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Ohhh Ann Coulter..

Discussion in 'General Discussion' started by CheeseNips, Mar 25, 2010.

  1. CheeseNips

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    Coulter's a dumb c**t, a female Rush Limbaugh, and is even more retarded than Palin. She should go die a very public death....personally I think she should go to the U of Ottawa and let the masses rip her to shreds.
     
  2. scotchcrotch

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    You can't take her seriously, as I doubt she even takes what she says seriously.

    I think Rush has some semblance of belief in what he's saying, but everytime Coulter opens her mouth she's just trying to create publicity for her books. She constantly takes liberal quotes out of context to reinforce her craziness.

    Yet she has "fans" that eat that shit up, which is the scariest part of it all.

    I don't judge people on political party, but if I saw someone with one of her books (and it wasn't a gag gift) I wouldn't talk to them anymore.

    There's an old debate with her and Al Franken where he skins that bitch alive, will try to find it.
     
  3. CheeseNips

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    Wasn't she in an episode of Celebrity Deathmatch...? or am I just wishing she had been...nothing like a drawn out claymation death of the bitch.
     
  4. xrayvision

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    All I want to do when I see her, grab her by the shoulders, shake her and yell, "Who hurt you?!" And then stab her in the throat.

    Generally, most colleges and universities are populated by a liberal leaning student body. This isn't 100%, but when I was in college, a majority of the student groups represented more liberal personal interests. (ACLU, NORML, college democrats, LGBT, etc) Getting protested to the point of violence shouldn't be a new concept for her. Even other politically conservative people don't always agree with her. Part of me thinks that she really doesn't believe her own words and she only wants shock value.

    I remember one specific thing she said on the Today show in an interview with Matt Lauer after 9/11. The widows of some of the fire-fighters and people in the building were granted large sums of money to help maintain their life-style after their losses. Some of them purchased extravagant things. Ann Coulter saiid that the widows of 9/11 "have never enjoyed their husbands death more..." I paraphrased but its was the most fucked up thing to think they are enjoying losing their spouse because they bought a few nice things with the million dollars they were given.

    Fuck her.
     
  5. MoreCowbell

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    The numbers that Coulter (and, for that matter, Limbaugh, Hannity, etc.) draw are decent arguments against American democracy.

    There should be a checkbox on the ballot: "Do you take viewpoints expressed by Ann Coulter seriously? Y/N"
     
  6. Beefy Phil

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    The woman is an asshole, but is she worth an entire thread dedicated to bashing her? Because that's what this is going to be. Even if politically conservative members of the board wanted to defend some of her points, why would they open themselves up to being attacked by what is clearly a left-leaning majority? At that point, it's not a discussion, it's a consensus. What is interesting about a bunch of people agreeing with each other?
     
  7. ghettoastronaut

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    One of the funniest things you'll read: ifuckedanncoulterintheasshard.blogspot.com

    In any case, they speak french at the university of ottawa. Is Ann Coulter afraid of a bunch of frogs? It appears so.
     
  8. toddus

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    This is why I hate students. If 2000 people have time to protest Ann Coulter, than they have too much time. She is a fucking right wing pundit, don't like her? It is pretty easy, don't listen to her. The power of protest has been so diluted that how can anyone take any student protest seriously anymore.

    Say what you want about hippies but at least suffrage, Vietnam, Nixon etc were important topics of the time. Now we get Ann Coulter, give me a fucking break.
     
  9. Rumble

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    She is the Paris Hilton of politics. There is no reason for her to be famous, yet here she is on a lucrative public speaking tour.

    Her whole shtick is to say crazy over-the-top crap, and that is all she has. I wouldn't be surprised if her public persona is %95 act and %5 real Ann Coulter.

    I'm not completely sure how the exchange went but she told a female Muslim student to "get a camel because you're probably on the no fly list" Hilarious, yes, but all an act to drum up publicity.
     
  10. Beefy Phil

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    Pretty much. I don't even disagree with MoreCowbell's statement. I just don't see how a discussion about a conservative political commentator won't devolve into an echo chamber about the right wing and its spokespeople. I'd say the same thing about a liberal commentator. It's alienating. We want more people participating, not fewer. Isn't that why we try to avoid politics in the first place?

