“Vice President Sarah Palin Massages Shoulders, Whispers Sweet Nothings to Husband of Defense Secretary at Swearing In Ceremony”
Can we all take three seconds to imagine what would happen if this headline were splashed across the front page of the New York Times—after, of course, we all silently debated once and for all what specific kind of verbiage actually constitutes a “sweet nothing” and grappled internally with the origins and antiquity of such a silly nonsense term and the subsequent possibly poor and old fashioned taste of this particular fictitious NYT reporter? The question is obviously rhetorical (and long-winded) because we know exactly how the media poodles and their breeders in Washington would react to such a story.
They have, after all, had many a pants accident over the years to even the idea of something even remotely as scandalous being even remotely as true. Their creepy Single White Female thirst for all things Palin has driven them to make mountain ranges out of sinkholes endlessly since 2008. I imagine the conversation usually goes a little something like this:
“Reporter” 1: Nothing scandalous to report on in the Palin world?
“Reporter” 2: Nope.
“Reporter” 1: Ugh fine, let’s just take an actual normal thing that happened to her and turn it into a more insane thing that didn’t happen to her.
“Reporter” 2: Ok, Becky! Hey quick question, why am I so sad and alone?
“Reporter” 1: I’m not sure, Tiffany. Do you remember which one of us is the other’s supervisor?
What these reporters, heretofore known as Becky and Tiffany, can’t seem to realize is that there has been an infantile Joe Biden-shaped vice president running around doing hilarious things unprompted for seven years now. They are essentially watching breathlessly as a wall of paint dries while a chicken is running around sans head in the next room. But they can’t help it. Poor stupid.
As Becky and Tiff’s therapist doubtlessly reminds them every Thursday afternoon between spin class and YouTube commenting, the behavior they are exhibiting is what we who are blessed with both brain and soul call projection. They yell at us for appearing to be what they truly are. They place on the heads of good and decent people all their own faults and biases and intelligence deficiencies, and they pray to Science that no one ever turns a mirror on them. For it is Tiffany who stands on the graves of black babies, worships at the altar of an admitted eugenicist, and simply adores the entitlements that shackle minorities to Big Daddy Government all the while calling us racists. And it is Becky who thinks us hypocrites as she fries eagles with her solar panels that we all subsidize and who drives up the minimum wage here at home so that labor may be shipped overseas where adorable preschoolers can sew her ethically pure argyle golf vest that she wears while pretending to know how to swing a club to impress her next employer.
While this treatment applies to most all Republicans (Conservatives or vanilla) and their Democrat counterparts, the case for their projection is personified most perfectly in the contrast between Biden and Palin. In reality, Biden is the vice president they could only have ever dreamed that Palin would have been. Aloof. Ignorant. Offensive. A little handsy. A lot creepy. Yet these are all spun as charming little quirks and oddities when they belong to an old batty white dude. Meanwhile, a fearlessly accomplished and poised young mother of five is the village idiot. “But sexism!” cries Tiffany aloud to no one as she sobs into an empty pie tin.
Yep, being Joe Biden is the easiest job in town. He’s like the highest paid and most underused backup QB in the NFL. And who helped us make him the Chairman and CEO of the Lucky Club? Becky.
Somewhere off in a parallel dimension Alternate Universe Vice President Sarah Palin is thinking to herself, “Gosh if they only knew how goofy the OTHER guy would’ve been!” Well guess what, AU Sarah, we know. Now please solve the complexities of inter-dimensional teleportation (preferably via private sector entrepreneurship) and come be our Veep for realsies. Butterfly Effect be damned!