I fucked Anne Coulter in the ass, hard

[Durandal]

The Farmer’s Market on Fairfax and 3rd is a Los Angeles landmark, attracting tourists and everyday Angelinos alike, as well as many famous faces. Among the celebrities I have seen there are Muhammad Ali, Terri Garr, Tyra Banks, Laura Linney, Keenan Ivory Wayans, the guitarist for The Cult, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, and Weird Al Yankovic.

But Ann Coulter is the only celebrity I’ve ever spotted at Farmer’s Market that I wound up fucking in the ass, hard.

It would be fair to observe that my feeling obligated to present the list of celebrities above in roughly Black-White-Black-White order is indicative of my own carefully Liberal sensibilities. And that this sort of conscientiousness is more than a little ridiculous, on examination. But what I notice about myself only on reflection, Ann Coulter seemed to recognize and respond to in an instant, like a puma recognizes an injured giselle. For Ann Coulter is a predator. A predator with a hungry asshole.

I first spotted her sitting at a table in front of The Gumbo Pot with another woman who looked not unlike her, but a generation older (I neglected to ask her at any point subsequently whether this had in fact been her mother). I vaguely recognized her—there’s always a lag time placing faces you know from cable when unconfined to a telescreen—and began to notice, stealing furtive glances up from the copy of Steinbeck I was reading, that she was eyeing me with unsettling scrutiny.

The next thing I knew, her companion (mother?) had left and Coulter was standing over me, looking skeptically at my reading material.

‘The Grapes of Wrath, huh?’

‘Yes’ I said, faking composure. ‘It’s fantastic.’

‘It’s a fantastic primer for vacuous proto-Communists everywhere,’ she said dismissively.

‘I don’t know about that..’

She sighed. ‘I don’t have enough ink in my pen to keep a running list of what you don’t know. May I?’

She motioned to the empty chair next to me.

‘Of course.’ It would be fair to say my voice trembled a little.

She sat and said nothing. Ann Coulter evidently takes an unappreciative view of small talk. That she was eager to continue antagonizing me became evident when I re-opened my recently-insulted book to resume reading. A young man passed in a t-shirt proclaiming ‘Iraq Nam’. She stopped him.

‘1. Haircut. 2. Shower. 3. Get a job, you sniveling hippy,’ she glowered.

‘You’re probably too high to remember that, so write it down--if you can write.’

He looked at her with dismay and scampered away like a kicked cat. She turned to me with bloodlust.

‘What do you think of the war: complete success, or very nearly complete success?’ she asked.

‘Well, in no time—barring the strong possibility of Civil War--we’ll have a democratically-elected anti-US Islamicist government in charge of the world’s second-largest oil reserves, so I’d have to say only very-nearly, on the complete success scale, at a hysterically distorted best.’

She showed her teeth. ‘It sounds to me like you don’t support our troops.’

‘I think that ‘Support Our Troops’ business is the most crass, craven cowardice ever to go unquestioned by the allegedly Liberal media.’

‘Yes? Yes?’ There was oddly growing excitement in her voice.

‘It allows the Administration to absolve itself of responsibility for its own flawed policy. It’s no different than if you sent a classroom of 2nd graders into a burning building, and when anyone objects you throw in their face that they "don’t support our 2nd graders"’

‘Where do you live?’

‘A few blocks away.’

‘Take me there.’

When we got to my apartment, she looked around glumly.

‘I was thinking you’d have half-burned American flags up on the wall,’ she said, disappointed.

‘That’s ridiculous. I love my country.’

‘Whatever you think that means,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘Don’t you have anything nasty to say about the President?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like he’s an imbecile, or corrupt, or a corrupt imbecile—the usual sore-loser bitter chatter.’

‘To be honest, I didn’t like the nasty things that were said about Clinton, and I’ve decided to have respect for the Office, no matter who holds it. I don’t think President Bush is corrupt or an imbecile anyway. Would you like something to drink?’

‘I think maybe this was a mistake,’ she said, starting to go.

‘That’s not to say I don’t disagree strongly with many of his policies and objectives.’

She seemed to reconsider. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Name one.’

‘Get me a drink first.’



