Sara(h) Smiles, Part 7: Sarah Palin's Iowa

Every time I think of writing about some fascinating aspect of my life other than my new-found admiration for Sarah Palin and my volunteer work on her behalf, she just keeps pullin’ me back, in the words of Al Pacino in Revenge of the Godfather, — except I can’t be sure without getting it from Netflix again and you can be assured there’s little chance of that happening, whether he dropped his g, as he wasn’t playing an average, normal American like you and I and Sarah, but an Italian-American gangster raised on the East Coast among elitist liberals who imagine they know better than you and I about things in which they have Ph.D.s while you and I, or at least you, dropped out of high school.

In any event, you’ve no doubt heard by now that Sarah’s new reality show, Sarah Palin’s Iowa, debuted last night on TLC, and that the lamestream media are all shook up about her celebration of the so-called Hawkeye State’s mountains and prairies and oceans white with foam and what have you. The whole thing, they say, is a brazen attempt on Sarah’s part to endear herself to the voters whose voices will be heard first when the presidential election primary season kicks off in about a year and a half.

I, for one, love the program, and would probably do so even if I hadn’t embraced common sense conservatism a couple of weeks ago. The concept, if you’ll permit me to use that sometimes-overused word, is uniquely compelling. Each week, a celebrity (Sharon Osbourne was Sunday night’s) parachutes blindfolded into a cornfield in the middle of the state with a bagful of energy bars, a liter of drinking water, a paperback copy of Sarah’s best-selling memoir Going Rogue, a multipurpose knife, and the Bible. If he or she can make it to the International House of Pancakes in Waterloo without being first being picked off by Sarah’s husband Todd and other sharpshooting Alaskans who sharpened their skills shooting wolves from helicopters, he or she becomes eligible for consideration as Sarah’s running mate in 2012. Not only democracy in action, but meritocracy too; to the winner go the spoils!

The sight of Ms. Osbourne very nearly bleeding to death along the side of Interstate 35 just south of Ankeny on Sunday night was very deeply moving, and I think reminded all of us of the importance of the responsible, rather than whimsical, use of firearms, our access to which is guaranteed by the Second Amendment.

Some lamestreamers have decried the hyprocrisy of Sarah’s bewailing would-be biographer Joe McGinniss, not an heir to the Guinness brewing fortune, moving in next door to her in Wasilla as an invasion of her family’s privacy. If she’s so protective of her family’s privacy, they whine, why is she displaying them, warts 'n' all, in her reality show? That's exactly the sort of pettiness you have to expect in today’s ever-more-fractious political environment — not that I either know or care what fractious means, having been befuddled by fractions, as by all math, as a boy.

In other news, it’s just been revealed that Randy Scheunemann, Sarah's foreign policy adviser, a member of her inner circle, and a person the spelling of whose surname requires intense concentration, has since 2003 been paid over $150,000 by the billionaire philanthropist George Soros for promoting Burmese cuisine as a viable alternative to Thai cuisine for American diners.

Because Glenn Beck recently exposed Soros as a "puppet master" orchestrating a coup "to bring America to her knees," I suppose the lamestreamers would like to see Scheunemann lynched or deported or something. We common sense conservatives, though, recognize that there’s some good in everyone. That Soros is intent on handing our country over to the Greeks doesn’t mean that his efforts on behalf of those with peanut allergies don’t deserve commendation. Indeed, my understanding is that negotiations are under way to invite Soros onto SPI as celebrity guest, with Beck as guest marksman.

And there are those who’ll tell you this isn’t a great country!