pair of red pumps and winking naughtily as she tap-danced on its bones.”— Sara K. Smith is not a fan of Bill Kristol or Sarah Palin.
