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Deplorably Speaking: A Righteous Blog
Herein your fearless editor in briefs, who was deplorable long before deplorable was a meme, holds forth, but seldom holds his tongue, on a variety of topics ranging from the politicalization of sports to the emasculation of male college students to the idiocies of third-wave feminism to the reasons for (and implications of) the sudden prominence of white-interest™ movements to whatever fickles his nancy. You can check in any time you like as long as you're prepared to get deplorable.
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Postcards the Book
The book that inspired a website is available from Cedar Tree Books. Written by someone who was actually raised by pugs, Postcards is a welcome addition to any nightstand.

Sample chapters . . . -1- -2-


The Pug Bus Interview
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Trigger warning! The content of this website may cause raging panic attacks in hypersensitive snowflakes who suffer from androphobia, galactophobia, emetophobia, corprophobia, claustrophobia, fear of taints, and other psycho-sexual maladies too numerous and frightening to mention.

Ann Coulter Poses Nude for Esquire
Nov 28, 2006 - 6:41
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LOS ANGELES - This grave, grand room with its Isfahan carpet, mahogany desk and bookshelves, and sofa of wine-colored leather, could almost be a judge's chambers. Or my shrink's office.

Except reclining Cleopatra-style on that sofa is none other than Ann Coulter. She's wrapped in a kimono of royal blue silk—"The color of the Virgin Mary," she laughs softly—and nothing else. In less time than it takes me to write this, she will unwrap herself and pose for the photographers, who are fussing with their lights.

Yes, I am speaking of the Ann Coulter: pundit, author of Godless, frequent foil for Fox News' Alan Colmes, and right-wing America's queen of mean. She's lanced many a Hollywood celebrity for pulling this kind of stunt, so what gives now? Is Coulter making the ultimate ironic gesture? Or is the one-time top jurist truly convinced that disclosing her willowy corpus, for photos due to appear this spring in Esquire, will enable her to command higher fees on the lecture circuit?



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ML: Why, Ann? Why?
AC: I'm not doing it because I drank too many Red Bulls, I can promise you that much. Hi, Britney! Nice to see you back in form.

ML: Seriously.
AC: Seriously? OK. I'm doing this because I can. I'm a beautiful woman with a beautiful body in a field dominated by stiffs in suits and tortoiseshells. Hundreds of thousands of people actually want to see me naked. Who would want to see George Will naked? His mother, or if she's dead, maybe his doctor.

ML: You really think that many men find you desirable?
AC: If mash notes were votes, I'd be president-for-life. I get more imploring messages each month than the Wailing Wall.

ML: I guess certain people do have a lot of time on their hands.
AC: Very funny. The wards of the state are too busy listening to Air America to know who I am. My demographic is the quality—investment bankers, corporatate lawyers, captains of industry. Just last week an Episcopalian bishop boxed his little bishop in front of a webcam and sent me the video, wasn't that nice? Actually, that was probably a mistake. If he was Episcopalian, he must have meant to send it to Jonah Goldberg.

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ML: Touche, touche, touche. So why are these hotshots looking to media figures for their jollies?
AC: Why else? Because contemporary American women don't do it for them anymore. They can't possibly. They've read so much [1960s feminist] Bella Abzug that they've started to look like her.

ML: So we're all looking for a new ideal and you're it?
AC: You could do a lot worse. Look at Hollywood harpies like Julia Roberts and Jennifer Aniston. None of them has the brains to spell GOP, much less vote that way.

ML: You don't think Michelle Malkin could fill the role?
AC: Ah, Michelle. Her writing's good, but she's too into the mom role to start a revolution. But, hey, you might want to sit near her on an airplane in case she starts nursing. Turn your head now. I have skin to show.

ML: I don't get to watch?
AC. You're nowhere near my demographic.


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