I'm going to listen to my own press, how all of you tell me how wonderful I am, and I'm just gonna go for it, okay? Huh? You primitive screwheads?
I mean, I can cough up something like 'I can write a pithy post quicker that Mother Theresa can fart her image onto a cheese sandwich...' TIME! There, look, what five seconds?
And I managed to piss off every Catholic in the world at the same time!
My powers are worthy of your worship.
Or not. Ann Coulter keeps writing funny, kick-ass, meticulously footnoted books, and pundholes still call her...what? A fourth rate intellect? Does someone need a Columbian Necktie?
Look at that, right there, 'pundholes'. Try to write that, just try. And then slip in an implicit yet obscure threat DING! What? Ten seconds?
Why any of you even ATTEMPT to match wits with me is, well, quite frankly, Ann (SEE?!) beyond me.
I'll suck your soul (SEE?! the circular movie reference? Gosh, I am brilliant!).
Why that fat stroke-puppet Eberts (SEE?!) gets the big gigs, and I languish here, even more forgotten than Joe-Bob, is beyond me.
Of course, there may be that whole 'lack of effort' thing, but that's
ALL YOUR FAULT!!