And with hottie governors waving rifles around and living out a Desperate Housewives sub-plot, who really has time to care about what is happening to our non-gubernatorial chicks armed solely with flower petals?  I have to back the St. Paul and Minneapolis Police on this one:  That young girl offering a flower to the men in riot helmets and bullet proof vests was SO asking to be blasted with pepper spray in the face!

Scarborough and his conservative cronies dish why Sarah Palin is a ludicrous choice for V.P. (This is from last week, before she was announced and the Right Wing talking heads suddenly fell in line)

Then after she was picked, these same guys did a 180:

I knew right away that Wonkette’s favorite GILF, Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, was in over her head when she was plucked from obscurity by an apparently desperate McCain campaign to balance out their ticket and distract from any real discussion of McCain’s record and ideas.

I knew that her staggering lack of experience was going to be seized upon as both debunking McCain’s experience argument against Obama, as well as a reason to question the wisdom gained from McCain’s experience.

I knew watching Biden debate her would be like watching a child get lectured.

I knew that as a campaign issue herself, Palin would get pilloried, because it had to be done.

But I did not expect the emergence of such a particularly dark narrative as what has just been spreading over the blogosphere.

Did this ardent Pro-Lifer cover up her teenage daughter’s birth to a baby with Down syndrome and claim it was her own?  And in doing so use a deplorable cover story—that after her water broke, she went ahead with a speech in Texas, then flew 8 hours back to Alaska to give birth, then drive another hour out of the city to a small town medical clinic where she knows everyone?

And that same girl is today announced pregnant—again?—and getting married is somehow therefore proof that the timeline, photos of Bristol with a bump, and the new VP nom noticeably NOT with any bump don’t add up to something?

This Labor Day feels like the inhalation before an otherwise remote small town scandal becomes the flesh in a feeding frenzy.