With every point I expressed that ran counter to a view she held, she removed one article of clothing. Soon she sat on my couch naked, gently pulling at her untrimmed pubic hair, staring intently but not quite invitingly at me. The growing hard lump in my throat was just outpaced by the one in my pants. I was a little nervous because we had agreed on the last two points—the need to reconsider the option of nuclear energy, and drilling in the Arctic—and I noticed her oversized nipples were no longer hard. Luckily, she was, by this point, determined.

‘What do you think,’ she began provocatively, ‘of the President’s plan to privatize Social Security?’

I sighed with relief; this was as sure a promise to seal the deal as her asking if I had a condom.

‘I think it’s a payoff to the Americans the President has always been most intent on pleasing: the richest 1%.’

‘What do you mean?’ she cooed. I noticed her nipples hardening once more. She dropped to her knees in front of me. She pushed me backwards and positioned my legs up in the air.

‘A stock’s value is even now only partially tied to the actual value of any publicly traded company. But who’s going to profit from inflated valuations when stock prices swell irrationally from the forced, artificial injection of capital?

Her breath was hot on my ‘taint as she lifted my scrotum. ‘Yes? Yes?’

‘You might as well shoehorn billions of dollars into the Baseball Card market. The price of a Derek Jeter rookie will be driven up to hundreds of thousands of dollars—before the bubble bursts and the whole market crashes massively.’ It was getting hard to stay on point as she tongue-fucked my shitter vigorously.

‘Don’t..Stop!!’ her contorted mouth pled from my butthole.

‘The top 1% will sell stocks at the inflated valuations to the novice investors-by-necessity, the market will swell and crash, and the same 1% will come back and re-purchase their holdings at pennies on the dollar. Meanwhile, Social Security will go bankrupt and all the novice investors will be eating catfood for the duration of their "golden years,'’ barring a massive Federal bailout several hundred times in excess of what the Savings & Loan scandal cost us.’

She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at me. She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. ‘See this?’

I nodded eagerly.

‘I want you to wreck it.’

I spit on my skeezer-pleaser and, prying her ass cheeks apart like a hot dinner roll, drove it home, into the biggest browneye I had ever seen. She gurgled contentedly. Every thrust of my babymaker was met with a wrenched squeal as I grabbed her by the hips and began really leaning into it.

‘Harder!’ she begged, ‘Harder!! Tell me what you think of Chomsky!’

‘I..think..he’s..brill..iant..but..I..don’t really agree with much of his stance on Israel, and--’

‘You’re slowing down!’ she snapped. ‘DON’T SLOW DOWN!’

I went back to punishing her asshole, giving no thought whatsoever to compassionate conservatism as her chocolate socket gnawed on my pork pipe. She was babbling now, as out of a delirious reverie.

‘Feed it,' Ann Coulter rasped. 'Feed my hungry asshole!'

I buried her face in a throw pillow and she swiveled her hips back on my fuckstick with obvious appreciation. My pace quickened as my man-magma built towards eruption.

‘Wait!’ she gasped, sensing the fuse on my yogurt cannon was burning quick. ‘I want to take you ass-to-mouth!’

I withdrew from her puckerhole with an audible ‘pop’ and she scrambled around, gulping at my wang-dang-doodle as though the lives of all her loved ones hinged on her marks for enthusiasm. Her eyes rolled up pleadingly as she threw her head down again and again on my magic johnson. I knew what she wanted.

‘There is a specter haunting Europe,’ I began, and she started to convulse spasmodically with her own thrashing orgasm, her head now dribbling in a blur against my groin. I repeated every Karl Marx quote I could think of until I reached my own ‘historic inevitability’ and launched surge after surge from my hairy boda bag. I ejaculated with what seemed like enough force to blow out the back of her head--but her head was made of stronger stuff. She sputtered, gobbled and gulped what I’d have to call a very liberal, even radically so, quantity of hot splooey.
Once she caught her breath, she wiped her mouth, stood, and took me by the hand.

‘Let’s go to the bathroom.’

‘Why?’

She seemed surprised I had to ask. Her tone was that of someone reminding another of something too obvious to need mention.

‘Uh, so I can get in the tub and you can piss all over me?’



I sat in a robe and watched her as she dressed.

‘Will I see you again?’ I asked tentatively.

