September 30, 2007: I Stink Therefore I Am, Polythene Ann, False Pearls Before Real Swine

“I Think Therefore I Am”—Renee Des Cartes, eighteenth century French philosopher and mathematician.

“I Stink Therefore I Am”---George W. Bush, early twenty-first century American president and hopeless idiot.

“You should see polythene Ann
She’s so good-looking that she looks like a man
You should see her in drag
Dressed in that polythene bag
Yes, you should see polythene Ann”—The Beatles (sort of)

Ann Coulter is a banshee from Hell, a venomous vixen with a penchant for turning even the most heated boilerplate into a veritable witches’ brew of ignorance, invective and intolerance. Perhaps the Cons think that the leggy blonde puts an attractive face on their putrid agenda, but no matter how offensive she continues to make the circuit of television talk shows spewing her venom in every direction like a paranoid cobra on bad acid. She loves to rabbit on about how the ‘godless’ liberals ‘hate’ America, and how the widows of those who died in the twin towers on 911 are playing for sympathy to further a political agenda. Lately her diatribes have taken sexual overtones as in calling Bill Clinton a closet homosexual and John Edwards a faggot. Clearly there is only one position with this conservative missionary.

One must approach Ann with gloves on for she bites and bites easily. One must approach her much the same as the male Praying Mantis approaches the female in their ritual mating dance. He knows that she will quite literally bite his head clean off after he has copulated with her, so he distracts her. He brings her trinkets, small pieces of tin foil will do, something with little value that glitters and will hold her attention. Once distracted, he moves quickly behind her, mounts her, finishes and then gets free and makes good his escape before she turns on him and literally eats him alive. So one imagines it is with Ann. Present her with a few long dead economic ideas, something pungent enough to attract her attention, mesmerize her with images of sweat shops, and one can have one’s way with her, if only for a few brief moments. One of the consequences of such liaisons is that it requires a certain level of promiscuity. One imagines that more than a few good men have lost their heads over Ann. She has, then, become quite a depository of arcane conservative and Neo-con ideas, useless trinkets which, for some perverse reason, she feels compelled to foist upon the unwashed. A feminine Johnny Appleseed walking the landscape sewing kudzu wherever she goes; casting false pearls before real swine.