The World O' Crap Archive

Welcome to the Collected World O' Crap, a comprehensive library of posts from the original Salon Blog, and our successor site, (2006 to 2010).

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Friday, January 28, 2011

June 23, 2006 by s.z.

Okay, you were right — our Mystery Author WAS Ann Coulter. (The first quote was from an interview she gave to Human Events Online, the second was from her latest column.)
So, yeah, when Ann called the 9/11 widows “witches”, and said that they were taking pleasure in their husbands’ deaths, she was motivated by her Christian faith.  And when she added “And by the way, how do we know their husbands weren’t planning to divorce these harpies? Now that their shelf life is dwindling, they better hurry up and appear in Playboy,” she was just doing it for Jesus. 
Anyway, as a reward for your fine efforts in identifying Ann despite my attempts at misdirection, here are a few quotes from a very annoying Esquire Feature Story. (The piece is a valentine to Ann from one of those ”lifelong lefties” who doesn’t believe in any liberal positions, and who thinks Ann makes a lot of good points.  The middle-aged author takes Ann to a ball game, and claims to find Ann funny, intelligent, charming and hot.  I guess Esquire, having lost the horny young guy market to Maxim, is trying to capture the old, right-wing, crazy guy niche.)
But on to the quotes:

I’ve brought a single pale-pink rose for her. And I’m nervous as hell.“A rose!” she squeals. “Oh, thank you!”
She seems honestly tickled. Her voice is girlish, her smile wide, her eyes bright and blue-green. She’s wearing tight jeans, a light top not far from the shade of my rose, and a small cross on a chain ’round her narrow, well-scrubbed neck. Into her forties now, she looks a smooth ten years younger.
Personally, I was kind of touched by the mention of Ann’s neck being “well-scrubbed.” I guess Ann tried to wash away her Adam’s apple for this “date.”
“You know, if I wrote about how all sex is rape, if I were Elizabeth Wurtzel writing about Prozac, or Naomi Wolf, I would have been on the cover of every one of these magazines. They pretend to write about serious things while putting chicks in short skirts on their covers. I’ve written three nonfiction best-sellers and I’ll put on a miniskirt for them. But no. No. I don’t exist.” 
If only. 
And yes, it really is sad the way the media totally ignores Ann and her serious, profound works, and so she only gets the cover of TIME — while super models who actually look good in their mini dresses get to be on the covers of the men’s magazines.
“You’ve never been married, have you?” I ask.
“No,” Ann says. “I want to, but it has to be the right guy.”“
“And even then,” I say, “it’s never a walk in the park.”
In the glum, awkward silence that follows—unless you’re either Dr. Phil or planning to propose, talking about marriage with an unmarried forty-year-old woman is not a good idea—I fish a Commit lozenge from my pocket and pop it.
“Nicotine,” I explain.
She fairly shrieks.
I’m sure she does.
But let’s take a moment to reflect on that glum, awkward moment that arose when the Equire writer mentioned marriage within the hearing of sad old-maid Ann (who is, BTW, closer to 50 than 40). Yes, let’s all shed a tear for poor Ann, who really, really wants to get married and get out of the spotlight, and devote her life to having babies and making cookies and such, but she just hasn’t found the right guy.  THAT’s the problem.
“I have two patches on right now—and Nicorette gum in my purse! I quit last October and I don’t feel any better—no better whatsoever. Plus, it’s like a miracle drug. When you’re upset, it calms you down.”
“That’s the fundamental problem with the war on drugs,” I say. “They work so well.”
“I keep haranguing doctors, demanding that they admit to me that this is just another Alar scare. Remember Alar on apples? This is going to pass, and then they’ll admit it was never bad. I keep cigarettes around—in case there’s a nuclear attack and I know I only have a few days to live, I’m just gonna sit there and smoke.”
And then after she dies, she’s gonna sit there and smoke for a really long time.  (As the title of a novel put it, Everyone Smokes in Hell.)
But I think that Ann should hook up with John Stossel (in a professional sense, I mean — I don’t want to gross you out this early in the morning) and write a book about how smoking is actually good for you, but the medical profession, in league with the liberal media and government, don’t want you to know this.  They could do it for Jesus.  

