Nobody else is saying it, so I will. Levi Johnston, Alaska Governor Sarah Palin’s stooge son-in-law is cute. Monstrously cute. Almost Osmond cute in many ways, but without the obvious drawbacks of being sweet and sickly or a Mormon.
All of this seems to have been forgotten, however, in the current unfolding drama of… whatever he’s talking about.
Because, quite honestly, I have no idea.
Fatherhood. Condoms. Getting a lawyer. Visiting his stooge child. I picked up odd words here and there from his appearance on Larry King this week, but in truth I was so distracted the whole time by his looks – oh my God! – that, despite sitting glued to the screen for a prolonged period of time (allowing for the original broadcast and several rewinds on TiVo), I’m even now unable to fill in the blanks and tell you anything at all that he mumbled.
You do understand, I’m not expressing admiration for the guy when I say this, right? After all, he’s not a bright man, it seems. Nor is he articulate or terribly confident. And there’s a 99% chance he’s a staunch, unyielding, country yokel Republican, which to my mind is far worse than being stupid, and makes a person borderline Neanderthal, politically.
No, actually what I’m feeling is jealousy. I admit it. And a modicum of latent resentment. At the effortlessness of it all – his looks, his rise to prominence with no discernible gifts or talent, the opportunities being thrust his way to grab the limelight, say his piece, and tantalize viewers with that natural, casual, born-to-be-wild, hockey-playing, oil-field-drilling beauty of his. The fact that it’s all so easy for him.
Damn the superficial media jackals!
That’s the problem with nice-looking guys: they don’t have to try hard to get what they want, the way the rest of us do. It all just comes to them. Girls drool and spread their legs. The cool kids want to hang out with them. Teachers, politicians, journalists, and voters make extraordinary allowances – “Awww, that Levi, he’s so darned cute – he would never just show up to a Republican Convention and promise to marry a girl merely as a publicity stunt or masquerade, when really they’re too young and the relationship is built on shifting sand and heading straight for the rocks.”
Cuteness is everything in this world. That’s just a fact. It’s a passport. It gets you what you want and where you need to be ten times faster than normal. Ask a stripper. Or David Archuleta. It’s also, apparently, a springboard to a slot on Tyra, where Levi looked like a porcelain doll, almost too perfect. It makes you a hit with magazine editors. Paparazzi fawn all over you. Publishers too. There’s a rumor right now that he’s writing a book.
Hear that? Levi Johnston is writing a book! But of course he is. He’s cute.
And in turn, that level of media attention elevates your specialness still further, into a stratosphere of attraction you never even dreamed of when you were back on Alaska’s North Slope, knocking back six-packs with your hunk blockhead beer buddies.
I mean, this guy seems as dumb as an ox to me. If you believe the press, he’s a hard-cursing, hard-drinking, hard-hunting lug of debatable intellect, the kind of down-to-earth laborer you’d hire to fix your truck and mow your lawn (not because he knows how, necessarily, but because you want to sit at the window for an hour with a box of tissues, watching him try), but absolutely not someone you’d want dating your daughter, or your son, or sitting at your dinner table engaging in enlightened conversation about the futility of fighting in Afghanistan, or same-sex marriage, or the arrogant idiocy of killing animals for sport, or even the lengths shifty, self-serving Republican politicians will go to to lie and deceive and con the public in order to maintain a grasp on power.
Bottom line: in real life I wouldn’t waste even a second of my time chumming up with Levi Johnston. Nor he with me. And I won’t be reading his book. Nor he mine.
Yet, right now I wish I had a womb. I do.
Bristol Palin got it exactly right. You want a kid that looks like Levi. Someone who, when he/she grows up, will be handed all the advantages of life on a plate even if they turn out to have almost zero abilities and a potential single digit IQ, simply by virtue of their looks.
And after the kid’s born, I wouldn’t mind what happened. Levi could be a deadbeat dad, for all I care. That’s fine. In fact, from the little I know of him, I’d welcome it. Leave, go. Forget all this “I’m getting a lawyer and fighting for custody to stay in the limelight” stuff I’m hearing but not paying attention to. Just the knowledge that my child would be an exquisite specimen of humanity, combining Levi’s looks, his coy, gorgeous smile, his chunky physique, his unwholesome jock-attitude and roughneck backwoods style, with my…er….
I have very nice legs.
….would be enough.
My world could end at that point. I would have done something good and useful and righteous, I feel. And also got a decent night of roughneck, backwoods dumb-as-an-ox sex into the bargain.
Make no mistake, my friends, that is what life is all about.
TV Swami – he say YES, YES, OH GOD YESSSS!!!