They Gave Bristol Palin $260K to Promote Abstinence? Can I Get a Hunk of That to Promote Something?
Wow! The Candie's Foundation gave Bristol Palin over a quarter mil to go around the country in her her role as an ambassador for their teen pregnancy campaign in 2009. According to an article in Forbes online, they gave her $262,500 to tell fresh-faced young girls that it's a BAD thing to get pregnant as a teenager like she did because it's a big responsibility and just not worth it, unless your Mom is famous and someone else watches your baby and someone gives you over a quarter million bucks to tell kids how bad it thing it was you did and how well it worked out for you.
Is the Candie's Foundation really a charitable foundation? Well, according to Forbes, in addition to the $262,500 they gave Bristol to roam the country, flashing her jewels and pretty smile and fancy clothes so she could WARN young girls about the dangers of "not saying no to teenaged woo-woo", they ALSO managed to pony up a total of $35K to donate to charities out of the $1,242,476 that was donated by the public.
Nice work if you can get it. In fact, I want some of that action.
No, not to discuss teen abstinence which is a joke and doesn't work. But to discuss something I know even MORE about.
I'll offer my REAL solution to teen pregnancy in a moment, but first...
If the Candie's Foundation will pay some little prettied-up Alaska hillbilly gal to discuss the dangers of doing what she did which resulted in great profit for that which she warns against, then maybe they have a few extra bucks to kick up to me for my campaign to warn the kids about...
THE DANGERS OF PRE-MARITAL DONUT CONSUMPTION
Let me set the scene.
The kids are packed into the auditorium with a wide aisle down the middle. They gasp in horror as a forklift enters the gym carrying my corpulent ass on a shipping pallet. The forklift beeps as it rolls as the children avert their eyes from this horrible sight. We reach the stage, the back wheels of the forklift come off the floor as I'm lifted to the stage where several strong men remove the pallet from the forklift and turn me to face the kiddies.
I'm wearing a filthy sleeveless t-shirt. It's impossible to tell whether or not I'm wearing pants, as my gut overlaps my waist and dangles to the sides and back. Oh, and I'm wearing mismatched socks. I mean, who can see his feet? Not me!
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