26 Responses to “Christianity Fuels Everything Ann Coulter Writes”

Can Ann Coulter EVER get through a whole day without lying?
Oops. let me try that again:
That writer is clearly blind as well as stupid, because he referred to Ann as “bosomy.”
It really says something about men in the “liberal” media that all their articles about her gush endlessly about what a fun date she is. Apparently this is their idea of a dream girl. Who knew there were so many sick, sad men in the press corps.
”A rose!” she squeals.
She fairly shrieks.
I’m not sure I can explain why*, but those two bits made my skin crawl like a colony of army ants.
*OK, OK, I certainly could, but then I’d be going on all day.
This sort of journalism is another example of contrarianism for the sake of contrarianism, just like the TIME piece. The author sees that everyone hates Ann, so he decides to put a neat twist on it and talk about how wonderful she really is.
I have two patches on right now—and Nicorette gum in my purse! I quit last October
If you’re still using a patch AND gum nine months after you “quit” smoking, you didn’t really quit – you just changed the method you use to get your nicotine fix.
Ann fairly queals: I have two patches on right now—- and Nicorette gum in my purse! I quit last October and I don’t feel any better—- no better whatsoever. Plus, it’s like a miracle drug. When you’re upset, it calms you down.
Reassuring, in a way, to see her acknowledge that she’s on drugs and likes it that way. Perhaps a Soma holiday could be arranged, and we’ll all benefit.
But I’m inclined to wonder why she undertook to quit smoking in the first place, and tempted to infer that she felt badly– perhaps a vague tightness in the chest– and thinks there must be an external cause, i.e., something she ate or otherwise ingested.
Look in your heart, Ann, look in your heart.
And it’s tempting to point out that Ann’s ailments can be most easily treated by the simple folk remedy of passing a warm automobile over her chest, but as one who has “chased the Camel” for years, I applaud her efforts to quit. At least she’s knocked off the smoking part, and that’s where the lung damage comes from.
But the whole idea of the patch– they come in different dosage strengths– is to administer transdermally a steadily decreasing dosage of the drug over the space of a few weeks, until the drug’s hold is weakened to the point that you can strip off the patch and nobody gets hurt, if you know what I mean, and my co-workers do.
But bumping the dosage upward until a year later you’re wearing a pair of them (I assume the 21 mG strength), and chasing it with gum, is just really, really fucked up.
Christ, and then she blew off the Esquire writer and went for drinks with Matt Drudge after the ball game. Woo-hoo, what a floozy.
Funny how the Christian Coulter is never seen in church.
Okay, someone’s gonna have to bite the bullet and marry her. It’s gonna have to be a good looking liberal guy, too. Good looking because she’s still delusional enough to think she’s pretty, and isn’t going to settle for anything less. And liberal because she obviously needs someone to spew her garbage at to get her PC Outrage fix. (Otherwise, I’d just be trying to brainwash Tucker Carlson into marrying her.)
It won’t be fun, but whoever it is, you’ll have the thanks of the entire rational community.
You don’t have to have kids with her (and I wouldn’t recommend it). You just need to make her move to Texas or something and get together with her doctor to have her involuntarily committed.
I suggest all the good looking, single straight liberal men out there start drawing straws. Someone’s gotta do it, boys. And no swearing you’re queer just to get out of it.
D Sidhe writes: I suggest all the good looking, single straight liberal men out there start drawing straws.
Whyn’t she marry that guy from Esquire magazine? It’s clear he’s in thrall of what Klingons call s’chwing, “the small warrior suddenly made wood.”
Who the hell wants her spawning?! I want her eggs DONE.
We’ve had enough of her bait and switch morality. Imagaine the 2020′s when she and Bill Coulter Maher Jr. show up in the media for all the world like Lucianne and Jonah, or worse Midge and her unaborted fetuses?
Vosburg says, Look in your heart, Ann.
There’s a problem with that.
