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Undertoad · 10-04-2002, 11:07 AM

I wrote this to send to Jesse Walker, whose writing I enjoy and who has asked whether Ann Coulter is truly attractive. This is my own personal attempt to answer that question. If you don't care for pornographic screeds, please don't read on.

--

I've been waiting for an opportunity to write this...

It's shallow to give Ms. Coulter a free pass due to her looks, but that's what we are as men. Most Coulter-critics would ask men to step back a bit, stop being transfixed by high cheekbones, and evaluate her based on her words.

Of course, if you do that, she falls apart rather quickly.

Instead let's remain shallow. She's good-looking, fine. How long would that last? Would you be able to have a drink with her? Would you go home with her? Would you be interested in bedding her? Let's say you find her alone at a trendy watering hole: how would it go?

During the first five minutes, you would stare at the pleasant smile and the high cheekbones and wonder at how some people are just put together nicely.

During the second five minutes, she boldly insults the waiter for getting her drink order slightly wrong. You take it as a sign of strength. The woman knows what she wants and relentlessly demands it. But when the waiter brings her corrected drink and she puts him through a second round, you're a little embarrassed for the guy. After all, he didn't make that drink.

You share a lot of beliefs, but at minute 12 you find a difference. She starts to bark at you with her most put-on man-voice, and you notice that she attacks you with the same vigor she did the waiter. Well that's OK; you're not expected to agree on everything, and you don't mind strong independent women.

After a while you notice that when she's drinking her drink, her throat visibly moves through her neck skin. Normally you'd not give it a second thought, but since she's been harsh on you, you fixate on it a little. It's comforting to think she has an oddity, a flaw.

A "Seinfeld" re-run comes on the bar television, and she announces her displeasure with the choice very loudly, so that not only you are clear about it, but all the surrounding patrons are clear as well. During her rant she questions the family history of anyone who enjoys the show. You make a mental note not to show her your TiVo To-Do list if you wind up together at your place. Her rant goes a little too long and you squirm uncomfortably in your seat as others look at you.

You're still interested in her, but as time goes by, now that throat starts looking less like a throat and more like an adam's apple. Just then she questions the manliness of your job, and some of her attractiveness starts to wear a little. You notice that her perma-smile has not altered one bit, even through her more bitter statements. But you're still attracted to her... kinda.

She asks whether you'd like to leave to go back to her place, and when you take a moment, she says "Or aren't you man enough?" And you realize that she isn't joking; she's honestly questioning your manhood. And while you have no concerns at all about your manhood, you wonder why she has to question it.

She leaves a tiny tip and grabs your arm. Out to the cab, where she is a little too irritated at the taxi driver's accent. At this point, in your mind, her throat/adam's apple has grown to the size of a real apple. You realize that the beauty of her face is a little less when it's a piercing, power-play stare. She asks if you know anyone powerful at treasury or the DER, and you sense that she's not about having fun with you but about playing you for networking purposes.

She takes a phone call in the cab and starts yelling at the phone. Her determined growl sounds a little too familiar and you recognize it as the same as your boss when he plays petty office politics. She brazenly insults her caller. Her throat is now like a cantaloupe to you, her high cheekbones are symbols of power rather than beauty. You start to protest that maybe you have an early morning meeting tomorrow. She grabs your crotch and says "You'll be staying," and you manage to turn off your upper brain.

You reach her place and she demands that you hold her purse and coat while she rummages for her keys. You get in and she immediately wants to go to business. She notes "This is what you're here for, right?" as if there was a contractual agreement from the first five minutes in the bar. She throws you down on the bed, carefully removes her skirt and pantyhose and folds them over a chair. She demands that you go down on her for fifteen minutes. She proclaims that every other male who has been here in the last three months has been a horrible disappointment.

You start the task. Immediately she starts giving orders about how you are to proceed. After about a minute of this, you lose any hard-on you might have managed. Her throat is like a watermelon. Her voice is utterly masculine. Her hands are huge and cold and you realize you don't really want them touching you. She finds you hesitating and asks whether you're really up to the job.

After fourteen minutes, she finds a groove and basically humps your tongue and gets off. In the process she has practically knocked out your front teeth with her pubic bone, but she's satisfied. After 20 seconds of recovery, she says "And I suppose you want something for that effort?" Finally, at last, some consideration for you. She whacks you off, mechanically and without any emotion or even interest. Halfway through it, she asks what's taking so long. Her man-hands how completely frighten you, especially for where they are. You put it all out of your mind and try to think of Christie Brinkley. Then you realize that it took nine years for Billy Joel to find Brinkley unattractive, while you have found the unattractive side of Coulter in a single night. But remembering Brinkley gives you a moment, and you orgasm. Coulter coldly avoids your jizz as if it were toxic, cleans up immediately, even getting out a mini-bottle of Febreeze to spray where you got some on her high thread count sheets.

Forget the niceties of a goodbye drink; she expects you to go now. Five minutes later you have been ushered out the door. She didn't ask for your phone number and she didn't expect you to ask for hers. She's pleasant enough at the door, but leaves you with a statement that could be taken as an insult. As you walk out you realize that it has been a most unsatisfying experience, for which an orgasm was more the conclusion of a bad deal as it was intimacy.

Well that's how I think it would go, anyway.