‘Sure,’ she said, pointing to the TV. ‘On that.’

Some moments passed. I tried to dispel the awkward silence.

‘Well, nice meeting you,’ I offered.

‘You’ve really got a gift for tedious small talk,’ she shot back. I was a little hurt and, recognizing this, she softened just a shade as she reached for her purse to leave.

‘Hey.’

‘Yes?’ I asked.

‘Thanks for not staring at my adam’s apple.’

‘No problem.’

She let herself out without another word, and I sat in the late afternoon silence alone. I considered how it felt to be a disposable instrument in someone’s personal debasement fantasy.

All in all, it didn’t feel too bad.

[PeZook]

...

?!

[Knife]

O....K......?


That should be a letter to the editor in Swank magazine.

[Durandal]

Don't question it. Just appreciate it.

[Stofsk]

She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at me. She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. ‘See this?’

I nodded eagerly.

‘I want you to wreck it.’

Brilliant.

‘Let’s go to the bathroom.’

‘Why?’

She seemed surprised I had to ask. Her tone was that of someone reminding another of something too obvious to need mention.

‘Uh, so I can get in the tub and you can piss all over me?’

So where did you find this shit?

[Brother-Captain Gaius]

That's... that's beautiful.

[Durandal]

So where did you find this shit?

My dad e-mailed it to me.

[Julhelm]

Lol. That's golden.

[Asst. Asst. Lt. Cmdr. Smi]

Wow. That takes "messed-up shit" to a whole new level. Still funny, though.

[Frank Hipper]

Every so often one recognises one's presence before Great Art, today is one of those times.

[Illuminatus Primus]

She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at me. She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. ‘See this?’

I nodded eagerly.

‘I want you to wreck it.’

This is the best quote in the whole damn thing.

[Darth Wong]

Thanks for not staring at my adam’s apple.

[Haminal10]

Wiskey Tango Foxtrot

That absolutely made my day!

[That NOS Guy]

God bless America. *tears*

-NOS
Wonderful, positively wonderful

[Durandal]

More from the same guy. This one's a little long, but toward the end it really gets worth it.

