This two part work of fiction was originally published just a few days after Bulldog Pundit launched, at a time when few people were aware of the existence of this site. I’m reposting it at this time because I believe that (a) it’s a wickedly funny piece of satire and (b) record numbers of people are flocking here to enjoy my excellent writing and partake of my wisdom. Without any further ado, I present to you the conclusion of Anna and the King of Drumthwackit. Enjoy!
“Oh my God,” she squeaked and in her waning moment of lucidity, rose from her chair to hurry across the office and turn the deadbolt on the door. There was no way she would allow herself to be interrupted now. Stepping gingerly over the puddle of Noelle’s vomit, she returned to her seat, barely able to contain her excitement. “It’s about time he got back to me. I need it. Lots of it. Yeah, baby…make Miss Annie a happy anorexic!”
She clicked on the first message in gleeful anticipation. It read:
“Tweeting this at a staff meeting where I just finished a whole jumbo bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Wish you were here.“
“Oh man,” she groaned. “Doritos.” She momentarily fantasized hearing the crunch-crunch-crunch as he slowly worked his way through nearly a pound of flavored corn chips, pausing only to lick his pudgy fingers. It was a mental image that gave her a brief, but very intense, hot flash.
Her shaking finger grazed over the touch pad and double-clicked on the second message. It read:
“ROTFLMFAO. Steve Sweeney just called me a rotten prick for not sharing my White Castle sliders. Mmmmm…I ate two whole Crave Cases right in front of him.“
It was lurid to the point of becoming pornographic and La Coulter had to shift in her chair. She loosened the top button of her blouse and fanned herself with an old copy of the Limbaugh Letter. There was a time once when she had the major league hots for El Rushbo – but that was long ago, when Rush Limbaugh looked like a cross between an obese Hoss Cartwright and an overweight Peter Jennings. These days, he is slim, trim and very healthy. The thought of his lean body on a Florida golf course made her want to puke.
She almost could not bring herself to click on the final message, which contained a picture. Her breathing became shallow as she wondered what it could be. Double-fudge devil’s food cake? Baked manicotti? Slow-roasted brisket with a gravy so thick and full of beef fat that it comprises its own food group? She double-clicked the message icon and scrolled down to the picture.
“OH MY EFFING GOD…IT’S HUGE!” was all she could say before losing her breath entirely.
It certainly was spectacular…thick, long and full of turgid, meaty goodness. The governor of New Jersey Tweeted her the sum of all her desires: a picture of his wiener – a bratwurst, to be precise – covered with mustard and nestled comfortably on a bed of German sauerkraut.
Unable to restrain herself, she leaned forward and begin licking the laptop screen, her tongue tracing the shape of the pan-fried sausage, her teeth desperately trying to nibble strands of the kraut. She could feel the tension and pressure building up deep down inside and understood immediately where this was going. At precisely that moment her Skype application chirped to life, announcing an incoming call and slapping her back into reality.
She pulled back from the laptop, leaving a trail of saliva all over the screen, and wondered who would be calling her at this hour. She activated the viewer and blanched when she saw the face that filled the whole screen.
“Hey there,” responded that unmistakable voice. “It’s me.”
“Yes. It’s you,” she said, still trembling. “I just read your Tweetmails. Way hot.”
“I figured they’d get your kitty purring. So what are you doing?”
“I just finished this week’s column and was about to head out.” It was a lie, of course, but the last thing she wanted Christie to know was that her evenings were empty without watching fat people stuff their faces. “Then I saw your Tweet mails. Looks like I’ll be here for awhile, lover.”
“Heh heh heh…that’s my good, conservative girl. Any word yet from Hannity?”
“I spoke to his producers earlier today. They booked me for both the radio show and the cable show.”
“Sweet! A definite two-fer, right?”
La Coulter sighed as her pulse returned to normal. “I suppose. The radio show isn’t much more than a three hour promo for the cable show, which is why most of the radio guests end up on TV later in the evening. And cable is where the money is at. Hannity’s not as dumb as he looks – or sounds.”
“So you’ll be sure to plug me as your conservative heart throb on both shows, right?”
“Well yeah…um…yeah…” She could no longer keep her composure and began cackling hysterically.
“What the hell is so funny?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t keep a straight face anymore. C’mon Chris, let’s be honest for once in this sick relationship: you make John McCain look like Ronald Reagan.”
“What do you mean?”
“After subtracting the bully-bluster, all that’s left is a Jersey RINO.”
“Hey! That’s not true!”
“Oh, really? Chris, you had to strongarm three three conservative Republicans into voting for your first budget. It actually increased state expenditures by 6% and any savings were achieved at the expense of new taxes and fees, federal Stimulus funds and accounting gimmicks; the 2% property tax cap will actually cause taxes to skyrocket. You have yet to propose the “across the board” tax cuts you promised as a candidate. The number of staff in your office making $100,000 per year increased by ten. You populated your cabinet with notorious liberals and fired the only true conservative after slandering him. You endorsed RINO candidates in the 2010 mid-term election and even though you nixed the Regional Greenhouse Gas Initiative, you still continue to subsidize idiotic “green” technology ventures like off-shore windmills.”
“Well…yeah, but I did score major concessions for the public sector unions in the latest budget deal.”
“You sure did, Big Boy. On the other hand, the state Supreme Court ordered you to cough up 500 million non-existent taxpayer dollars to continue funding the corrupt Abbott School districts and you folded like a cheap camera. Shall I go on?
“Absolutely. You still refuse to join other state attorneys general in a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of Obamacare and yet at the same time you accept federal funds for the implementation of a similar program on a statewide level. You are on record saying that you do not believe illegal aliens are here illegally and since then have doubled-down on this position. You generally favor strict gun control – and reiterated as much in an interview with our old friend Sean Hannity. You expressed support for construction of the Ground Zero Mosque and condemned those who opposed it while standing by your nomination to the state Superior Court of a lawyer with questionable ties to radical Islam.”
“Wow. You do know me, Ann. So why the cheerleading? Why the obsession with me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chris. You know why,” she purred, her mood shifting from accusatory to sultry.
“Let me hear you say it.”
“You know why.”
“I said SAY IT!”
She trembled in guilty delight at the bully-boy tone of his voice and admitted the truth they both knew: “Because I love to watch you eat, baby. Can you do it for me now, Mr. Governor? Please?”
“Most definitely,” Christie replied as he pushed his laptop farther away to reveal a platter of food on the desk in front of him.
“Oh. My. God. … is that Chinese?”
“Yup. Szechuan. I want to be hungry twenty minutes from now…Joe Kyrillos is stopping by with a tray of homemade moussaka.”
“Then do it now. Eat for me, you mountain of RINO hotness. Eat. I SAID EAT!”
With that, the governor began shoveling fistfuls of lo mein, eggrolls and boneless ribs into his maw, making sure to chomp noisily as chunks of half-chewed food dropped out of the corners of his mouth and onto the surface of the desk.
It was more than La Coulter could take and she began to moan softly: “Oh yes…oh do it, Chris….do it….mmmm….mmmmm….mzzzz……bzzzz…..
BZZZ – BZZZ - BZZZ - BZZZ - BZZZ
I awoke with a start, covered in sweat and I reached over to turn off the alarm clock. Dropping my head back to the pillow, I stared blankly at the ceiling. It was arguably the weirdest dream I ever had and one totally divorced from any reality I ever experienced.
Let’s face it: Ann Coulter is a stalwart conservative and, to the best of my knowledge, does not suffer from either anorexia or a feeder-eater fetish.
Surely her support for Governor Christie is based entirely on his impeccable conservative creds, no?