Coulter Unhinged

The best parodies are only one degree removed from reality. I think this qualifies:

The battle lines were drawn. Ann was facing an unambiguously smug opponent. Suddenly she was Dick Nixon staring down the haughty East Coast establishment. She wasn’t going to skulk away to some backroom to plot revenge, then deny responsibility, though. A liberal Democrat with balls, a threat to national security, was standing in her crosshairs. It was time to unload a bunker buster.

“Thanks for the explanation, Justice Ruth Bader Lezbo, but guess what?” she taunted. “It’s not a law. A rule, yes,” she puffed on her cigarette, “but not a law.” Hannity snickered. Colmes looked terrified – and aroused.

The waitress laughed. “You actually think that insulting me is going to work?”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t take what I say so seriously. I’m sure you’ve laid all kinds of dirtbags in your day. You know, we should get you down to Gitmo. The prisoners down there would love a whore like you.”

I had to say something. “Ann, we can please go someplace else? I think it’s a little unfair to expect the restaurant to let us smoke.” I used “us” because, frankly, I was too scared to challenge her directly.

“Fine. Let me put this out first.” For a split second, I thought Ann had come to her senses and backed down – until she suddenly grabbed the waitress’ right wrist and began grinding the cigarette into her hand! The waitress shrieked.

“Holy shit, Ann! You’ve lost your mind!” screamed Candy.

I reached across the table and pushed Ann against the banquette, away from the waitress. The waitress managed to wrest away her hand. She looked at the burn with wide-eyed horror, then narrowed her eyes at Ann.

“You fascist bitch,” she snarled.

“You can do better than that,” Ann laughed, then took another puff off her weapon and exhaled. “Bring it on.”