She's an Unsettlingly Lean, Viciously Mean, Liberal Cock-Loving Machine
The other night I was sitting home watching a Tivo of Stump the Schwab on ESPN and just about nodding off when suddenly someone began pounding on my front door like I owed them money. It would be hard to overstate my surprise when I opened the door and Ann Coulter pushed past me, smelling of alcohol and Nicorette gum. She had already taken off her sweater and shoes before I remembered to close the door.
‘Nice to be back here at the Fortress of Decrepitude. Bet not many ladies come here twice.' She shook her head. 'Have I missed you,’ she sighed, glancing toward me.
‘I’m..flattered..’
‘I’m not talking to you,’ she spat, ‘I’m talking to your cock. Bet you never thought you’d see me again.’
‘Not without being able to change the channel, no..’
‘Well get out of that ridiculously too young for you Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt, say goodbye to 1998 and lose the cargo pants, and get ready to stuff the only thing interesting about you into the sloppy end of my digestive tract.’
‘Which end is that?’
She didn’t appreciate my making this admittedly small joke. She stepped up to me with rising anger, and I had the small adrenaline rush that precedes a fistfight. But instead of hitting me, she said through clenched teeth:
‘I came here to chew gum and have Liberal cock slammed into me.’ She spit her gum onto my floor. ‘And I’m all out of gum. We clear?’
I flinched.
‘Yes.’ I reproached myself for looking away, unable to meet her menacing gaze. She resumed taking off her clothes.
‘Don’t you want to, I don’t know, talk politics?’
‘You think you’ve got me all figured out in that box of shit you keep balanced on your neck, don’t you?’
‘Well I think I have an idea what flips your bingo switch, yeah, so if you want to discuss..’
‘No need. I listened to Clinton’s ’92 acceptance speech in the car. I’m as horny as the hat rack at a Viking bar.’ She stood naked and impatient before me. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m a little freaked out by your hip bones’
‘I still weigh what I did Freshman year at Cornell,’ she said proudly.
‘Have you eaten since?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean hit a buffet. Get some plates dirty. Seriously.’
She fixed me with a hot stare. ‘It’s not how the meat bounces on the girl; it’s how the girl bounces on the meat.’
‘Could we, like, kiss or something?’
‘Aw,’ she said tartly, ‘isn’t that sweet. You want to kiss me on the mouth.’
‘Yeah, I would.’
‘Well I’m a little picky about who I let kiss me, Libby. Now, how’s about sticking your fuckmeat up my ass?’ I felt beaten.
‘OK, OK..’
‘Now, don’t be like that. Listen, do you know what it means when someone says put it in slowly and gently?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then do it the exact opposite of that,’ she said, smearing lotion on my uterus poker. She noticed what must’ve been my glum look, rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘OK, what do you think of the war on activist judges legislating from the bench, Libby?’
I perked up.
‘I think lackey judges legislate from the bench too, the Administration just prefers their decisions.’
‘Pat Robertson thinks activist judges pose a greater threat to America than terrorists,’ she said smugly.
‘I read that. Well, he’s a man who believes Adam & Eve had three sons and populated the Earth, he must be right.’
‘Anti-Religious rhetoric. That’s hot.’
‘I’m not anti-religion. I come from religious people that I love very much.’
'You just think you’re smarter.'
‘I just think if anyone wants to live in a democratic fundamentalist theocracy, they should move to Iraq. They’ll have one soon enough.’
‘Do you like Football?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Uh, I guess..’
‘Good,’ she said, climbing atop my pool table and waving her ass in the air like a rapper without a care, ‘then tell your Brown Bay Packer it’s kickoff time.’
Knocks rattled my front door. I recognized my friends' voices.
‘Who is that?’ she hissed.
I listened at the door.
‘It’s Tim and David and someone else.’
‘Jesus, it’s always a social program with you people, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting them. Or you.’
‘Well answer it,’ she said, sitting on the pool table. I wanted her to not get her slime on the felt, but I thought better of asking. I opened the door to see Tim, David and John Cusack. He was really good looking in person.
‘Hey guys,’ I said anxiously.
‘Let us in,’ said Tim, ‘Redd Kross is going to be on Letterman in a couple minutes.’
‘Hold on a sec,’ I said, closing the door. I turned to report. ‘It’s Tim, David and John Cusack. They want to come in and watch Redd Kross on Letterman.’
‘Never mind. How did they vote?’
‘Uh, Tim and David voted for Kerry, if they voted. I think John Cusack was active in the Nader campaign, wasn’t he?’
Her eyes narrowed slyly. ‘Let them in.’
I opened the door again.
‘Hey, you guys want to help me fuck Ann Coulter?’



