The other day when I was watching C-Span and I caught your speech at CPAC (which apparently stands for “Conservatives Playing At Civility”) was the last straw. It’s bad enough you felt the need to name-call a presidential candidate, but why did you have to call him a faggot? Not only is that sort of thing hateful and homophobic, but it makes no sense being that the dude’s not even gay! Why not call John Edwards a nigger, since I know you’ve been dying to use that one in public anyway? Did you even consider your fellow conservatives and Republicans presidential hopefuls who would be appearing at this conference — the ones who, I assume, were hoping to give their little talks in an atmosphere of decency and respect? Granted, how decent can a conference devoted to keeping the minimum wage low and tax rates for the rich even lower possibly be? — but I didn’t hear Grover Norquist up there calling anyone a shitpacker.
Look, you have the right to be as much of a bitch as you want to be — I should know, I gave you the fuckin’ right. But it seems pathological at this point. Why would anyone want to behave so often like such a heinous cunt? In public, no less. Not just the “Edwards is a faggot” remark, but the time on Hardball when you called Al Gore “a total fag,” or when you said the 9/11 widows who spoke out against George W.’s retarded war in Iraq were enjoying the deaths of their husbands too much, or the time you said that the theory of evolution was suspect because only biologists ever talked about it and not “real scientists” like physicists — okay, so that last one isn’t so much hateful as titanically stupid, but I think I’ve made my point.
I know half the time you’re only joking (I don’t know what the fuck’s going on the other half), but you’re not funny is the thing. You think you are, and someone obviously has encouraged you to explore that humorous side to your . . . “work,” but I’m telling you: you ain’t funny. You fancy yourself this razor-sharp satirist, this shrewd, fearless polemicist who isn’t afraid to ruffle some feathers by saying what needs to be said, but Ann, none of that is true. You are incapable of anything near insight, and if someone laughs at something you’ve written or said, all that means is that person doesn’t have a fucking sense of humor. You suck. You are painfully, excruciatingly, embarrassingly unfunny. You’re like Glenn Beck with a penis.
All that being said, it’s not the real reason I’m writing to you. My main purpose was to formally notify you that you will be going straight to Hell when you die. We’ve had this allowance for death-bed salvation for a couple thousand years, but after discussing your case with God (A.K.A. Me) and a few of my most trusted advisors up here, I’ve decided to deny you that allowance. So the good news is, the pressure’s off! Go on and be all the beady-eyed little harpy that you can be. You might as well, because even if you did a 180 and devoted every remaining second of your life to feeding and clothing the impoverished or teaching the illiterate to read, it wouldn’t make a lick o’ diff — you’re still goin’ ta Hell. You may be wondering why you warrant such harsh treatment when I allow in serial killers who ask forgiveness on the walk to the gas chamber. I admit, it’s a personal thing. Ann, I just don’t like you all that much. I never have — why else do you think you look the way you do?
So that’s it. If I were you I’d start exercising and eating my vegetables, maybe take a few vitamin supplements in the morning with breakfast, because I just got off the phone with Satan before writing this, and goddamn is he anxious to get you down there. He has got plans for you, girl! I don’t want to spoil it for you, but have you ever been fucked in the eye by a white-hot-needle-encrusted iron penis? Now you’ll have something to look forward to. Be seeing you.
Oops — nevermind — no I won’t.
Yours in Me,