How I Fell in Love with Ann Coulter
I remember it like it was yesterday. I was channel surfing and there she was. A guest on Real Time with Bill Maher. Those long, sexy legs. Flowing, gilded blond hair. I cranked up the volume. From the moment I heard her sweet, luscious voice utter, "Bill Clinton is a child rapist", I knew she was The One.I had to learn everything I could about my Golden Princess. I bought all her books - "Why Jews Killed Christ and Made GefilteChrist From His Kidneys", "Torture, Schmorture: How I Extract Truth From One Arab a Day and Still Keep My Day Job", and her classic, "Hey Hillary, There's a Coat Hanger in My Bloody Fetus." If Charlotte Bronte had balls, or Joseph Goebbels a word processor, they could only dream of being Ann Coulter.
Once I learned all I could about my Ann, I made plans to attend all of her appearances. I knew that as soon as she noticed my intense, cross-eyed gaze, she'd call me a 'dirty fag' and we'd fall madly in love. If only it were so.
The first appearance I attended was a NASCAR rally. It didn't go well. Apparently, Ann had many suitors competing for her attention. Each showed up with as much, or more, CoulterCuntry.com paraphernalia than I had - the exploding JFK head, old detonators from abortion clinic bombings, even her new ObamaNation Thermos, which turns black around black people and white around whites. These people had way more resources than I did. I had to take drastic measures. I killed four of them. Clearly, I would not have enough emotional energy, or room in my van, for My Dearest Ann.
I decided to try a different tact. Luckily, it was election season and Ann was guest-hating on a number of TV shows. I watched them all. I took careful notes on every American enemy she'd mention - John Murtha...Nancy Pelosi...Carrot Top.
It was harder and more expensive to "get to" these America-haters than I thought. So, I did the next best thing. I found their families. Within a week, I sent My Love two dozen black roses and ten severed pinkies inside a beautiful vase made of 97% pure Iraqi prisoner bone. It would be the first thing she saw when she opened her crypt at sundown. I was so in!!!
It did not take long for the cops to arrive at my shed.
As I sit in my cell, my Dear Sweet Ann, oh how I long for thee. Each day I dream of waking up to the sound of you calling me a n**ger-lover or a weak-willed, liberal c*ck-s*cker. The melodic flow of your Adam's apple is fused into my memory. I long to be enveloped in your warm, bodacious bile. Hold me. Scrape your name into my back with your serpentine claws. Love me, Ann. Love me like Pudgy Brown, my cell-mate, never, ever could.
by Faktorial.com - where we know a girl with serpentine claws is a keeper.
The Blog | Arianna Huffington: Has Ann Coulter (Finally) Had Her Macaca Moment? | The Huffington Post
Labels: Greatest Hits, Politics, Society and Culture
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