ifuckedanncoulterintheasshard.blogspot.com
I Fucked Ann Coulter in the Ass, Hard Sunday, April 24, 2005 The Farmers Market on Fairfax and 3rd is a Los Angeles landmark, attract ing tourists and everyday Angelinos alike, as well as many famous faces. Among the celebrities I have seen there are Muhammad Ali, Terri Garr, T yra Banks, Laura Linney, Keenan Ivory Wayans, the guitarist for The Cult , Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, and Weird Al Yankovic. But Ann Coulter is the only celebrity Ive ever spotted at Farmers Marke t that I wound up fucking in the ass, hard. It would be fair to observe that my feeling obligated to present the list of celebrities above in roughly Black-White-Black-White order is indica tive of my own carefully Liberal sensibilities. And that this sort of co nscientiousness is more than a little ridiculous, on examination. But wh at I notice about myself only on reflection, Ann Coulter seemed to recog nize and respond to in an instant, like a puma recognizes an injured gis elle. I first spotted her sitting at a table in front of The Gumbo Pot with ano ther woman who looked not unlike her, but a generation older (I neglecte d to ask her at any point subsequently whether this had in fact been her mother). I vaguely recognized hertheres always a lag time placing fac es you know from cable when unconfined to a telescreenand began to noti ce, stealing furtive glances up from the copy of Steinbeck I was reading , that she was eyeing me with unsettling scrutiny. Its a fantastic primer for vacuous proto-Communists everywhere, she sa id dismissively. I dont have enough ink in my pen to keep a running list of what you dont know. Ann Coulter evidently takes an unappreciative v iew of small talk. That she was eager to continue antagonizing me became evident when I re-opened my recently-insulted book to resume reading. Youre probably too high to remember that, so write it down--if you ca n write. He looked at her with dismay and scampered away like a kicked cat. What do you think of the war: complete success, or very nearly complete success? Well, in no timebarring the strong possibility of Civil War--well have a democratically-elected anti-US Islamicist government in charge of the worlds second-largest oil reserves, so Id have to say only very-nearl y, on the complete success scale, at a hysterically distorted best. I think that Support Our Troops business is the most crass, craven cow ardice ever to go unquestioned by the allegedly Liberal media. It allows the Administration to absolve itself of responsibility for its own flawed policy. Its no different than if you sent a classroom of 2n d graders into a burning building, and when anyone objects you throw in their face that they "dont support our 2nd graders" Where do you live? I was thinking youd have half-burned American flags up on the wall, sh e said, disappointed. Whatever you think that means, she said, rolling her eyes. Dont you h ave anything nasty to say about the President? Like hes an imbecile, or corrupt, or a corrupt imbecilethe usual sore- loser bitter chatter. To be honest, I didnt like the nasty things that were said about Clinto n, and Ive decided to have respect for the Office, no matter who holds it. I dont think President Bush is corrupt or an imbecile anyway. I think maybe this was a mistake, she said, starting to go. Thats not to say I dont disagree strongly with many of his policies an d objectives. With every point I expressed that ran counter to a view she held, she rem oved one article of clothing. Soon she sat on my couch naked, gently pul ling at her untrimmed pubic hair, staring intently but not quite invitin gly at me. The growing hard lump in my throat was just outpaced by the o ne in my pants. I was a little nervous because we had agreed on the last two pointsthe need to reconsider the option of nuclear energy, and dri lling in the Arcticand I noticed her oversized nipples were no longer h ard. What do you think, she began provocatively, of the Presidents plan to privatize Social Security? this was as sure a promise to seal the deal as her asking if I had a condom. I think its a payoff to the Americans the President has always been mos t intent on pleasing: the richest 1%. She pushed me backwards and po sitioned my legs up in the air. A stocks value is even now only partially tied to the actual value of a ny publicly traded company. But whos going to profit from inflated valu ations when stock prices swell irrationally from the forced, artificial injection of capital? Her breath was hot on my taint as she lifted my scrotum. You might as well shoehorn billions of dollars into the Baseball Card ma rket. The price of a Derek Jeter rookie will be driven up to hundreds of thousands of dollarsbefore the bubble bursts and the whole market cras hes massively. It was getting hard to stay on point as she tongue-fucke d my shitter vigorously. The top 1% will sell stocks at the inflated valuations to the novice inv estors-by-necessity, the market will swell and crash, and the same 1% wi ll come back and re-purchase their holdings at pennies on the dollar. Me anwhile, Social Security will go bankrupt and all the novice investors w ill be eating catfood for the duration of their "golden years,' barring a massive Federal bailout several hundred times in excess of what the S avings & Loan scandal cost us. She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at m e She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. I spit on my skeezer-pleaser and, prying her ass cheeks apart like a hot dinner roll, drove it home, into the biggest browneye I had ever seen. Every thrust of my babymaker was met with a wren ched squeal as I grabbed her by the hips and began really leaning into i t Harder! dont really agree with much of his stance on Israel, and-- Youre slowing down! I went back to punishing her asshole, giving no thought whatsoever to com passionate conservatism as her chocolate socket gnawed on my pork pipe. My pace quickened as my man-magma b uilt towards eruption. she gasped, sensing the fuse on my yogurt cannon was burning quic k I want to take you ass-to-mouth! I withdrew from her puckerhole with an audible pop and she scrambled ar ound, gulping at my wang-dang-doodle as though the lives of all her love d ones hinged on her marks for enthusiasm. Her eyes rolled up pleadingly as she threw her head down again and again on my magic johnson. There is a specter haunting Europe, I began, and she started to convuls e spasmodically with her own thrashing orgasm, her head now dribbling in a blur against my groin. I repeated every Karl Marx quote I could think of until I reached my own historic inevitability and launched surge a fter surge from my hairy boda bag. I ejaculated with what seemed like en ough force to blow out the back of her head--but her head was made of st ronger stuff. She sputtered, gobbled and gulped what Id have to call a very liberal, even radically so, quantity of hot splooey. Once she caught her breath, she wiped her mouth, stood, and took me by th e hand. Her tone was that of someone reminding another of something too obvious to need mention. Uh, so I can get in the tub and you can piss all over me? Youve really got a gift for tedious small talk, she shot back. I was a little hurt and, recognizing this, she softened just a shade as s he reached for her purse to leave. She let herself out without another word, and I sat in the late afternoon silence alone. I considered how it felt to be a disposable instrument i n someones personal debasement fantasy.
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