(The following is an excerpt.)

The Rogue: Searching For The Real Sarah Palin

by Joe McGinniss

rogue (rog), n.: Someone I vehemently despise, but am not above making a few bucks off of.

One

Saturday, May 22, 2010

I moved in next door to Sarah Palin today. It was a dazzling spring day: sky blue, air cool, sun warm, shoes shined, laces tied, Abraham begat Isaac, Isaac begat Jacob, and Jacob... jacob... zzz...

Excuse me. I'm so boring sometimes I even put myself to sleep.

Sitting on my deck overlooking the lake at 11:00pm, I consider myself as lucky as a man can be. Registered sex offenders aren't allowed to live near public schools or parks, and yet here I am, living right next door to Sarah Palin. Of course, I knew my task would be difficult. The former Governor of Alaska had already ordered those close to her not to let me anywhere near their children. That may sound suspicious, but I'm sure she knew that I've always gotten my best information from children. Children are honest. Unless they're talking about me. In which case, they're rotten little liars. However, I've found that if you threaten to kill their parents, that usually shuts their filthy little pie-holes. And, for the record, it is NOT true that if you Google-search NAMBLA, my picture comes up.

I remember the first time I was arrested. I was falsely accused of something I'd rather not repeat. I don't know why everybody got so upset when they found me with that toddler. I was only trying to help him find his pants.

"Hey, Joe," my agent, David Larabell, joked, "I hear your favorite place to shop is K-Mart."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Because that's where little boy's pants are half off!"

Everybody laughed.

Later that day, when David fell down the up escalator, they were no longer laughing. It took him half an hour to tumble to the bottom. It wasn't a pretty sight. I don't think anybody believed me when I said I didn't push him, but I wasn't even there. I don't care what the video showed.

So, yes, I did move in next door to the Palins, and, believe me, I was as surprised as everybody else when the authorities found all my video recording equipment pointing toward the window of the Palin's children's bathroom. I don't know why her husband got so upset.

But I couldn't let that unfortunate incident keep me from doing what I was there to do. I went to the children's park. I usually get my best leads there. I looked under a rock, but Sarah wasn't under it. I vowed to check back later.

"What are you doing, mister?" It was a young boy. About five years old. Ah, my first lead.

"Well, hello, little man," I said. "What's your name?"

I vaguely remembered the judge telling me to stay away from children, but I was determined to get the dirt on Sarah Palin somehow. Besides, I feel that it's up to the parents to keep their children away from me. If they don't like it, they can move. Why should I always be the one who has to move? I'm an author, for Christ's sake.

"Did Sarah Palin ever do drugs?" I asked my young friend.

"Don't touch me there, mister," he answered, confirming my suspicions.

"Has she ever cheated on her husband?"

"Ow, you're hurting me, mister!"

"I'll just mark that down as a yes. Thanks for the help, kid."

I took him further into the woods at the north end of the park, so we could play a little game I like to call: "Who's Got The Duct Tape?" I'm sure his parents will find him. Eventually. In the meantime, I had to get back to finding the real Sarah Palin. I looked under another rock. There was no one there but Levi Johnston. I quickly put the rock back. What a loser.

I was exhausted. I took a break from my intensive investigative reporting, and looked out toward the children's park. It was filled with young boys. I was going to have more fun here than a barrel full of monkeys.

Yes, indeed. I consider myself as lucky as a man can be.