I'm set for fuckin' life if I can just make it through the next six weeks, huh? Shit, my friends think a little spare change from the National Enquirer is somethin' ... it ain't nuthin' but a few tabs of Oxy, a little reefer. I got the whole fuckin' Republican Party hostage an they don' even know it yet. I just hafta be a good boy until November or Bristol's mom will shoot my crazy ass, or worse. Fuckin' National Enquirer is the best protection I got now. That an' the paparazzi, no one can make it look like an accident anymore. Thank god for John McCain. No one 'd a even come to my funeral if I turned up dead a month ago. Now it'd be front page, CNN, the works, a-fuckin' right, huh?

Fuckin' reality TV is where it fuckin' A-Right starts. Me and Bristol, yep, we'd be better than Ozzie. What with the parties, an' chicks and stuff, and momma goin' new-clee-er on the phone. Whether she's the dudette of Alaska or vice president, you know this shit isn't gonna play with her.And she's hilarious on the outside, just look at this Tina Fey crap. Funny as hell.

But she's gotta love the bay-bee, right? Oh man. I'm fuckin' gold, the next fuckin' Kevin Federline. If I can just stay off the blow and keep it in my pants ... dude, you know that sucks. But it's worth it. Fuckin' set for life. And if I get tired of their shit, I write a book, know what I mean? I got the shit.

Dude, come on. No one writes their own books anymore. We could have this shit on the street in two weeks, you know it. Every fuckin' person in Wasilla would rat out Mrs. Bigshot for a plate o' Eskimo ice cream with extra caribou. Shit yeah.