The idiots in question are Bristol Palin & Levi Johnston. Apparently, he wants full custody, not that I really care who ends up with custody of that poor boy. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. His future as a gas station attendant hooked on Budweiser and Marlboro Lights watching Wheel of Fortune from his trailer eating Hungry Man dinners is pretty set, what with White Trash and Redneck as his two parents.
But I’ma be on Levi’s side just because that little baby rednecklet has already learned the word “faggot” and his momma is clearly an idiot.
Bristol has a reality show. Did you know about that? I didn’t know about that. I hope that means nobody is watching it. Anyway, I’ll just let the clip speak for itself.
Tripp “Mom can I go in the pool?”
Bristol “I think there’s a bunch of drunk kids down there.”
Yeah, and you would be the expert. According to you, that’s how you got knocked up.
Tripp ”I hate you guys!”
Bristol ”Stop saying that…God’s watching you.” ::giggles::
Sure Bristol. Laugh while you discipline your child. He won’t think you’re just playing at all. He’ll totally take you seriously and do whatever it is you’re telling him to do.
Tripp ”I hate you! ::smack:: Go away you faggot! I don’t like you!”
Bristol ::giggles:: ::holding in laughter:: ”What did you just say?”
Well, at least Tripp and I have something in common….we both hate that simple bitch he has for a mother.
ARE YOU FORREAL.
Your kid just called you a faggot and you just laugh and do nothing? Why are you not outraged? Oh that’s right, because he probably learned it from you. Duh. Where was my mind right now. I thought I was dealing with a mature adult who knows the difference between right and wrong and can voice her opinions intelligently. I forgot momentarily that I was dealing with a fucking Palin.
She makes me itch. With all her stupid Kardashian plastic surgery.
And this trick wants me to believe that *she* is the tolerant one in (her words) this war between Gays & Christians, while the gays are being belligerent. Her toddler knows how to use the word faggot, but I’m the asshole.
Please read a piece of her horrible little blog where she talks about her return to Dancing With The Stars:
Look, my responsibility is pretty darn clear: to treat people as I would like to be treated, to be gracious, and – yes – to uphold and advance my Christian principles in all that I do. Would I want a gay dancer to refuse to dance with me because of my beliefs? Why would I refuse to dance with a gay man because of his?
To the Left, “tolerance” means agreeing with them on, well, everything. To me, tolerance means learning to live and work with each other when we don’t agree – and won’t ever agree. So if I have a gay dance partner, we may have some interesting discussions about morality, marriage, and whether the government made him a great dancer because it built the roads that he drove on to dance practice. But I can promise you that I’ll give it my best effort, I’ll learn all I can learn, and I’ll be proud to hoist that elusive mirror ball trophy right by his side.
So her Christian principles include allowing her kid to use hatespeech? That’s cute. I mean, you don’t just randomly pick up the word faggot. That’s not an everyday word that people hear unless you are A) Being called one or B) Namecalling someone. Somebody around him is saying faggot enough for him to incorporate it into his vocabulary, but she will totally “tolerate” a gay dance partner.
I didn’t know I was something to be tolerated. I didn’t realize I was an unruly neighbor or athlete’s foot.
I would be fine with her and her ilk if “upholding her Christian principles” didn’t include shoving them in my face all the time. You can do *whatever* you want. But leave me alone. Don’t give me pamphlets. Don’t pray for my soul. Don’t tell me how to live. Don’t elect politicians because they agree with your view of telling me how to live. And don’t be a bad mom who lets your kid throw around hurtful words.
Then I might tolerate you too, Bristol.
But for right now, you get no tolerance from me. I don’t deal well with athlete’s foot. Don’t make me Gold Bond you, Bristol.