One has to admit that there’s a certain appeal to doing a Pawlik Watch thing — utterly excessive, an anvil dropped on a goldfish, a reasonless crusade against an adversary who’s pretty much huddled up in a cave wearing rags, eating cream cheese from the box, barely able to voice a yell against liberals and emancipated women.

It makes you feel kind of like how Ann Coulter must feel. Imagine being the famous and high-powered Coulter, launching full firepower at academic prion Ward Churchill. That’s the crux of why Ann is such a wrong thing: It’s not her politics or her gigantic mouth (or the fact that she looks like a Christian Dior stick insect). All of those things are tolerable, if unwholesome. It’s her heat-seeking talent for being on the side with the most power at the moment, and lashing out at those weaker than herself. She doesn’t choose fair fights, but piles on an adversary, Richard III-style, after it’s already clear how the battle is likely to end — and fucks up largely by going too rabid in the attack (not by choosing it rashly or failing to consider qui bono). I’m not aware of a single courageous, if wrong-headed, stand that she’s taken to advance the GOP cause. If the wind shifted tomorrow away from the evangelicals, the wowsers, the William Jennings Bryan conservatives, and toward the Christine Whitman patrician set, Coulter’s kite-like frame would turn with it.

And, as I said, there’s a certain fiendish appeal to driving the bulldozer over Amber now that she’s kicked off Men’s News Daily (!!) and eating powdered ranch dressing from the packet, working as a mechanical engineer somewhere in DC instead of shrieking in a sexually-charged way for an Ayn-Randian Gilead in the US. Would she do it to us? Sure. She’d drive the bulldozer, then complain that the seat was too hard for a woman’s dainty, flower-like ass.

On the other hand, despite being one of the worst-run and least regarded blogs on the Internet, we’d like to think we’re a little bit better than that. Or, not ‘better,’ per se, but what we really mean to say is that it’s not funny enough, given the conscience pangs (she’s covered in boils, cursed by God, naked except for a rat-skin bikini, and eating out of the Hidden Valley Ranch factory dumpster, for Jesus sake). (Actually, as a mechanical engineer apparently working for a defense contractor, she’s probably more comfortable than we are, if cursed by God.)

Anyway, no more Amber-bashing unless and until she does something really funny. I mean me, you guys can keep rocking it like MC Escher on the mic, laying beats down for the beat-down and actually that’s kind of funny, isn’t it? MC Escher.

-DJ Easy Mark