Then we were all up on the pool table surrounding Ann Coulter. David was stationed by her head, Tim and John Cusack were at her either hand, and I was positioned familiarly between the backs of her legs as she crouched like a supplicant before me. Taking aim as I prepared to bust into her shit-shack with my splattering ram, looking at her slavering, pulsing crap valve, which for an instant seemed to wink at me like an old friend, I realized that from this angle, we’re all the same. Sure, some of us think the best way to confront terrorism is by falsifying grounds for war and creating the greatest recruitment drive for young men willing to die in the name of Islam since the Crusades, and some of us do not. Some of us advocate teaching ‘Intelligent Design’ in the classroom alongside Evolution and hope someday Astronomy classes will give the Bible teaching that the Earth is the center of the Universe equal time with the scurrilous notion that we actually orbit the Sun, and some of us do not. Some of us believe the poor and helpless in a civilized society are entitled to nothing more--and can benefit from nothing more--than contempt, and some of us do not. Some of us believe that a 13 year-old girl should be required to deliver the child of incestuous rape, and some of us do not. Some of us believe that if childbirth threatens her life, any doctor who ends her pregnancy is a murderer, and this fact should rightfully be brought to the attention of his children and their fourth grade classmates, and some of us do not. But when you get right down to it, and contemplate our assholes, we’re really all the same.
‘One thing before we get started,’ Ann Coulter said, pulling her hair back in a pony tail, ‘I don’t want to catch any of you life-partners holding hands while you’re stabbing me, OK?’
We all nodded in consent, and began tunneling.
For those of you who have never tried 5-person sex, it’s a little trickier than you might think. With the guest of honor buffeted at all sides, until everyone works in a kind of sync, it’s a little like trying to fuck a mechanical bull. I found myself wrenched out mid-stroke and made the mistake of satisfying my curiosity, glancing down at her ham-trap. It looked more like an exit wound than any baby-wallet I’d ever seen before. Was this a surgeon’s handiwork?
In an instant she kicked her heels up powerfully against my backside, and driving me forward, caught me again in her yawning fudge mine. I felt slightly seasick, but on either side of her David and I had achieved the sort of rhythm that allows two-man saw teams to do their work efficiently.
My head was spinning. I noticed all of us around Ann had kept our socks on, and wondered what that was about. I felt really weird doing this in front of my friends. Everyone kept their eyes to themselves, like men at the open urinal troughs in the Dodger Stadium bathrooms. I was thinking about how cool it was to have John Cusack over, and how much I liked Grosse Pointe Blank. Judging by the way he casually smoked a cigarette, I guessed he had sex this way all the time.
Ann Coulter was swaying in a gentle clockwise motion, accommodating all of the thrusts around her in a smooth sequence. She stopped suddenly and snapped at me over her shoulder.
‘Hey back there—fuck it like you dig chicks, wouldya sport?’
The guys snickered.
‘We can trade places if you’re not up to it,’ John Cusack sort of drawled disdainfully at me. Now I felt really uncomfortable.
‘He can do it,’ she half-mocked, half-defended me. ‘Now, I want you to turn my ass-snatch into a one-man mosh pit. Comprende?’
She went back to bouncing David’s scrotum off of her chin. With my renewed effort, the gentle circuit her body was making became quickened and jerky. She didn’t seem to mind, moaning in muffled pleasure like a mental deficient with too much cake in his mouth. She began to hum something familiar that caught our attention, especially David’s, since she was humming it on what he referred to as his "pink floyd." Tim began to sing along:
‘If it takes just a little while..open your heart, and look at the day,’ the rest of us joined in slowly, ‘you’ll see things in a different way. Don’t, Stop, thinking about tomorrow..’
She convulsed spasmodically in orgasm as our rendition grew louder. Over our chorus, Ann Coulter could be heard making horrible noises, like a pterodactyl being disemboweled.
‘It’ll soon be here. It’ll be better than before; yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone..’
With her whole body shuddering in paroxysms of ecstasy, the pace got really hectic. As she caromed wildly like a pinball caught between four double-bonus bumpers, I sensed things were about to get soupy.
‘Uhhhhhggg..yeah!’ David gasped triumphantly.
Along with him, Tim and John Cusack were nearing their own scrotum-lightening, Coulter-whitening experience. The terrific tempo at which she expertly beat them both made me think she could probably play the shit out of some bongos.

That’s when things began to go horribly wrong.

Ann Coulter’s slender frame, which had been so easily jostled between our various cum-muskets, suddenly became as fixed and immobile as Joe McCarthy’s tombstone. This was just registering in my mind when I heard David let out a high-pitched shriek. I looked up to see the terror on his face as suddenly he was being swung around, flailing helplessly like a stuffed animal in the mouth of a pit bull. Ann Coulter began to swell grotesquely, and she was suddenly a massive, armored confluence of rigid, steely muscle before me. She became covered with gruesome scales and sharp, bony protuberances. The air filled with a thunderous, guttural laugh, like a Shelby Cobra being gunned over and over. Her arms bulged powerfully and began to clench the penis in either hand with ungodly force. I watched in horror as Tim and John Cusack’s cocks burst in her hands, now taloned claws, like water balloons. They both, mercifully, passed out from either shock or pain. The beast that Ann Coulter had become clutched what remained of their genitals in either bloody hand like burst bladders. David was now hanging lifelessly from her maw, as though his skeletal structure had been sucked right out.
I tried to disengage but her heels, now burred hooves, again held me helplessly in place. Unthinkingly I screamed alternately for my mother and for Sweet Jesus as I became aware of something like a hand pulling me deep in the monster Ann Coulter's buttmouth, intent, and I felt sickly sure, capable of dragging me to the darkness within.



