That sounds like something Quagmire from Family Guy would say… “Get Coulter, Malkin, more for jsut a buck each, oh!”

Three words: home heating bill.

I dunno. Coulter’s a harpy, but Malkin’s a harpy with sexy lips.

BTW, I have a present for you, in case you want to have a header for WND-related posts:

http://www.joshgemmell.com/Content/Images/Nutty/WorldNutDaily-Logo.gif
http://www.joshgemmell.com/Content/Images/Nutty/WingNutDaily-Logo.gif

I don’t know. Can I make them kiss? And wear lingerie?

I’d buy that for a dollar.

I don’t know…seems like too heavy a stock for use as toilet paper. My hampsters could use some fresh bedding though.

Ew! Not even for a dollar and with a rented d*ck.

If I had one, that is.

Boy, that came out wrong.

I think fumes from the concentrated Stupid emanating out of Chuck Baldwin are affecting me.

What I meant to say was… oh hell, I can’t remember, use your imgaginations.

Boy, that came out wrong.

Yeah it did. Now you’ll get featured in Michelle’s next book as an example of “the unhunged left.” 😉

It must be the stated policy of Regnery and their ilk never to use recycled paper in their books, to avoid even the appearance of concern for the environment.

So, to compensate in a small way for the loss of all those trees, the remaindered Malkin and Coulter books should be returned to the forest whence they came.

In a few hundred years, they will grow again.

Coulter- as Tak said, Malkin… I’d tap it, if she didn’t weren’t allowed to speak words with more than four letters.
But then, I’m desperate.

If get them in a cage match to the death for one dollar is what he meant, sign me up.
I don’t think the tranny Coulter would stand a chance.

Can’t let an opportunity pass to bring back this one:

I Fucked Ann Coulter in the Ass, Hard.

She sprung up on the couch on all fours and looked over her shoulder at me. She pointed to her twitching, puckered anus. ‘See this?’
I nodded eagerly.
‘I want you to wreck it.’
I spit on my skeezer-pleaser and, prying her ass cheeks apart like a hot dinner roll, drove it home, into the biggest browneye I had ever seen. She gurgled contentedly. Every thrust of my babymaker was met with a wrenched squeal as I grabbed her by the hips and began really leaning into it.
‘Harder!’ she begged, ‘Harder!! Tell me what you think of Chomsky!’
‘I..think..he’s..brill..iant..but..I..don’t really agree with much of his stance on Israel, and–’
‘You’re slowing down!’ she snapped. ‘DON’T SLOW DOWN!’

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