Dear Ann Coulter,
You strike me as a woman who doesn’t mince words, so I’ll do us both a favor and cut right to the proverbial chase: I want a piece a’ you.
I’m ready to throw down. Me. You. A steel cage. A fight to the figurative death.
Now, I’ve always been more of a lover than a hater, but I feel compelled to challenge you in this violent way. I’ve been fighting the Irish rage that rises up in me every time I hear your baseless rhetoric.
And trust me, Ms. Coulter, it ain’t your politics that offend me as much as your character. Go ahead and hate liberals, I don’t give a damn. And I doubt they do, either.
Nah, my dislike quickly morphed into unbridled rage when I saw your recent appearance on a daytime talk show. I know it’s kind of your thing to be a bitch, but you were so much nastier than that.
Yes, it was Dr. Phil, and you were one of many panelists who weighed in on the inauguration of President Obama. You didn’t field questions as much as make personal attacks that had little to do with the issues at hand.
Being aggressive is one thing – and one thing that can sometimes be a necessity. But you were more than that. Your overblown opinion of yourself is more apparent than your so-called political know-how.
Indeed, you came off as a hateful woman who is entirely too impressed with her own feeble sense of sarcasm. And believe me, honey, you’re not fooling anybody. I’m sure I’m not the only woman out there who looks at your Skeletor-esque figure and sees the inner pock-marked fattie who had to use her scant wit to make it through those middle school years.
But it wasn’t necessarily that revelation that prompted me to challenge you to a cage fight. It was your Web site. There is a list of “Reporters who are allowed to interview Ann again.”
Below it is a list of articles I chose not to read.
Who do you think you are to decide who will interview you, sweet cheeks? So, Ann, I’m more than ready to battle it out with you to knock the obnoxious pretense out of your nonexistent booty, and maybe for something even more important.
I want to face off in that virtual steel cage for journalists everywhere. Because if you can’t get a decent haircut, you sure as hell can’t control the news, or the reporters like me who write it.
And even though I’m sure you have a killer reach, and even a respectable right hook, I know I’m a nastier fighter than you.
So name the time and the place, chica.
I’ll be there.
Amanda “get ready to get fitted for a gold tooth” Gillooly