    That said, I fucks with these crabcakes.

     
    #10 Beefy Phil, Mar 25, 2010
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 27, 2015
  11. MoreCowbell

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    It's not because they're conservatives. It's because they're stupid conservatives. The fact that a significant proportion of our populace has chosen these inveterate morons as their spokespersons speaks volumes about the decline of our political discourse. It's a situation where insight and rational discourse has been replaced by faux-outrage and lowest-common-denominator appeals.

    If we were talking about the Ross Douthats, Eugene Volokhs, David Brooks, and David Frums of the world, you wouldn't hear a single complaint out of me. There are plenty of intelligent conservative commentators. They just aren't the ones being listened to.

    A movement once content to let Edmund Burke, FA Hayek, Milton Friedman, etc. speak for it now identifies people like Coulter as their center of gravity. Hell, even William Buckley could run circles around these fuckers.
     
  12. Virty

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    I'm sorry I fucking hate Ann Coulter. So much so that the sound of her name sounding like Stephen Colbert, makes me angry. Fuck that bitch.
     
  13. The Good Doctor

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    Maybe this will help heal your Coulter-shaped wounds:

     
    #13 The Good Doctor, Mar 25, 2010
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 27, 2015
  14. no use for a name

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    The woman is pretty much a joke. I hold her in the same regard as Nancy Grace - she's not really worth my emotion hating her. She clearly says ridiculous things just to make a stir. Such as this little gem I found on wikipedia, which I find to be absolutely hilarious. Sorry, but I do. I laughed out loud when I read it:

     
  15. Merle

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    To me she is just a shock jock that riles people up any other way. I think she has more in common with Opie and Anthony than she does with Limbaugh and Hannity. As someone else said she is trying to sell books. She has even admitted that she likes to just stir the pot on issues. I have a friend like that too.

    Merle: Whats your favorite color?
    1: Blue
    2: Yeah me too
    3: I like blue
    Asshole Friend: Blue is for fucking morons!

    No difference to me.
     
  16. konatown

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    Agree with this.

    But I'm more bothered with the amount of hatred she gets compared to a whackjob like Keith Olbermann. Except the polar opposite of politics, they're exactly the same including the adam's apple.

    But when she's on Fox's Red Eye, which is a pretty funny panel show on late late night, she always has a good sense of humor when people poke fun of anything. Surprises me every time.
     
  17. Sam N

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    Perhaps it is the general viewpoint expressed by Coulter that these people are protesting. That is to say, the far right ultra-conservative bible banging bullshit. Which in fact, does influence a large number of people today. That influence is a very real thing, and depending on where you stand, a very negative and dangerous thing. Suffrage? Coulter has said herself she doesn't think women should have the right to vote. Vietnam? Well, the situation in the middle east can very easily be argued to be turning into (or already) a military and political clusterfuck just like Vietname was. And it was Coulter's camp that pretty much got that started.

    Nixon? Well, I think a case for comparison could be made between Nixon and Bush, and since Coulter wrote a book defending Bush and very obviously shares many of the same political ideals as him... see what I'm saying?

    Sure maybe most of the time these protesters are out in arms against the big issues, but why not target the synthesis of all these issues when it comes to town?

    For my part, never would dream of protesting Coulter, or honestly reading her shit, or ever even coming near considering her a worthwhile person that should be listened to with any more attention than one would listen to a fart. My neighbor gave me a load of books once, and sure enough, there were a couple Coulter ones in there. They now serve to support the broken spring arm on my futon that I broke awhile ago. See? That's how you find value in a completely worthless thing. Other options would have been: Giving to homeless person so he can burn pages when it gets cold, Eating the pages because I don't get enough fiber in my diet, or pissing on the book and then donating it to the library so eventually when somebody picks it up to read earnestly they would be touching dried up pee pages.
     
  18. CheeseNips

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    Quoted For Truth. Although, being a politics major, I tend to get caught up in this stuff.
     
