In Godless, Miss (oh, how it pains me to refer to that serially-rejected spinster as "Miss," but something Miss Coulter usually eschews -- accuracy -- compels me) Coulter turns her shrill furnace of brayed invective, fueled by a bottomless quarry of prickly psychological damage, at the most despicable people in the world. No, not the maniacal murderers who flew planes into the World Trade Center towers, but the blameless Americans who had their flesh burned off of their bodies in those buildings -- and the inconsolable spouses they left behind...
But in her mercantile zeal to say what sells, Miss Coulter endeavors to create an image that has apparently had a nasty falling out with reality, leaving them no longer on speaking terms. Indeed, to hear Miss Coulter speak (in that wound up Martha Stewart-on-helium Connecticut lockjaw voice of hers), you'd think she is someone who actually embraces heartland, Christian, American values. In reality, however, she is less like June Cleaver baking pot-roast than she is like Samantha Jones baked on pot. Indeed, this is no piously serene Christian wife, but a braying loud mouth who wears super-slutty clothes, powders her bony nose more often than Lindsay Lohan (if you know what I mean), knocks back scotch with an alacrity that eludes Ted Kennedy since the advent of rheumatoid arthritis, lives only in cities filled with homos and screws anything willing to bang an anorexic skeleton. [Footnote 4]
FOOTNOTE 4: Had I typed any of that I would have included the word "allegedly," but the Lord apparently countenances no such quibbles when He uses my keyboard to throw His voice.
I urge you to read the whole thing. Don't be drinking anything while you do. Visit the rest of the site, too, if you aren't familiar with Mrs. Betty Bowers, the world's best Christian.
Anglachel
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