"Nooo, I have not had implants. I think a report like that is about as real and truthful that Todd and I are divorcing or that I bought a place in the Hamptons or that Trig is not my own child. And we still put up with that garbage, too."-- Sarah Palin
Hot stinkin' garbaaaage that Little Miss $arah simply needn't so much as mention, it's so petty and insignificant in the scheme of things!
But since you asked, Greta Van Susteren, and I love you for that, because you're not afraid to ask "the questions," and even though you think my husband is hot as hellfire, and would bang him in a heartbeat, I could never disappoint a fellow Fox News feminist just tryin' to keep the lamestream media on their toes.
So, in lieu of the usual vile, incoherent Facebook spew or 140 character Twittery cheers about how boobie talk demeans women, much like the choice to murder miracles of
VAN SUSTEREN: You know, it’s sort of interesting, Governor. I’ll take a bet with you. Maybe you won’t take this bet with me. But the last segment, we discussed policy. I asked about energy policy since energy is so important to your home state of Alaska. My guess is this next question I’m going to ask you, which is the buzz of the Internet, it’s in mainstream media — I bet it gets more attention than our discussion about energy. So here it is. Breast implants! Did you have them or not? Because that’s all over the Internet about you, and mainstream media.
Ummm, nothing!?!? Sure, nothing except some rich dumb bitch who went and bought herself some tits.
PALIN: Well, first, Greta, you know why we love you? Because you’re not afraid to ask the questions. And I got to respect you for asking that question because I know that “boobgate” is all over the Internet right now because there are a lot of, I guess, bored, idle bloggers and reporters with nothing else to talk about. And I think some of those folks, too, they need to grab a shovel, go down to the gulf, volunteer to help, clean up and save a whale or something instead of reporting on such stupid things like that.
In other words, EVERYTHING!
Or at least until you throw on a designer wetsuit, grab your special edition diamond-encrusted hockey stick, butterfly stroke on down to the Gulf coast, and start pluckin' out oil-soaked birds and fish before tossin' the half-dead bastards in the sand and headin' back to your private, air-conditioned presidential suite, away from the gross, greasy animals and reporters, to play with Trig and take a quick power nap.
Then maybe, we can finally report on something important for a change!