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A MALEVOLENT POX UPON HUMANITY
By
Ann Coulter
Move
over, Benedict Arnold.
Step
aside, Judas Iscariot.
Mr.
Peanut is coming through.
As
I watched Jimmy Carter commit treason and betray every principle of Christian
civilization by schmoozing (that’s a Jewish word that Lucianne Goldberg uses
– I think it has something to do with sex) in Havana with Fidel Castro, I was
able to totally purge my lunch (one stalk of celery washed down by two bottles
of Chardonnay) without even having to go through the usual nauseating routine of
visualizing passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act.
You know how it is when you’re
shopping for silk stockings (extra long/extra svelte) at Victoria’s Secret and
Mr. Scaife calls to let you know that Karl just told him to get the hell out of
airline stocks because there is going to be a “little lapse” in national
security within the next twenty four hours but you wind up getting totally
screwed because you don’t have your cell phone with you as a result of
dropping it in some really scratchy Chappaqua shrubs while on a surveillance
mission with your fellow freedom fighters, Matt Drudge and Linda Tripp?
If Jimmy Carter had ever actually
wanted to make himself useful, then he would have foregone worrying about famine
and pestilence, concentrating instead on inventing a telepathic means of
communications. That way, someone wouldn’t have lost her shirt (tailored
Szechwan silk, $349.95) when the stocks of United and American got chopped in
half overnight. You want to talk about making a valuable contribution to
international rights? Had Carter’s priorities been in order, then a certain
babe-a-licious American superpundit would still have the rights to her tres chic
chateau on the French Riviera. But I guess for a dilettante like “Jimma”,
the grueling work of perfecting a new technology is not quite as trendy as
violating the Logan Act in order to transfer American nuclear secrets to Castro,
or posing in the badlands of the Serengeti with fly riddled orphans…bless
their bloated little stomachs.
Some people are so self-centered!
We can only hope that his homecoming
plane detours through the Bermuda Triangle. This latest Carter abomination
consists of illegally conducting a personal foreign policy with the only guy in
the hemisphere who has more facial hair than Janet Reno. The assignation with
Castro is even worse than when Carter tried to frame Ronald Reagan for stealing
his briefing book. What could have possibly been in there, anyway? How to brush
your teeth with a broom? First Aid instructions on getting mauled by amphibious
rabbits?
The Carter record on foreign affairs
has always been abysmally pathetic; responsibility for the current Middle East
conflict leads right to Plains, Georgia. If this idiot hadn’t coerced Begin
and Sadat to sign the Camp David Accords, the Israelis and Arabs would have
already totally annihilated each other. The area would be unpopulated and
peaceful as can be. So, it is intellectually dishonest for liberals to deny the
fact that there would be absolutely no violence in the region today… if not
for one James Earl Carter.
His
obsessive yammering about “human rights” is enough to make even a sensitive,
nonviolent, exceptionally good-looking person like me want to hit him in the
head with a shovel and then just kick the crap out of him. Okay, let’s
stipulate that they have it tough in Sri Lanka. Now, how about focusing on the
agonizing pain and suffering that occurs in
this country? For starters, if Carter could find a way to prevent
thieves from taking the hood ornament off the Mercedes Benz SL 500, then he’d
being showing me some real world humanitarianism devoid of the insufferable
bleeding heart frou-frou.
What
a loser he is! And, speaking of losers, don’t think that I’ve forgotten
about you, Bob Guccione, Jr. “Bondage is a completely natural part of a
healthy, long term committed relationship,”
you said. Yeah, sure! I still have the welts, but I haven’t heard
from you in four years! Who is your new squeeze, Bobby? If she’s a Gore voter,
I have just one question: Does she braid the hair under her arms?
Let’s
get this one thing on the record: I came and I gave without taking – but you
sent me away…
If I were a former president, I
would waste less time worrying about genocidal maniacs in places like East Timor
and focus my concern on interior decorators in West Hollywood. Let’s shed the
shackles of political correctness and lay it on the line: America has gone
queer. You know that this country is headed to Hell in a hand basket when the
most masculine member of the United States House of Representatives is Barney
Frank. A single conservative female living in Washington, D.C., has about as
much chance of meeting a rock ribbed Republican heterosexual male as a Gentile
has of becoming chairman of the Federal Reserve.
It
should not be a mystery why there is absolutely no unit cohesion in the G.O.P.
caucus. Thank God conservative politicians don’t vote the way they choose to
live, or the Speaker of the House would be RuPaul.