I awoke to the ringing of my telephone. I was sitting on my couch. Stump the Schwab was over, and Say Anything, starring John Cusack, was on. I began, with relief, to assemble my mind. I didn’t own a pool table. Tim was in Ireland. I hadn’t spoken to David in longer than I can remember. Redd Kross hadn’t put out an album in years. It was just a dream.
I rose to answer the persistent telephone.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Is this Bachem Macuno?’
‘Speaking,’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Look, I don’t have a mortgage to refinance; I don’t know how I got on this list.’
‘This is Ann Coulter.’
‘Is it?" I said, unsettled. "Well, hello again.’
‘What do you mean, "again," you booger-twiddling imbecile?’
‘I mean..we’ve met.’
‘You mean in your little story.’
‘Story? It was an account of our afternoon.’
‘Yes, I’ve read it. Just because you’re piteously insignificant doesn’t mean you’ve escaped my notice.’
‘Well, it’s just that you make it sound like it didn’t happen.’
‘It didn’t.’
‘Uh, you know perfectly well it happened, as do I, owing to the fact that we were both there.’
‘If you think I can’t know something perfectly well and continue to argue the opposite, you’ve not very familiar with my work. Anyway, maybe you just dreamed the whole thing.’
Something in her voice gave me a chill up my spine.
‘Hey, you’re free to regard the account however you wish.’
There was a considered pause.
‘I see you’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback,’ she conceded.
‘People have been probably over-generous, yes. Look, I’m not naïve; I know that has more to do with you than it does with me.’
‘It doesn’t matter what Liberals think. Two things they never remember to do. 1. Shut up. 2. Vote.’
‘That’s probably good news to people who misconstrue a 3% differential to be a mandate.’
‘Still, that praise has got to be pretty heady for a failed TV writer.’
‘I’m not a failed TV writer. I’m a failing TV writer. There’s a difference.’
‘They both make the same amount of money.’
‘Did you call for any particular reason?’
‘Did I wake you?’ she intoned knowingly.
‘Seriously. What do you want?’
‘I wondered if you watched the press conference last week.’
‘Yes, I did. Just, you know, to count how many times the leader of the free world said "nucular"’
‘You sneering elitists. It’s a regional thing. It’s just like the British saying ‘aluminium’’
"Actually, the British say ‘aluminium’ because they spell it ‘aluminium’. Is there a dictionary with ‘nucular’ in it that I don’t know about?"
‘Come on, it’s folksy.’
‘It’s not folksy, it’s put on for faux-shitkicker appeal. The guy went to prep schools and Yale, it’s not like he doesn’t know better. It’s his aw-shucks anti-intellectualism signal flare saying "Hey dumb people, vote for me!"’
‘I’ve got to tell you, this is some of the most low-caliber phone sex I’ve ever had.’
‘I didn’t realize that’s what we were doing.’
‘Well clue the fuck in. Do I have to put it in bold type on the cover of Mother Jones?’
‘Alright, alright..well, I did like the President’s energy plan. I think supplying China with energy efficient technology is a good idea.’
‘Yes?’
‘Sure, once we get some. Maybe we can trade them the technology we don’t have for the technology they do have, like the breakthroughs they’re making and patenting in stem cell research.’
‘Ah, you object to the "Culture of Life"?’ she said, intrigued.
‘Seems like yesterday it was the "Culture of Vengeance," bragging about all the mentally retarded people he executed.’
Her breathing quickened. ‘People of faith believe life, and stem cells, are sacred.’
‘It was a lot easier when scientists could just be burned as heretics, huh?’
‘Uhnnnggghh,’ she gurgled on the other end of the line.
‘Are you touching yourself?’
‘I’m tapping my clit like a telegraph operator on biker speed. Continue!’
‘Hey, I totally respect people of faith making that determination for themselves. If they really feel that way, I hope they have the courage of their convictions. I hope they will, on principle, suffer and die from conditions Stem Cell research will be able to address once the breakthroughs are made. I hope they have the courage to resist Stem Cell advances and watch their loved ones suffer and die, and stay true to their principles. Otherwise, they’re just busybodies killing time between complaint letters to the FCC about any instance of language stronger than "dang." Otherwise, they should put their time and energy into baking a nice Mind Your Own Business-cake, with delicious Shut the Fuck Up-frosting.’
‘Ahhhhrrgghh..’ she wheezed, ‘describe something degrading you’re doing to me.’
‘Ok, ok..I’m behind you with my dirty jockstrap pulled tight over your face and mouth like a bridle, and I’m yanking the waistband like reins.’
‘Yes! YES!’
‘I’m riding you over to the toilet..’
‘You can lead my horseface to water, but you can’t make me drink!’
‘Yes, but I can stick your head in the toilet and flush!’
‘Oh God! Oh GOD!!’
‘And I’m scrawling something on your ass with a sharpie.’
‘Uhhh..Ohhh..what are you writing?’
‘I’m writing..HILLARY IN 2008!!!’
She began huffing and grunting like a cow having a seizure. I could hear her strumming her clitoris like Earl Scruggs picking out Foggy Mountain Breakdown on the banjo. The sound of a woman having a tremendous climax is usually arousing to me, but I sat there in a grim mood, like I’d gotten bad news and was trying to grasp it. I waited, resigned, for her to regain her composure. She finally did.
‘Was it good for you?’ she said, catching her breath.
‘Not really.’
‘Good,’ she cackled. ‘You must really hate Conservatives, huh?’
‘Not really. I have close friends who are Conservatives. I’m not so threatened by people who disagree with me that I need to reduce them to cartoons to vilify, or hateful misrepresentations like Der Ewige Jude. There are people I disagree with that I respect quite a lot. Your shtick is calling anyone who disagrees with you to be shot for treason.’
‘Shtick?’
‘Well, you must know better. You’re just an entertainer. It’s a complicated world. If you can ease people’s confusion by presenting a preposterously oversimplified worldview where one side is all good and the other all evil, great for you. People don’t make the New York Times bestseller list writing considered, balanced analysis. People want an uncomplicated reality. There’s a nice living to be made in providing it to them. But I don’t think you really believe much of it, just like I doubt the Verizon guy walks around saying "Can you hear me now?" when he’s off-camera.’
‘I bet you think you’re pretty clever for a guy wearing cargo pants.’
‘I don’t think..how did you know what I’m wearing?’
‘Ha. What else would you be wearing?’
‘Look, you’ve had your fun. I’ve got to go.’
‘Fine. Go.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Wait, Bachem..’ she called. I returned the receiver to my ear.
‘Yes?’
‘Enjoy the movie. And tell Tim and David I said no hard feelings.’
I dropped the phone and my mouth fell open in a silent, breathless scream. I heard familiar peals of dark laughter booming through the room, as the ground swirled beneath me and fell away from my feet.

