Snifflaska, Cont.

I gotta give those Palin girls some credit. They're fucking crazy as hell.  This time Sniffy takes Bristol out on a commercial halibut fishing boat (you know, just like any other day), and the captain tells Bristol her job: when they pull a halibut up and it's flopping around on the floor of the boat, she has to take her billy club and whack it the head so it'll stop flopping and they can slit it's throat. I don't think it's chauvinistic to suppose that most young women would be repulsed at the mere thought of doing such a thing and would refuse. Hell, I don't think I'd do it.

But Lil Sniffs? Christ, her eyes roll into the back of her head as she orgasms with glee; I'm surprised she didn't dive off the boat and start bashing the motherfuckers under water so she wouldn't hafta wait 60 seconds to get her club on.

The Palin chicks are who we need to send over to, say, North Korea to scare Krazy Jong-il. They can just hang out in his bathroom and scare the shit out of him when he goes in it. 

"So...Mr. Chink...I understand we have a problem?"  (puts her cigarette out on Willow's forehead, who stares at Jong-Il while smacking her palm with a wooden bat; behind Jong-il Piper locks the door.)

These girls are our country's version of Janice fucking Avery.