I ran into Ann Coulter outside of the grocery store today. Actually, I almost ran into her, as I busily tripped over my tongue when I recognized her.
At first, I wasn’t sure. She was wearing a babushka that barely concealed the three-inch pink hair rollers, and a pair of Jackie O. sunglasses.
To be sure, I waited, and walked behind her. I knew her by her walk instantly.
Immediately, I saw the scoop potential for my advice column. Usually I write about the training of house cats, but I knew that I could find a way to work in a juicy quote. She probably has a cat, I guessed, so I could use that as segue.
I intended to ask her:
“ So Ann, that was a pretty lousy name to call somebody wasn’t it?”
But somehow, it came out as:
“You know, I have all of your books. And although I can never finish any of them because you are so mean-spirited, I do stare at your picture on the cover for hours.”
I think that she meant to say:
“Thank you handsome, that’s all that I can hope for as a writer.”
But actually, she said:
“Beat it, you punk fascist.”
Then she knocked me over with her shopping cart, the contents of my bag flying everywhere. She snickered at the sight.
Still awed by her, I begged for a chance to start over, for just one juicy quote for my devoted readers.
“That was the quote, you liberal moron. I was misquoted; you know how the press is, anything to be sensational and all. What I really called him was a ‘fascist’.”
As I was retrieving the oranges that had become strewn across the parking lot, I sidled up next to her once more, still on my knees.
“Fascist?” I asked, “Isn’t that worse than what they accused you of saying?”
“Not to me,” she said.
And with that, she was gone.
And I had my quote.
This story is completely fictitous, and is completely devoid of facts. If you believe it, you're sillier than both me and Ann Coulter.