10-04-2002, 11:07 AM	#1
Undertoad Radical Centrist Join Date: Jan 2001 Location: Cottage of Prussia Posts: 31,423	Ann Coulter rant I wrote this to send to Jesse Walker, whose writing I enjoy and who has asked whether Ann Coulter is truly attractive. This is my own personal attempt to answer that question. If you don't care for pornographic screeds, please don't read on. -- I've been waiting for an opportunity to write this... It's shallow to give Ms. Coulter a free pass due to her looks, but that's what we are as men. Most Coulter-critics would ask men to step back a bit, stop being transfixed by high cheekbones, and evaluate her based on her words. Of course, if you do that, she falls apart rather quickly. Instead let's remain shallow. She's good-looking, fine. How long would that last? Would you be able to have a drink with her? Would you go home with her? Would you be interested in bedding her? Let's say you find her alone at a trendy watering hole: how would it go? During the first five minutes, you would stare at the pleasant smile and the high cheekbones and wonder at how some people are just put together nicely. During the second five minutes, she boldly insults the waiter for getting her drink order slightly wrong. You take it as a sign of strength. The woman knows what she wants and relentlessly demands it. But when the waiter brings her corrected drink and she puts him through a second round, you're a little embarrassed for the guy. After all, he didn't make that drink. You share a lot of beliefs, but at minute 12 you find a difference. She starts to bark at you with her most put-on man-voice, and you notice that she attacks you with the same vigor she did the waiter. Well that's OK; you're not expected to agree on everything, and you don't mind strong independent women. After a while you notice that when she's drinking her drink, her throat visibly moves through her neck skin. Normally you'd not give it a second thought, but since she's been harsh on you, you fixate on it a little. It's comforting to think she has an oddity, a flaw. A "Seinfeld" re-run comes on the bar television, and she announces her displeasure with the choice very loudly, so that not only you are clear about it, but all the surrounding patrons are clear as well. During her rant she questions the family history of anyone who enjoys the show. You make a mental note not to show her your TiVo To-Do list if you wind up together at your place. Her rant goes a little too long and you squirm uncomfortably in your seat as others look at you. You're still interested in her, but as time goes by, now that throat starts looking less like a throat and more like an adam's apple. Just then she questions the manliness of your job, and some of her attractiveness starts to wear a little. You notice that her perma-smile has not altered one bit, even through her more bitter statements. But you're still attracted to her... kinda. She asks whether you'd like to leave to go back to her place, and when you take a moment, she says "Or aren't you man enough?" And you realize that she isn't joking; she's honestly questioning your manhood. And while you have no concerns at all about your manhood, you wonder why she has to question it. She leaves a tiny tip and grabs your arm. Out to the cab, where she is a little too irritated at the taxi driver's accent. At this point, in your mind, her throat/adam's apple has grown to the size of a real apple. You realize that the beauty of her face is a little less when it's a piercing, power-play stare. She asks if you know anyone powerful at treasury or the DER, and you sense that she's not about having fun with you but about playing you for networking purposes. She takes a phone call in the cab and starts yelling at the phone. Her determined growl sounds a little too familiar and you recognize it as the same as your boss when he plays petty office politics. She brazenly insults her caller. Her throat is now like a cantaloupe to you, her high cheekbones are symbols of power rather than beauty. You start to protest that maybe you have an early morning meeting tomorrow. She grabs your crotch and says "You'll be staying," and you manage to turn off your upper brain. You reach her place and she demands that you hold her purse and coat while she rummages for her keys. You get in and she immediately wants to go to business. She notes "This is what you're here for, right?" as if there was a contractual agreement from the first five minutes in the bar. She throws you down on the bed, carefully removes her skirt and pantyhose and folds them over a chair. She demands that you go down on her for fifteen minutes. She proclaims that every other male who has been here in the last three months has been a horrible disappointment. You start the task. Immediately she starts giving orders about how you are to proceed. After about a minute of this, you lose any hard-on you might have managed. Her throat is like a watermelon. Her voice is utterly masculine. Her hands are huge and cold and you realize you don't really want them touching you. She finds you hesitating and asks whether you're really up to the job. After fourteen minutes, she finds a groove and basically humps your tongue and gets off. In the process she has practically knocked out your front teeth with her pubic bone, but she's satisfied. After 20 seconds of recovery, she says "And I suppose you want something for that effort?" Finally, at last, some consideration for you. She whacks you off, mechanically and without any emotion or even interest. Halfway through it, she asks what's taking so long. Her man-hands how completely frighten you, especially for where they are. You put it all out of your mind and try to think of Christie Brinkley. Then you realize that it took nine years for Billy Joel to find Brinkley unattractive, while you have found the unattractive side of Coulter in a single night. But remembering Brinkley gives you a moment, and you orgasm. Coulter coldly avoids your jizz as if it were toxic, cleans up immediately, even getting out a mini-bottle of Febreeze to spray where you got some on her high thread count sheets. Forget the niceties of a goodbye drink; she expects you to go now. Five minutes later you have been ushered out the door. She didn't ask for your phone number and she didn't expect you to ask for hers. She's pleasant enough at the door, but leaves you with a statement that could be taken as an insult. As you walk out you realize that it has been a most unsatisfying experience, for which an orgasm was more the conclusion of a bad deal as it was intimacy. Well that's how I think it would go, anyway.