stop stop stop stop please stop
The link for
this post is completely wrong to read at work. No pictures, just great text, but
still. Be warned.
I first spotted her [Ann Coulter] 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.
Yes, this is a page that mixes pornographic images of Ann Coulter and her puckered joyhole with blistering defenses of liberal policy.
I first spotted her [Ann Coulter] 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.
Yes, this is a page that mixes pornographic images of Ann Coulter and her puckered joyhole with blistering defenses of liberal policy.
Who else but Wonkette would release this to
Western Civilization?
Posted: Thu - April 28, 2005 at 08:39 AM
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Published On: Apr 28, 2005 08:39 AM
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Published On: Apr 28, 2005 08:39 AM