I’m
lonely, dammit, but I’m not willing to date commies who buy into that
“freedom and justice for all” garbage. The only thing about my man that I
want to be red is his neck. If Carter can develop a little pill that makes Tom
DeLay or Dick Armey turn off the Judy Garland music and ask me out, then
he will have finally done something socially relevant.
And
if the Peach State Satan wants to suffer vicariously for a persecuted group of
hopelessly outnumbered minorities, allow me to direct his attention to the
National Basketball Association. As best I can tell, the only thing that the
poor Caucasian guys are allowed to do in this league is own the teams. For a
cute Anglo-Saxon girl with flowing blond hair and an adorable figure, watching a
professional basketball game is like drowning in a sea of chocolate milk.
And,
as you may have recently noticed, they
have now infested the Academy Awards, too. Denzel Washington over Russell Crowe?
Puh-leeze! Can you say, “Let’s discriminate against the masculine Caucasian
guy?” The alluring Aryan Aussie played the role of a tormented genius, and did
so with power and subtlety. Washington portrayed a black guy. That might be
tough for Sally Field to pull off, but in Washington’s case, it is known as playing
to type. If Jimmy Carter really cares about racial injustice, he can
start by breaking into Denzel’s house, taking the best Oscar statuette, and
delivering it post haste to Big White Russ.
It
won’t happen, because liberals love racism, unless the “victims” are
malcontents who a) start rioting whenever one of their own is convicted of
jaywalking, or b) compose musical tributes to cockroaches, or c) subsist on a
diet of Cocker Spaniels. As my good friend Clarence Thomas said to me last
October at the Bull Connor Day Celebration in Alabama, “Why can’t America
just be for those of us who are white, like it was before the Indians showed
up?”
Jimmy
Carter was the worst president this nation ever had, and he is the worst
ex-president, which is a pretty amazing accomplishment when you stop to consider
that the Antichrist left office less than two years ago. Carter’s public
relations campaign to glorify himself as a good guy who is building houses for
the homeless doesn’t fool me. In order to make people forget that he was the
limp wrist who wanted us to unilaterally surrender to the Communists and become
their comfort women, Carter is selfishly trying to undo what it took eight years
for Ronald Reagan to accomplish: provide people who have trouble adapting to the
claustrophobic confines of suburbia with the liberating al fresco experience of
the freeway underpass.
It’s time to apply some science
here: not all people are wired the same way. Some are naturally geared to
luxuriate in mansions, while others are better suited temperamentally to wallow
in dumpsters. This is an anthropological fact that can’t be changed by the
cocktail party palaver of emotional limousine liberals, seditious bastards that
they are.
By
disrupting the natural order of things, Carter saturates himself with ersatz
prestige, but at what cost to those who are now misplaced like square pegs in
round holes? What happens during the winter, when frostbitten poor people decide
to set fire to their hovels that Jimmy built because they lack the mental
necessities to operate a thermostat? When the social fabric unravels as a
result, will he be around to pick up the pieces? Or will Carter again be helping
Castro torture the fans of Cuban émigré Gloria Estefan with the dreaded
carnivorous Caribbean earwig that was used so sadistically by Bob Woodward to
force Julie Nixon Eisenhower to become Deep Throat?
Contrast
the insane behavior of this venereal drip of a man with the dignified
ex-presidential demeanor of George Herbert Walker Bush. Without grandstanding,
the modest Poppy selflessly uses government contacts obtained during a lifetime
of public service to raise money for worthy causes. Through a grueling
behind-the-scenes effort, he has generated tens of millions of dollars, some of
which reportedly has gone to provide aid to a pair of troubled young alcoholic
women with ongoing legal problems. Yet the liberal media smears his
philanthropic activities with their slanderous Carlyle Group conspiracy
theories, just because he is not a goober-growing Friend of Fidel crazed with a
compulsive desire to shove the elderly siblings of Desi Arnaz into an Iron
Maiden and then slam the door shut!
Jimmy
Carter, you loathsome creature, you are reviled by every human being with a
soul, and also by some Jews. Each night, as I wax and buff my legs that are as
silky smooth as a gentle tropical breeze, I think of the almost incomprehensible
magnitude of your depravity, and I unselfconsciously hang my perfectly shaped
head to sob in silent protest. Yet, despite the righteous river of tears, my
Maybelline All Weather mascara remains completely intact.
As
you see, Mr. Carter, some things are so sacred that even a malevolent pox upon
humanity like you is utterly powerless to destroy them.
An accomplished author and lecturer, Miss Coulter is currently appearing at the Burt Reynolds Dinner Theatre in Jupiter, Florida, where she is wowing the critics as “Spot” in a stage adaptation of The Munsters.
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Please click here if you really believe that Ann Coulter wrote this piece.
