We're a tight-knit bunch, us Palins. We stick together and defend our own, because it's pretty much us against the world. I mean, a lot of people don't think so. They think we're all one big society with a social contract and various services and institutions that bound our lives. But we disagree, we Palins. As far as we're concerned, we're living out on the prairie during the Western Expansion. Or maybe in the Old West. Whatever metaphor floats your boat.
Oh Field & Stream, you so crazy!
Don't mess with a Palin. Or a Heath. Whatever.
I don't care if I buy all my groceries at Costco and wear a kicky pair of heels to drive my SUV to the Starbucks drive-through for a latte before calling Domino's to have pizza delivered for dinner. This is the Last Frontier, it says so right there on the license plates, and we're going to act accordingly. So we stick together, is what I'm saying, which I guess is why my brother wrote that crazy-ass letter to Field and Stream magazine correcting them for bashing my episode of "Sarah Palin's Alaska" where I went hunting.
Now I have to admit, just between you and me dear diary, that the episode in question did make me look like a dolt. I had a lot more in the way of folksy sayings than in accurate shooting. I asked a question ("does it have much of a kick?") which, taken out of context, made me sound like an amateur. I guess that's why they keep calling me Tundra Barbie or whatever.
I mean, not that I really care. I was on TV! I had my own show! I was like them Honey Boo-Boo childs, but with a way nicer wardrobe and mansion and stuff. But I did figure if they were going to paint us in the worst light with their sneaky little editing tricks, I might as well be getting paid for it, which is why I asked for a million bucks a show. They passed - too bad, so sad - enjoy your gold panning shows.
So anyway, this Field & Stream guy goes off about how I don't know what I'm doing, and my brother Chuck Jr. rushed to my defense with an awesome letter to the editor. One which was in no way penned by my team of well-paid ghost writers. No sirree, I would never do something like feed my brother a ghostwritten letter to send to a magazine on my behalf, WINK!!!
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