Fiction

Interview with an Interview with Ann Coulter

As I picked up a recent copy of Time magazine (April 25, 2005), I casually stroked the middle buttons of my fly with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand and realized that I was unquestionably terrified of this issue’s cover girl: Ann Coulter. The anti-lock function on my bravery to confront life had given out, and I was immediately seized by the inability to perform even the most perfunctory of motor skills beyond gently massaging the delicate lambskin of my penis through a dual layer of khakis and cotton. That’s when it hit me: I am a coward.

My cowardice did not stem from the familiar, fear-by-numbers palette of your assiduously compartmentalized and rigidly defined, typical 21st century, urban late 20-something, ex-jock, Asian-American, male writer with eczema and an inexplicable affinity for elephants and jazz. No, that old label as a rational justification will not work here, my friend.

My fear was not clearly definable, for I was not afraid of Ann Coulter, per se; I was afraid of what I would do to her. I realized that if I ever shared public space with this woman, I would be unable to fight the knee-jerk reaction of soiling myself and using my bare hand to smear a Dotted Highway Stripe of Dookie right down the center of her fucking face.

And I find such a loss of control espoused with the delicious pleasure that this despicable act would bring me to be a frightening notion.

So I came to the conclusion that the closest I would ever allow myself to come to any level of interaction with this woman would be to have an interview with the Time magazine interview with Ann Coulter.

As happens with I read interviews with/articles on celebs that thrive on propagating easily digestible bits of sociopolitical pornography, I am never satisfied with the reality. I feel the incessant need to indulge myself in my own fantasy. So, once I dropped my pants to my ankles and grabbed my favorite bottle of Bath and Body French Vanilla Lotion, I was rock-hard-pressed not to indulge my lascivious predilections beyond the diaphanous fabric of reality. Please forgive me.

This particular article was done both tastefully and assertively by journalist John Cloud, and Coulter’s actual quoted responses are marked here in italics. I have denoted my dangerously non-contextualized, and completely fictitious Ann Coulter responses in regular, non-italicized, type in order to distance them from the putrid, bile-drenched nonsense that has been immortally recorded as actually having been said by this pathetic mess of an attention-starved, sycophantic, political dilettante with low self-esteem.
Excuse me while I squirt a bit of said lotion on my hand.

