Ann Coulter: A Retort
Recently in Nigeria some 200 schoolgirls were abducted by—surprise!—an Isalamist militant organization. Shocking, because you would think that a radical Islamist militant organization would hardly have the time what with their busy schedule of community bake sales and frequent sodomization of young boys and goats alike, but they somehow managed to squeeze this in.
And now they are threatening to sell those girls into slavery, by which they don’t mean housekeeping duties at Donald Sterling’s home—no, they mean real-deal sex slavery a la weekends at R Kelly’s Chicagoland mansion. And while you may not think this story an occasion for comedy, Ann Coulter sure does!
Because if you didn’t know, her recent cry for attention was to post a photo of herself holding a sign that reads “bring back our country” instead of “bring back our girls,” the social media campaign to bring awareness to the plight of those girls.
And guys, I know it’s been said before, but it bears repeating: Ann Coulter is a miserable skank and she looks like Iggy Pop in drag. Way to take advantage of 200 innocent Nigerians in order to promote your insipid brand of narcissistic politics. Here’s hoping she ends up in the passenger seat of a Lamborghini Gallardo driven by Chris Brown. All Rihanna ever did was sing a few shitty songs and dress like a desperate hooker—meanwhile Ann Coulter sees the abduction and subsequent rape of 200 schoolgirls as an opportunity to sell a few more copies of her books to her fan base of inbred, diabetic slack-jawed hicks who find trenchant political insight in an aging, sun-blasted hag who’s swallowed more conservative Republican cum than Michelle Bachman’s husband.
In sum, the next time Ann Coulter wants to insert herself into an international news story, she might instead consider being a little compassionate and a little less willing to use the plight of 200 Nigerian schoolgirls as a platform to repeat the same worn-out platitudes about America’s dissolution at the hands of Socialists and more of an opportunity to go fuck herself before imagining that we would ever like to hear another vapid opinion spew from her weathered, dick-dry lips.