Doug Milam is the author of an excellent little book of stories, Still the Confusion, and a frequent contributor to THE2NDHAND. Visit him at Futuristick.org

Wow. I have to admit I'm fairly nervous. The Ann Coulter, the idol of my wettest dreams. "Blond bombshell of the right." I cannot even count how many times I've masturbated to those photos of her in law school, yikes. My favorite, though, is when she's standing with Reagan and damn that mouth and I can just picture those long legs under that blue-eyed suit. Yeah.
Well you should see

We met via Bill O'Reilly, after my best seller came out. It's called Right By Birth and it spent ten weeks on the New York Times best-seller list. Never mind that I, like all right people, despise the Times. Without them I could not feel so eminent.

What do I say? What am I going to wear? Maybe a navy blazer with rep tie, something old-school. Oxford cloth shirt, loafers, argyles? Why not, I hear she likes the type. Oh, I can't tell you how I know. I just know.
Get a dose of her

We're meeting tonight at Chez Brulee in Georgetown. Yes, it's French, but not really. It's on American soil! Anyway, she suggested it. It's where the Kristols dine, and Richard Perle. Wolfowitz has been spotted there, even Laura Bush! My gosh, to think I could be sitting next to David Brooks -- I'm going to die!

Okay, stay calm. It's just a date. A first. One of many... To bide the time whilst I predress, I'll allow you in on how I think it'll go.
Well you should see

"Wow, Ann, hi."

"If liberals won't move on from the prison abuse photos calculated to incite hatred toward the very troops liberals loudly claim to 'support,' I'm not moving on from the fact that the editor of the Los Angeles Times, John Carroll, is instructing journalists on ethics."

"Sure, yeah. Hey, thanks for, you know, meeting me and all. You look fantastic, by the way. Nice boots."

"This is the same L.A. Times that engaged in desperate, 11th-hour attempts to sabotage Arnold Schwarzenegger during the California recall election with lurid sex stories."

"Whew, that's something else. Don't get me started. Can I lick your boots?"

But then I see the lyrical obscured by eyes completely soulless. Cesspools of vitriol. They are points of no return. Decadence beyond repair, those frothing lips which cannot love. And I imagine that her cunt is as dry as a sandpit fruitlessly scoured for oil, and that she can't fuck one vibration, and the fantasy becomes overdone, a miasma fake beyond the flaccid polythene veneer as the lyrical returns.
Well you should see Polythene Pam
Get a dose of her in jackboot and kilt...
Well you should see Polythene Pam
Get a dose of her in jackboot and kilt...
Get a dose of her in jackboot and kilt...
Get a dose of her in jackboot and kilt...

And the walls of the ward and the bailiff's bars stop spinning, the straps slacken and the stench is gone -- the spin fucking stops and the fucking stench of her is fucking gone.

MORE BY DOUG MILAM

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