me: Ann, thanks for coming.
Ann Coulter: Absolutely, Edward, the pleasure is mine.
me: Let’s see if we can change that. In his recent Time magazine article, John Cloud asked if you enjoy attacking others and being attacked.
a.c.: They’re terrible people, liberals. They believe—this can really summarize it all—these are people who believe … you can deliver a baby entirely except for the head, puncture the skull, suck the brains out and pronounce that a constitutional right has just been exercised. That really says it all. You don’t want such people to like you!
me: What kind of people do you want to like you?
a.c.: Women who have been impregnated by rapists with no resources to raise a child. Oh, and those really hot guys that murder people walking into abortion clinics! I definitely want to party with those guys, I bet they’re totally nuts!
me: That would probably be an accurate classification, yes. Some people find your tendencies to see things in shortsighted, divisive, and absolute terms to be dangerous, given the fact that you tout yourself as a political intellectual but seem to conduct yourself like an entertainer. How do you respond to that?
a.c.: We’ve got to attack France!
me: Let’s move on. John Cloud also noted that you once wrote that court-ordered school-desegregation plans have led to ‘illiterate students knifing one another between acts of sodomy in the stairwell.’ Now, is this to say that these things are tied to race?
a.c.: Absolutely! Black people can’t read! That’s why they commit sodomy. Gay people can’t read either, see that’s what you American-hating liberals don’t seem to understand.
me: You’re going to have to help me with the logic here.
a.c.: See, what pisses me off is when people don’t get the punch line.
me: Right, in this article, you expressed a concern over ‘punchlines’ where Cloud notes your response when your editor suggests cutting lines to save space in your column.
a.c.: I’ll ask him ‘But is it funny?’ And if he says it’s funny, I’ll cut an actual fact [instead].”
me: That methodology as a political columnist doesn’t disturb you at all?
a.c.: Most of what I say, I say to amuse myself and amuse my friends. I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about anything beyond that.
me: Don’t you think that could be construed as dangerous or misleading?
a.c.: Oh, you liberals are so dumb …
me: … I’m sorry, was that in reference to anything in particular?
a.c.: Next question.
me: Actually, I’d like to talk a bit more about race. I’ll even throw you a timely topic and wait for your arbitrary connection: airline security.
a.c.: I wrote a column last year where I said this: Like many of you, I carefully reviewed the lawsuits [alleging bias] against the airlines in order to determine which airlines had engaged in the most egregious discrimination, so I could fly only those airlines … Imagine the great slogans the airlines could use: ‘Now Frisking All Arabs—Twice!’ ‘You Are Now Free to Move About the Cabin—Not So Fast, Mohammed!’
me: According to this interview, you say that racial profiling makes sense when Muslims have committed virtually all the terrorist attacks against Americans for the past 25 years.
a.c.: Yes, and all Hispanics have been migrant workers at some point in their lives, what’s your point?
me: According to the U.S. Army’s own Terrorist Timeline, since 1961, globally, only 33 of 137 recorded instances of terrorism were perpetrated upon American targets by groups with Islamic ties, that’s a bit less than 25%.
a.c.: I’m sorry, I’m not too good with numbers. What are you saying?
me: Hang in there, this is a compound thought. Of the 41 officially recognized acts of terrorism against American targets in the last 25 years, only 13 have been linked to Islamic organizations, which equates to 31%; which in your estimation is ‘virtually all’? Is that correct?
a.c.: One does not a pattern make.
me: … what’s that?
a.c.: Everyone throws the Timothy McVeigh thing around like it’s the rule, well it’s not, it’s the exception, and so to that I say, ‘One does not a pattern make.’
me: But there are also many other exceptions, so much so that they become the rule.
a.c.: You hydrogen-breathing liberals and you’re adherence to ‘facts’ … you make me sick. Who else has gone after American targets?
me: Well, the Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement, The National Liberation Army, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, and other politically motivated groups based out of Central and South America have been quite active in terrorist activities as well.
a.c.: Yeah, well, when I say ‘Muslims’ in reference to terrorism, I mean all brown people.
me: This article also states that during a reception for the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC), you were quoted as saying, ‘Liberals are about to become the last people to figure out that Arabs lie.’
a.c.: Man, you’re going to hold me to that? I was so drunk, we were in Vegas! Am I on Candid Camera, here? I thought whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?!
me: No, that’s Cancun .
a.c.: CANCÚN ! OMG! I love, Cancún! They’ve got great brown people down there! And Señor Frog’s? Forget about it.
me: Getting back to an irrational respect for ‘facts,’ you are also quoted in this article as saying—
a.c.: I think I can save you some time … the one error liberals have produced is that I was wrong when I said the N.Y.T. [New York Times] didn’t mention Dale Earnhardt’s death on the front page the day after his death. There have been novels and Broadway plays written about Ann Coulter’s one mistake—
me: Really?
a.c.: Yeah, my friend is working on them, anyway … the Times article did begin: ‘His death brought a silence to the Wal-Mart.’
me: But in this interview, Jim Cloud goes on to say that actually the article didn’t start that way.
a.c.: Well, he’s wrong. I know how the article started.
me: Ann, I’m looking at an archived copy of that article right now, and it doesn’t open with any mention of Wal-Mart.
a.c.: [To the waiter:] Another Chardonnay, please.
WAITER: Glass or bottle, ma’am?
[She gives the waiter a look that could retard him for life.]
WAITER: Bottle.
a.c.: You liberals are completely out of touch with the rest of America, you think New York and California are representative of the rest of this country, well let me tell you something, they are not. This is a large land, the greatest land in the world, and it is bigger than New York and California. Period.
me: You were raised in …
a.c.: New Canaan , Connecticut.
me: And you currently reside in Manhattan , correct.
a.c.: Duh!
me: And have you ever lived in the Midwest ?
a.c.: Where? Ha ha, just kidding. I know where you’re talking about, the ‘flyovers.’ Look, you double-talking, Satan-worshipping, crab-walking, plastic-tumbler-stacking, emu-breeding, postage-stamp-licking liberals can try to slam me as much as you want. However, the honest to God truth is this: You love my legs, and you’re all just too cowardly to admit it.
me: Actually, Ann, I’m repulsed by your legs. And I’m a very vulnerable leg fetishist. Very vulnerable.

As I dozed off to dreamland, I felt the smallest pang of regret; the regret of a coward. I had taken it too easy on her in my imaginary interview, and her juvenile barbs had proven correct, for although I knew what I had to do at the moment of ejaculatory truth; I had proven myself to be just another liberal pansy who wouldn’t stand up for himself on the playground. For the playground is Coulter’s battlefield, and in my moment of repugnant ecstasy, I had recoiled at the last possible instance and refused to perform the most juvenile act imaginable in reciprocation to Coulter’s adolescent persona; I did not expunge my seed on the photo of her as a young girl, her maw unabashedly agape.

‘Ah well, that’s why America is wonderful,’ was my last conscious thought before sleep, ‘We live in a land of opportunity, where with the sunrise comes another opportunity to overcome one’s fear. Tomorrow is always another chance to come in Ann Coulter’s adolescent mouth.’