Sunday, September 12, 2004
What Ann Coulter Wants To Be
For the seventh or eighth or maybe ninth time--high single digits, anyway ... I've lost count ... probably we all have--there emerge from under the tarp on the power boat the mingled bellows and screams of Ba'al and Ann Coulter at sex.
We're all pretending not to notice, of course. But it's loud. We're noticing.
Grisha Perelman in particular looks a bit green around the gills. He's been making dogged math conversation with me for what seems like hours.
"So I'm thinking," he's saying, "maybe heaven isn't a sphere at all ... or if it is, it's a zero-sphere, which would be one shit-bastard to calculate ..."
I look over at Bill. He's looking a bit green himself. But maybe that's just a reflection of the sky? Or else he's guzzled down all the green Power-Ade again. Yahweh just sent the Holy Ghost on another 7-11 run for more. But Bill is one thirsty cloud. He chugs it by the barrel-full and clamors for more.
Then--a thick smug silence seems to gather and settle around the power boat. Out of that silence extends a long white arm, which unfastens and throws back the tarp. Ba'al and Ann Coulter stand up, naked. Ba'al is wiping himself off with an oil rag, and starts climbing down. Ann Coulter makes no move to cover herself. She isn't entirely unattractive, certainly. She's got all the female parts. But she's--lanky. Long torso. Long skinny legs. No ass to speak of. Small saggy breasts. Long neck. The kind of woman you might be attracted to if you had a million-dollar trust fund--
--or were Grisha Perelman. He swallows so hard beside me his chaise-lounge quakes.
"Grisha," Ann Coulter says.
"I don't think I want to be a liberal," she declares.
"Uh--fine," Grisha says.
"I just realized what I want to be. I want to be a priestess of Ba'al."
Rolled eyes all around. "Oh, Jeez," Allah says.
"I've had a sacred vision," Ann Coulter explains. "During sex. I had a vision of Aaron dreaming of Ba'al in the underworld, Ba'al submitting to death at the hands of Mot, and his rescue through Anat's fierce loyalty. I will be Anat. I will be a lover and a warrior for Ba'al. I will be Ba'al's high priestess in heaven. Who wants to have sex with me? I'll do you all."
"Please, Ann dear," Mary says gently. "Come down from there. Put some clothes on. Ba'al has that effect on everybody at first. They get over it."
"Who wants to be first?" Ann Coulter says, a little louder.
Little baby Jesus sits up, looks at Mary. "Mom? Dad? Could I--?"
"No!" Mary and Yahweh thunder at him in one voice.
"Okay, okay, Jesus Christ, I was just asking."
"And watch your language, young man."
The Bill-cloud drifts over. "I might want to give it a try," he rumbles, "but I'm not sure I've got the necessary parts in this thing. Anybody know more about it than me? I'd sure appreciate a little demonstration."
Grisha stands up, red-faced. "I'll do it," he says.
"So there's one real man among you!" Ann Coulter declaims.
Grisha shuffles over toward the boat, looking like he's shat his pants. He gives one rueful glance back at me.
"Hey," I shrug. "Don't look at me. Go for it."
He climbs up into the boat, starts pulling the tarp back over. Ann Coulter stops him.
"No," she says. "In the open air, for Ba'al!"
Grisha ignores her, keeps pulling on the tarp. We all go back to our ribs. The barbeque sauce is really out of this world. It must be Corky's. But how does Yahweh ship it in?