I am a mere writer, in search of a juicy quote.

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.