Thru the Looking Glass of Ms. Mad

[clear]Tagged by Heretik

on Ann Coulter Confessionals…

Our story is:

THRU THE LOOKING GLASS OF MS. MAD

Once upon a time there was a princess named Ann Coulter. Her most well known name was Princess Dom Coulter to Republican Hill, a PR image which she cultivated with considerable care, knowledgeable that skinny blond + black leather + guns + uncouth + manly republican ideals equaled skinny blond younger sister to big brother and his secret club buds makes for the best in just-one-of-the-guys specialness, the you’re-not-like-the-other-girls cigar and pool table buds, sporty ha-ha fart joking not-really-threatening dame, who thank god isn’t butch lesbian, and now that she’s all grown up we get to pat her on the butt rather than on the head, ha-ha, and even better she won’t wear our ears off talking about shoes instead she’ll drink beer and talk Bush and instead of getting mad when we talk about hers she’ll understand how we’re not sexist and rub a stiletto heel between our toes while talking sexy about putting the Order in New World.

All hail Princess Dom Coulter to Republican Hill…who wanted secretly, more than anything in the world, to be Pretty in Pink.

In a Japanese schoolgirl kind of way, that is.

She had a secret bedroom bedroom with pink walls and pink shag carpet and a white French Provincial bed with gold trim with white canopy and silvery satin sheets and pink coverlet. The bed was covered with stuffed animals. The walls were lined with horse pictures. In a secret drawer of her white, French Provincial-styled make-up table with its three-way fold-out mirror was a secret, pink journal in which she wrote secret red thoughts.

After an arduous book tour, she would retire to her pink bedroom, dress in one of the many Japanese schoolgirl outfits in her closet, the pleated skirt, the innocent knee-hi socks, and throw herself upon the bed to scribe her most secret thoughts in her pastel pink diary.

“Oh, I am so tired of being dominating,” she one day told her favorite pink plush horsey toy. “I would love just for once to be dominated instead. I used to think maybe by Bush in his flight uniform. But, you know what I’ve realized, horsey? What I really long for is to be dominated by a strong Democrat instead. I mean a really strong Democrat who isn’t secretly smitten with me. Surely,” she forlorn sniffled, “there has to be one out there. One who isn’t afraid of Ann Coulter. One who will guess that underneath the black and leather I’m just a Japanese schoolgirl in a pink bedroom. And no I do not mean Al Franken.”

But it was, of course, Al Franken who did in secret pester Ms. Coulter’s sleep. Mr. Franken, who was impervious to her charms, and therefore stronger, oh so much stronger than she.

No, not Bill Maher. Instead it had always been Mighty Al Franken.

Who she could never have.

Oh, how the sad truth of it made her world feel like swampy dry rot.