  19. kindalas

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    I rest my case.
     
    #19 kindalas, Mar 25, 2010
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 27, 2015
  20. SaintBastard

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    When I started undergrad, I wanted to be a writer. Having said that, when I had to write a satire / short story for an English class, I chose Ann Coulter.

    Here's the unedited version before I had to heavily censor it for class. It's not exactly I Fucked Ann Coulter In The Ass brilliant, but I thought it was reasonably entertaining for an undergrad assignment. I wrapped it in spoiler tags due to length.

    It's late, it's January and it's raining.

    The rain comes down like heavenly retribution for the sins of all mankind, flying tsunamis of rainwater battering against the window. You haven't seen a storm like this since... what, '75? Or was it '76? It doesn't really matter. You turn up the TV in a vain attempt to drown out the droplets that are thundering against your humble abode.

    The wife's gone out for the night, gone to play bridge with some of her friends. You wonder briefly if she'll get back safely in this horrendous weather, then, because you've hated the way that the bitch has made your life a virtual prison, you decide that it also doesn't really matter. You suppose that she's earned a night out after the hours she's been working this week - you've hardly seen her, a state of affairs you don't find particularly troubling.

    You unceremoniously drop your weary ass onto the scruffy, uncomfortable sofa and try to concentrate on this evening's entertainment, brought for your delectation by the grease-marked, battered old black and white TV set in the corner of the room, in a concerted effort to ignore the sound of the pounding rain.

    After several minutes of convincing yourself you can't hear the torrential downpour (all the while drumming your fingertips to the irregular rhythm it's beating on the corrugated iron roof), your stomach growls.

    Ah, fuck. You're either hungry or you've got irritable bowels and are about to shit your faded pants. You hope to God it's not hunger that your guts are protesting against, because that means you have to get off the sofa. However, since your sham of a marriage has destroyed your soul and replaced it with a bland, generic apathy you decide to ignore the biological hint and continue to watch TV.

    The program ends, and the commercials begin. Among them is a message from McDonald's which cordially invites you to ingest one of their trademark cheeseburgers, with their unique special blend of cow's eyelids, mechanically recovered meat and reconstituted halibut spine. Your stomach decides to throw a grand mal seizure as if to say, "Look, FOOD you dumb fuck! Get me some!".

    Sighing, you haul yourself from the warm, pungent indentation you've created in the furniture and stagger into the kitchen, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light like an overweight cartoon mole. You quickly scan the contents of the fridge. You've got a hunk of blue cheese that looks like it used to be orange and is currently trying to decide which hue it's going to try next. There's a jar of mayonnaise that's been stood at low temperature for so long that you could probably fool a dairy farmer into buying it to fertilize his cows with. There's a few slices of meat which lie like tectonic plates across the dirty shelf, each one home to nations of bacteria. You look at it all, evaluate it's possible nutritional content against the likelihood of a slow, painful and very shitty death, when your stomach interrupts the proceedings once more with a low growl that tells you that even at the extremes of it's endurance, it's still got fucking standards.

    Slamming the fridge door, you open the freezer and fish out a roast beef frozen dinner, consisting of rubberized potatoes, leathery beef and plastic carrots, which, when reheated, magically transforms itself into tepid rubberized potatoes, burnt leathery beef and lukewarm plastic carrots with a spinal cord of ice crystals. You slam it in the microwave, set it to 'Nuke' for four minutes, and wait for the beep while actively ignoring the sound of the pounding rain.

    Clutching your microwaved bounty close to your wobbling chest, you bound back into the living room, happy that you've fulfilled your hunter-gatherer quotient for the day. You ease your plump buttocks back into the indentation you made feeling decidedly macho.

    Just as your slobbering the last of the scorched leather that constitutes the protein-bearing portion of your meal, the telephone rings. Cursing, you arise once more from your resting place, pick up the phone and hold the receiver to your ear. You respond with the usual cheerful greeting that you reserve for telephone calls.

    "Who's this, and how much do we fuckin' owe ya?"

