Mr. President: Call Me Any Time (Updated)

Dear President Obama,

I'll bet you're scouring the internets for my phone number. I really hope you are because I so want you to call me. I was thinking since my case is so much like Sandra Fluke, except that I had unprotected sex and got knocked up. (And did it again, but we aren't talking about that.) You rightly said on the campaign trail I shouldn't be attacked. Why has that changed since I managed to cash in on the fact that I got pregnant? I mean, nobody should be calling me a slut any more than Sandra Fluke. After all, I ended up making out-of-wedlock sex into a paying gig. There is a word for that but it isn't "slut." Just because I went "pro" doesn't make me less of a victim. That's why I'm putting up a paypal button, so that everyone can balm my sorrows with a little cash donation. I know you'd be proud of your daughters if they could make a buck off of becoming unwed mothers. Plus, my mother is the Queen of Alaska. Anyway, Mr. President, call me any time.

Sincerely,
Bristol the Pistol

UPDATE: My mother issued a royal decree that the unfortunate case of my massive "weight gain" during Dancing With the "Stars" is not to be spoken of, or I'd have tried to milk that bout for all it was worth too. The abstinence industry would have loved it. I guess if I can't cash in on unprotected sex any more, I might decide to try some of that birth control and then maybe I really will have something in common with Sandra Fluke. Still, I can probably get some more mileage out of the first pregnancy. I'm thinking my next book might be titled "Premarital Sex For Fun and Profit-- The Bristol Palin Method for Making Getting Knocked Up Pay."