It's all falling into place, gentlemen. Soon the name of Palin will no longer be associated with my bumbling ignoramus of a progenitor, and to a lesser extent with an accomplished British comedian/travel writer. The world will know my glory as was promised to me by The Lurker in the Dark so many years ago. In 2015, the very earth will shake, the skies will be torn from the firmament and the name of Bristol Palin will be a thing of dread, of awe, of respectable voter recognition relative to other major candidates when prompted by an impartial survey. Hahahahahaha!

The critics will no doubt call my recent decision to guest star on The Secret Life of the American Teenager a cheap bid for publicity, a shameless sellout, a cash-in, an ugly attempt to generate personal buzz, the next step in the creation of a soulless brand out of the increasing shambles of my name, an indication that society in the United States has devolved into little more than an endless parade of media manipulations and product pitches, a business maneuver that is patently surreal in its juxtaposition of celebrity figures, an irresponsible ploy that exploits a child who is too young to even protest, the cheap co-opting of my family name for dubious ends, a wanton confusion of the real and the fictional, a brash oversimplification of a complex social issue, just another in a long series of hypocritical flip-flops on the topic of sexuality and teen pregnancy, little more than tabloid fodder, a living farce, a joke, a clear sign that television is absurd and out of touch, an obvious calculation, and my own flailing desperation to remain relevant.

But I don't listen to the critics, gentlemen. If I made my decisions based upon the arguments of opinionated outsiders in the media, I may have insisted on the use of a condom during the sexual intercourse in which I took part that was made statistically more likely by my abstinence-only education. Then where would I be? The little bastard I carry around during photo ops and interviews is a freaking goldmine and everyone in this room knows it. Would the world even know my name without Tripp? It's one thing for my mother, that money-grubbing scandal magnet, to stay in the spotlight long after she was important on the national stage, but I've had to work for my celebrity.

It's been no small thing keeping Tripp away from his father. I would like to thank Jim and the boys in my crack legal team for their contribution in that regard. Everyone, make sure to say hello to Jim during the networking and nosh. Levi was as good a donor as anyone, but he served his purpose a long time ago and now the world needs to forget him. His influence can only be bad for our plan.

I've spoken to The Lurker in the Dark and he assures me that Cheney's recent hospital visit was part of their arrangement. We won't concern ourselves with the unrelated business dealings of our mutual associates. Once Dick gets back on his feet we'll put the next part of the plan in motion. As everyone knows, he's been working hard to keep my mother in the public eye so I can eventually usurp her at the moment when popular ire for her is at its peak. I want those of you who have infiltrated the media to drum up the suggestion that this Secret Life thing was all her idea. I have one, maybe two years of believable victimhood left and I don't want to waste them.

That will be all for today, gentlemen. There are all ritual knives at your tables for the blood sacrifice to The Lurker as usual. Your palms will be checked for requisite gashes on your way out. Please enjoy Mrs. Evanston's generous brownie platter and thank you all for your continued dedication to our cause.