BlogBites. Like sound bites. But without the sound. » Blog Archive » I wonder if Coulter actually read my essay–in which case she presumably knows she is misrepresenting it–or if someone just handed her a passage to quote and told her to make up a joke about farts.

Now, in a discovery calculated to increase my irritation, I learn that the little bastards are singing a love song as they hover about, looking for an opportunity to stab me and suck my blood. “Come to me, come to me, mon chéri,” they sing, “after I gorge myself on ze fat, torpid hu-man (and daintily spit up a little backwash into his capillaries), we shall make sweet, sweet love in the moonlight and zen I shall lay a thousand eggs, and our progeny shall feast on his children!” (Sorry, but now whenever I hear them they’ve also got a silly Pepe LePew French accent.) »

July 10th, 2006

I wonder if Coulter actually read my essay–in which case she presumably knows she is misrepresenting it–or if someone just handed her a passage to quote and told her to make up a joke about farts. The Loom : Behold, For *I* am the Giant Flatulent Raccoon!

« Bring the hooker to church, huh? Okaaay… I like the way you think. Kinky. And hey, I’m sure the pews shouldn’t be much worse than the beds in your average pay-by-the-hour hotel room, anyway…