The Rude Pundit contemplates the unholy existence of Ann Coulter and Sarah Palin. Excerpts from each column:
On Ann Coulter:
And then the whole fucking column explodes into a mushroom cloud of bugfuck insanity the likes of which haven't been seen since William Safire kept writing love poems to an invisible marmoset in his later New York Times columns: "Next time you're at a cocktail party, just start saying, 'Chocolate pudding is dramatic irony' from time to time. Eventually other people will start saying it, without anyone bothering to consider whether it makes sense." You get the point? It's a nonsense phrase, like "diversity is a strength."
You don't? No, of course not. Because what you are actually witnessing is the pathetic last heaves of outrage-mongering by Ann Coulter, who is stumbling around like a coke-snorting heiress who's shoved her inheritance up her nose and is begging to still be let past the velvet rope into the club she helped build. She'll be blowing Glenn Beck for appearances any day now.
On Sarah Palin:
Yesterday, in a bookstore here in a very red town in the middle of Tennessee, the Rude Pundit stood aghast by a table stacked with Palin's book. It reads like a passive-aggressive Rick Warren tome, where the message is that you can self-actualize through Jesus if all those fuckers holding you back get out of the way. Two or three people grabbed copies and headed towards the cash register. People are lined up for hours to meet her in Michigan today. In the end, the facts of the the book don't matter. All that matters is that idiot America has its queen.
Sigh . . . back to my bat cave.