The was a rumor going around that Nazi bimbot, Ann Coulter, had a new book out - so I checked my testicles and sure enough, they were the size of peas. Every time that venom-spewing slut releases one of her right-wing hate screeds, my gonads shrivel up like shrinky-dinks in a microwave. This, her latest in a long line of racist tomes, must be a real doozy because my family jewels haven't been this tiny since Sarah Palin put lipstick on a pit bull.
It's like waking up in the morning to discover that someone performed gender reassignment surgery on you in your sleep. The bad news is that it makes it next to impossible to write an informative, comprehensive review of the hatemongering hater's book without it deteriorating into a series of catty remarks about her hair, or those bony elbows and cottage cheese thighs of hers...not to mention that bowling ball-sized Adam's apple. And she has the GALL to criticize Michelle Obama's pantsuits? HOW DARE SHE?! She looks like someone who just crawled out of a David Bowie look-alike contest in a concentration camp. The only reason the right-wingers like her is because she's so damn HOT. Ooooohh I could just SCRATCH HER PRETTY LITTLE EYES OUT!!!!
Whoo! There I go again. My estrogen is through the ROOF right now. Can you imagine what would happen if I actually read her book? My genitals would dwindle away completely, to be replaced by a huge, gaping hole from which nothing - not even light - could escape. That might get me a job writing op-eds for the Huffington Post or the New York Times, but it just try sitting at a desk with office products, heavy machinery, and entire families of undocumented workers spiraling into the dark vortex of your mangina. I don't know how Paul Krugman does it.
So as much as it pains me to say it, I won't be reviewing the hussy's book this time. In fact, I'm going to stay as far away from it as possible. If you value your chestnuts, I suggest you do the same.