Palin's morning thanks

Don't know much about affairs such as those of Sarah Palin's daughter Bristol and her Levi, nor even much about that one, except that the two of them, without a doubt, created a real live child named Tripp, who almost stole the stage at the Republic Convention when his grandma was startling the world with her personality, charm, and fire.

And I don't know much about what Sarah Palin and her husband think of Levi Johnston these days. They're probably not talking about him--on a mike at least. The big news lately is that Levi the Hunk will flash the world with full frontal nudity in some near-future edition of Playgirl. "I just get naked," he told Us magazine; "that's what I do."

I think that's bravado and not confession, but who knows?

The whole mess is bizarre, of course, and hilarious. It seems the Alaskan Adonis has a manager named Tank Jones (the truth), who claims that his client "is pumped," and the upcoming shoot will be just fine: "We're going to play it by ear. I'm going to make sure it's something he's comfortable with and tasteful." Thank goodness--we wouldn't want the sensitive kid pushed around by testy feminist gargoyles. And then, Tank explained the whole project for all of us to understand: "This is art," he said.

Wow. I feel much better.

Pure b.s., is what it is. But then, there's nothing new under the sun. Mr. Johnston squirmed his way into his ten minutes of fame when his skivvies were on the floor, why on earth shouldn't he continue to make his living bare-bottomed? And, after all, this whole thing is art.

What a hoot. I don't know that anyone understands what goes on in the political mind of Sarah Palin, third-ranking candidate for President of these United States in the Republican field at this moment and soon to be best-selling author; but my guess is that she and her husband can't be thrilled by their grandson's daddy's flag unfurled all over the internet.

But, I can imagine something about Sarah Palin the mom. As sick unto death as she must be of this Johnston kid riding his never-to-be mother-in-law's blouse tails to media glory, as a mom--and a grandma--Palin must be, this morning and every morning, on her knees in grateful thanks to God that that naked, clueless moron is on a photographer's couch down in the lower 48, thousands of miles removed from her own beloved daughter's life.

That fact must bring her great joy. 'T'would me.