Monday, March 07, 2005

You just knew it would come to this--A Political Rant

I'll give you gun control!
I tried to read a column by that transgendered republican dish Ann Coulter, but was suckerpunched by her complete lack of logic and coherence. Therefore, I thought I'd spend a few moments slandering her the way she does her opponents. Please be aware that this is by no means a definitive list of her short-comings, but it's a start. I mean, there are books and books of websites and websites that go deeper into the subject than I would ever attempt. I think I'd have an aneurysm if I tried... but for now, my illogical attack at an illogical person--my open letter to Ann Coulter,

My dearest Love Chunks,
So we meet again o' nemesis to end all nemesi--how I've longed for a chance to kiss your hairy lips again; to listen to that sweet harpy's voice; to bask in the glow of your 60-watt moon.
How long has it been? 50, 60 years, and you still look the same as the day I left--barefoot, pregnant with satan's lovechild, and of african-american descent. It explains your clear grasp of facts and logic--qualities that permeate your very well thought-out, not at all filled with lies or anger or venom, columns.
I remember that time you bent over in my presence and let out the most lady-like of moist poofs, expelling a delectable scent of bacon, oats and clam chowder; manhattan-style chowder, of course, red and spicy and flowery like a dutch flower shop on a 90-degree winter day. Was it the lilac scent or your shrill voice that drew me in? Oh what does it matter, so long as I was drawn--and drawn was I.
As I plunged my head deep into the murky depths of your fish taco, and tongued the depths of your sea (dig the metaphors), I met someone I thought I'd never see: spongebob in the flesh. Obviously his gay agenda had instilled the queer into you, and lo, I thought I could fight it, but I had no idea he'd bring along his friends tinky-winky, ariel (that slutty mermaid from the isle of lesbos), and ernie, but not bert (sthpoiled sthport). It was more than one man could handle, coupled with your shrill siren song: the "it's raining men/rocketman/do you think I'm sexy" medley... and that voice!
So where was I? Ah yes, I remember like it was yesterday! The sights, the sounds, the gay. You act so coy, so unconcerned with the plight of the gay man and woman, but all it takes is one look at the enormous package under your mumu, and at all the sea creatures that inhabit your trouser cobra to know that you're fighting yourself when you criticize your kind... and I wish you wouldn't.
please Ann, accept yourself-- you are a beautiful big black woman. scream to the heavens: "I love myself, I love Jesus and I love you! But most of all, I want muslim spunk! It's too late for me to be a virgin waiting in heaven--give me that spunk while we're still on earth Kareem Abu Mohammed! Oh geez, I just want to lick you like O'Reilly's falafel!"
And only then, when you accept yourself, will you truly be happy. It's been awhile since I've been wrapped in your serpentine arms, or had you from behind, ripping and pulling at your medusine locks, and I only await a sign from you saying you no longer are repulsed by who you are. Can you do that? Can you accept yourself for who you are, Ann(abama)? Can we sit on the porch drinking sweet-tea and reminiscing about lynchings back in a simpler time--the good old days when women, minorities and other unmentionables knew their places (in their own damn countries, unless we stole their land, which means "under the sea-cha cha cha-under the sea!)? I sit here awaiting your response with baited breath. Please be mine... again. singe the hair from my eyebrows with sweet citrus flatulence, like back when we were in love.
your one true love,
ps. call me ;-l()>, or take a lick from my sword l;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;> (please note the serrated edge, ribbed for her pleasure--meowwww).