When I first arrived at the lavish Toronto hotel where Sarah Palin was staying I was greeted by a short Dominican woman who had been hired to occupy me and perform various other tasks for the former governor. I knew all of this, her job description and her ethnicity, because she explicitly told me so. That, too, was part of her job. Apparently Palin was running late because of an impromptu mani-pedi. I didn't much care. If it had been a Motel 6 maybe I'd have been a bit miffed, but this was the Windsor Arms. I sat back in a chair softer than the pads on the Dominican girl's shoulders and waited for my subject to arrive.

I'll admit, I was a bit surprised when that publicist told me I could conduct my interview. It's not like I had any credentials to lean on. Now I can write my own ticket. Whoever pays the best, maybe the Washington Post, maybe Esquire or USA Today. I don't care who. I've got the article sitting on my desk waiting for the highest bidder, then it's just a hop and a skip to the big time. Of course it doesn't include half of the things that lady told me. No, that content wouldn't play in the fly-overs. Maybe if I get famous enough I can release it in a ghostwritten tell-all.

I don't know what kind of salons they've got in Toronto but Palin stank of cheap cigars, mint and bourbon when she finally showed up (a half an hour late, no less). I'd been chatting up the Dominican, alternating between fishing for some inside info and a little harmless flirting. The second Palin walked into the room the Dominican clammed up and disappeared into whatever corner she was told to wait in. We moved to the hotel bar where Palin regaled me with a fifteen minute story about hunting caribou before I could even ask one question.

I want to make something clear, I wasn't digging for dirt. I went into that interview hoping to get some insight into Palin's political motivations and just what it's been like staying on the fast train McCain put her on two years ago. I didn't want it to turn into what it did. The TV in the bar started playing Family Guy and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I mean, it's not like explaining to her that the joke wasn't referring to her son Trig would have helped. I wasn't about to be the one to tell her that most of the people in her country are willing to laugh at the suggestion that her womb is tainted.

Palin went on this long tirade about the media and about her public image. I tried to tell her the show was just a cartoon, that it relied on fart jokes and used Hitler as its go-to guy for wackiness, but she was having none of it. When she started to make a scene, Bristol came out of some shadow and told me that the interview was over. I tried to make my case, but that little harpy just snapped her fingers and unleashed the Dominican on me. Short, that one, but damn strong.

At first I was pissed off that Seth MacFarlane had chosen, of all days, the day of my interview to use that joke. Yeah, but then I played back the tapes. I've never heard so much gold in all my life. I'm pretty sure that Bristol is going to try to get it all blocked, but she isn't that big yet and I've tangled with worse. I feel sorry for the next guy, but that junior fascist daughter of Palin's is gonna get a lesson in humility from this encounter. Thanks for not getting the joke, Sarah. I'm gonna be freaking famous.