The unapologetic probably-still-high-on-peyote Maureen Dowd:

Instead of going home and watching “Miss Congeniality” with Sandra Bullock, I get to stay here and watch “Miss Congeniality” with Sarah Palin.
[...]
Enthusiastic Republicans don’t see the choice of Palin as affirmative action, despite her thin résumé and gaping absence of foreign policy knowledge, because they expect Republicans to put an underqualified “babe,” as Rush Limbaugh calls her, on the ticket.
[...]
Obama may have been president of The Harvard Law Review, but Palin graduated from the University of Idaho with a minor in poli-sci and worked briefly as a TV sports reporter.
[...]
(Why do men only pick women as running mates when they need a Hail Mary pass? It’s a little insulting.)
[...]
This chick flick, naturally, features a wild stroke of fate, when the two-year governor of an oversized igloo becomes commander in chief after the president-elect chokes on a pretzel on day one.
[...]
The movie ends with the former beauty queen shaking out her pinned-up hair, taking off her glasses, slipping on ruby red peep-toe platform heels that reveal a pink French-style pedicure, and facing down Vladimir Putin in an island in the Bering Strait.
[...]
“Now that Georgia’s safe, how ’bout I cook you up some caribou hot dogs and moose stew for dinner, babe?”

Someone who gives a shit about the effect the Dowd and the NYT has on the general electorate could have some fun with this uninformed, half-baked, Oprah-esque horseshit. For example, I seem to recall a book or magazine article (pretty much the same these days) from Senorita Dowd that featured some lizard or leopard or leonine pumps and her quest for a Real Man. I think.

But NB to Ta-Na-Is-Hi Ben Coates — it didn’t take 12 hours for the mooseburger jokes to fly, and it was, quite unsurprisingly, one of your guild. Who, while seemingly hot, can, really, please, keep her shirt on. How nice is that? As I said, we all know you’re laughing at us, and really, we don’t care. We know who feeds you, who clothes you, who puts the gas in the tank, who put the roof over your head. It wasn’t Maureen Dowd.