[Frank Hipper]

‘You can lead my horseface to water, but you can’t make me drink!’
‘Yes, but I can stick your head in the toilet and flush!’
‘Oh God! Oh GOD!!’

Truth be told, I got a little chubby reading that.

[Dalton]

Damien, you are a god amongst men.

[Galvatron]

I read that on another message board a couple of weeks ago. Still makes me laugh.

Hell, it's even arousing.

[Chmee]

Coulter's success isn't that hard to figure .... she just figured out that if a fat fuck like Rush could make a fortune telling scared halfwits who to blame for their lot in life, she could do even better on that scam because she's not a fat fuck.

But she and Rush make televangelists and gypsy fortune-tellers look like Franciscan monks on the ethics scale .... they're not just willing to do anything for a buck, they're willing to do anything for a buck no matter how damaging it is to the political culture of our country. They should be sharing a cell with Pollard.

[spikenigma]

I take it this is Ann Coulter? - conservative writer?

the story was disturbing and alluring in equal parts...

[Durandal]

Yes, that's her. She's a batshit lunatic.

But she and Rush make televangelists and gypsy fortune-tellers look like Franciscan monks on the ethics scale .... they're not just willing to do anything for a buck, they're willing to do anything for a buck no matter how damaging it is to the political culture of our country.

They're not just willing to do anything for a buck, they're willing to do it for a nickel, too.

[Illuminatus Primus]

She DOES have an Adam's Apple! Holy shit!

[Flakin]

I'm trying not to stare at it.... but i'd swear it's staring at me!!!

[Elfdart]

She's a MAN Baby!

[Admiral Valdemar]

That was the most amazing article using sex and politics combined with questions of current affairs. Brilliant.