Et tu, Palin?

I often wonder, narcissist that she is, if Palin has a perpetual hard-on from all the attention she's getting.

Did this Miss Alaska runner-up ever dream she'd be on the front page of every media outlet (none of which she reads anyway)? Depicted on Saturday Night Live? Depicted in porn?

As a former actress, I do feel a speck of pity identifying with the post-show depression that's going to hit like a ton of bricks on November 5. The media requests will fade as quickly as the notion of Bristolian reproductive (and nuptial) choice.

I picture Sarah after a long day of mugging for the media she claims to shun, parading around on the Grammatical Massacre Express, giggling in a bubble bath, surrounded by Newsweeks and Posts and Peoples, Fox News playing in the background, sipping sparkling apple cider and flushed with excitement at all the a-t-t-e-n-t-i-o-n.

But as usual, Dowd is one step ahead: she's now writing so far above Palin's head, Ms. Maverick'll need a ladder past her supposed glass ceiling cracks to get it.

Note to Sarah: Latin is not what Latinos speak.