And no swearing you’re queer just to get out of it.
Hee! I planned so far ahead on this one, it isn’t even funny.
True, I’m a lifelong lefty…but I’m also a fiftysomething dad in a leafy north-Jersey suburb, paying property taxes out the ying and fretful about the next shoe bomb dropping.
Ah, yes, the evil Leftist conspiracy that is property taxes, which are (I don’t know specifically about Jersey) generally set by the smallest, hence most democratically-elected, taxing bodies that hold power over the individual, and which tend to go 95% for things like schools, fire protection, hospitals, and libraries. Just the sort out outrage to turn the lifelong lefty stark raving Randian.
And the next shoe bombing, well, there’s nothing provokes blind terror like an urban legend that would require at least ten seconds online to dispell.
Hoffmania notes the “she was only kidding” spin in the LA Times, which also pulls the “they hate her because she’s so beautiful” line as well. It’s…an astonishing read.
Hey, Ann! You should just start smoking again. Smoke all day long, and show those liberal so-called “doctors” just how full of b.s. they really are! Just think what a laugh you’ll have on them when you live to be, oh, I dunno, really really old. C’mon! This one’s a no-brainer!
And remember this tip from Viz comics: “Avoid the expense of nicotine gum by simply chewing a piece of regular gum whilst smoking a cigarette.”
I haven’t read Everybody Smokes In Hell, but highly recommendLove Is A Racket, also by John Ridley.
As to Ann, I say “Sorry, John Stossel, she’s taken… by Mickey Kaus.”
She seems more taken with herself.
Though mAnn may have cut back on or stopped smoking, evidently she’s still hooked on nicotine. Quitting smoking is not a guarantee of future good health. My own biological mother, whose personality was quite Coulterish (and I’ll leave it at that) smoked four packs of cigarettes a day for nearly forty years. She quit–no small endeavor, to be sure–after being diagnosed with emphysema. Which killed her anyway, twenty years later.
Can’t we all just imagine the nuptials of Coulter-Yutz/Vanderbilt IV/Whomever–oy gevalt!–written up in the NYT “Vows” section? The nominal bride will be garbed in a Vera Wang low-cut strapless white silk gown that reveals enough razor-sharp skeleton to slash through the garments of anyone foolish enough to hug Bridezilla.
The bridal registry will feature quite an assortment of heavy Steuben glass ashtrays, ice bowls, a full array of cocktail and wine glasses, and sterling silver ice tongs and “letter openers.” (Watch your back!)
The reception, at say, The Hudson Institute, would feature androgynous actor/model/whatever waitstaff attired in Coulter signature-style skimpy black cocktail dresses. The Skeletors will circulate with silver trays of cucumber or watercress sandwiches on crustless Wonder Bread. However, the main attraction for the thirsty guests will be the bountifully stocked bar, needed to survive the toasts proffered by numerous gasbags who adore the sound of their own voices.
Any scramble for the bouquet-tossing most likely would be motivated by impecunious House and Hill staffers, think-tank drones, or journalists who hope to sell mAnn’s posies for a tidy sum on eBay.
The honeymoon will take place in a hotel suite, secretly equipped with state-of-the-art bugging, in Phuket. Supermarket tabloids subsequently will engage in a bidding war for the furtively obtained photos, audiotapes and videotapes, and anecdotes furtively obtained by Thai jailbait of both genders. Despite the anticipation, there’s not much–yaaaaawn!–to hear.
And as for sending thank-you notes? Ha ha ha ha.
And Tim Burton could film the whole thing. Oh wait, I think did already.
This is sad. You’re cruel.
bwahahah etc.
D. Sidhe: Make sure he’s sterile. I dread to think what kind of mother Ann would be (especally if it were a girl). I have a feeling Ann would want her future offspring to be from her loins and probably wouldn’t adopted so there’s still a chance for the rest of us to rest easier.
as one who has “chased the Camel” for years, I applaud her efforts to quit. At least she’s knocked off the smoking part, and that’s where the lung damage comes from.
And you see this as a good thing?
Wow. Thanks for such a great post!

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