I’ve been feeling the need to make some massive changes in my life. After much contemplation, here is the plan:
I’m turning in my feminist credentials. I don’t know why I’ve wasted so much time trying to insure equal pay for myself, when clearly the world is designed on a merit system and the white – skinned male is its most oppressed minority.
Since it was Ann Coulter who showed me the error of my ways, it’s time I confessed that I have a massive crush on her. I want to run my fingers over her painfully well-defined skeleton. I’m buying a snub-nose .44 so I can impress her with my straight shooting, take-charge attitude and general blood lust.
I want to whisper “Liberal” in her ear until she prays to me in public schools. I want to give her 27 cents of every dollar I earn. I want to buy us matching Mickey Mouse sweatshirts and skip through Disney World, holding hands but never marrying – because that would undermine the entire institution of marriage, help the terrorists win and cause all bibles to simultaneously, spontaneously combust. (And the bible is the best book ever written – and really, the only book worth reading.)
No, sadly I can never marry Ann Coulter – but once I quit working with schizophrenics and start working for the prison lobby (we need to lock up those unemployed scumbags), I will then be able to buy Ann her dream home in Celebration, Florida – Disney’s planned community.
Once we’ve set up house in Celebration, Ann will start spelling her name correctly – with an “e” at the end. She will put her hair in hot rollers and style it big so it fluffs out under her cartwheel hat. (She’s tall. She can pull off a cartwheel hat.) She’ll layer frothy crinolines under her wide, feminine skirts because she knows I enjoy the way they set off the severe lines of her chicken legs. She’ll throw away her suits and stop writing, because once I’ve rescued her from the horrible fate of an unloved woman she won’t be forced to work in the media anymore like some common slut. She’ll stay home, keeping my house, cooking me nutritious meals of pork and buying me the very best scotch with my fat prison profits.
After all, someone has to be the man.
(Enjoy the day.)