    You hear nothing but a harsh, labored breathing, as if emphysema itself was trying to maintain a conversation with you.

    "Who the fuck is this?"

    The voice that responds brings to your mind the sound that your fingernails must make against the lid of your coffin when you've been mistakenly buried alive. Every bad thing, every dirty and evil thing that happened to you or that you caused to happen rushes back at you in a sensory maelstrom that tells you that everything about the world is fundamentally wrong, all in the space of the single word that the hellish voice oozes into your ear.

    "Traitor".

    The dial tone gives voice to it's blind, stupid warble as the creature on the other end breaks the connection. Shaken, and shaking, you begin to walk back to your sofa in a beaten, frightened slouch, and all the machismo you had previously gathered seems to be accumulating in the dark, moist patch on the front of your pants.

    The security light on the front lawn sputters into life in your peripheral vision, and you instinctively whirl on the spot to face the window. You see a flicker of movement behind the curtains of falling water.

    Fuck it.

    Probably just a branch or next door's mangy cat.

    You sit down to resume staring at the TV screen, when suddenly the lights, and the TV, go out. The dark patch spreads a little further, but some dim male urge convinces you that you have to go outside and check the fuse box. Pulling on your favorite anorak and grasping a flashlight, you go out of the front door and into the stormy night.

    Struggling through the fury of the elements, you eventually come to your intended destination. Your mouth widens in mute horror as it slowly dawns on your senses that the fuse box has not just been tampered with, it's been fucking obliterated. The box has been shredded, huge vertical rents have been scored in the tough housing and the electronics inside are arcing and sparking in the falling rain.

    Hearing a high-pitched scream, you turn to see a dark shape rush towards you across the lawn with terrifying speed. Your right arm swings instantaneously, hurling the flashlight through the night at the apparition and missing by a country mile. Closing in, the deformed figure's shriek turns to a gabbling cry of triumph, when it's progress is impeded by a wayward garden gnome and it lands on it's shadowy face. Squealing like a girl, you sprint back to the front door and launch yourself through it, locking it and putting the chain on before the freakish assailant can gain entry.

    Panting at the sudden exertion, you gaze fearfully at the door, expecting the figure to smash it into matchsticks before tearing your head from your body. After an eternity of expectant, fearful waiting, you realize that the creature is not intending to attack the door, and has probably stalked off by now. Briefly, you fear for the safety of the garden gnome that saved your life, before coming to the conclusion that your life is far more important than the structural integrity of an overweight, bearded, porcelain midget.

    Relief washes over you as you walk through to the living room, lighting the candles that your wife has dotted around the place for such an eventuality. You look toward the window again, and your heart stops at what you see.

    Someone... or something... has written the phrase "Godless Traitor" on the condensation of the window.

    And the condensation is only on the inside of the window.

    A ghastly chuckle causes you to look towards one of the dim corners of the room. A hunched shape advances slowly towards you, until it comes into the wane glow of a nearby candle. The creature is clad in a blue cropped dress, it's hair piss yellow, an explosion of grease and dye bursting around it's deformed head. It stands, a sort of a cross between a Barbie doll and a discount hooker, the kind of classic trailer trash that drives conservative men wild. It's Adam's apple protrudes markedly, menacingly.

    You decide to make a stand. You ready yourself to say something that will dispel the monster, send it shrieking and burning from this dimension into the next. You summon up all your strength and courage, and prepare to unleash the ultimate words of destruction that will banish this demon from your life forever. As your head is about to pop like an over-ripe melon from the holy power coursing through your brain, you utter the words.

    "Meep".

    Sensing your weakness, the creature starts toward you. As you cower to the ground, the creature emits a high-pitched gibbering chant and rushes at you for the final time...

    "First I took care of those greedy witches, the 9/11 widows, and now you..."

    As the vision of impending doom bullets toward you like a runaway freight train full of spastics, you suddenly think:

    Why me?

    Why does this always have to happen to me?

    Why do I have to put up with this EVERY DAMN NIGHT OF THE WEEK?

    The answer is simple.

    You're the poor bastard who married Ann Coulter.