Advanced age has its privileges, one of them to fantasize publicly about asking out a married woman without fear of being beaten up for it. So with apologies to my loved ones (and Todd, of course), my dream date for New Year’s Eve is bubbly Sarah Palin.
Imagine being greeted at the door, corsage in hand, with congratulations for dodging death panels and some snappy remark like “How’s that hopey changey thing working out for you?”
We could start making the rounds of consolation parties, first for Joe Miller at one of those clubby Wasila saloons, where as Jason Jones of the Daily Show has said, “A stranger is just a friend you haven’t thrown up on yet.”
Then on to Christine O’Donnell‘s do where the canapes, contrary to nasty Joe Biden rumors, will not be on the taxpayers and, time permitting, hoisting a drink with those other Palin-backed losers who have enough millions of their own to pick up the tab.
All this gadding around would work up an appetite for one of those famous Palin desserts like “s’mores,” made with marshmallows, Hershey bars and graham crackers, “in honor of Michelle Obama, who said the other day we should not have dessert.”
But eating and drinking alone do not a great date make. The real treat would be Palin’s linguistic gems, which could later turn up on Facebook.