But the Real Question is, Which One of Them
Will Be First to Write a Holocaust Denial Book?

So I have this idea for a story: somewhere in Europe, there’s an incredibly wealthy prince who is looking for a mother to deliver him an heir. But this prince doesn’t want to have a son with just any woman. No, he wants to make sure that his child is raised to be as ruthless and cruel as humanly possible so he won’t do something stupid, like donate the family fortune to a bunch of dumb starving African kids. Thus, the prince issues a decree that he is seeking the most vicious, mean and vile woman in the entire world. After years of inspecting women from every corner of the Earth, the prince narrows his search down to two finalists:


And the prince says to these two uniquely vile harpies, “If thou dost wish to carry mine dark seed, thou needest to prove that thou art the cruelest wench in all the land!”

So the first wench- let’s call her Ann Coulter- struck first. She decides that the best way to win the prince’s affection is by attacking and ridiculing widows of husbands who died in a terrorist attack.

“Forsooth, I hath never seen maidens enojyeth their husbands’ death so!” says Ann to the widows. “How dost thou harpies not know that thine husbands weren’t planning to divorce thee?”

The prince looks on, and is very impressed by what he sees.

“Thine cruel taunts and vicious barbs art making the royal penis stiffen!” says the prince. “Plus, thine unnaturally large man hands and Adam’s apple shalt ensure that mine son shalt have a properly masculine disposition! Second wench, thou hast a very tough act to follow, verily!”

Never one to back down from a challenge, the second wench- we’ll call her Michelle Malkin- decided that she would go a step further. For her act, she decided to insult an old enemy of hers who had just committed suicide.

“That woman was seditious!” Michelle shrieked with glee. “I shall never be silenced regarding her various scandals and corruptocratic ways!”

“Verily, thou art a right vicious bitch!” said the prince, rubbing his hands with excitement. “Thou art both so exquisitely filthy, that I know not how I shall choose!”

And that’s all I got so far. Any suggestions on how it should end?


Comments: 65


It should end when both of those… ladies…. learn the true meaning of Chrismaramadanahanakwanzikah.




It should end when both of those… ladies…. learn the true meaning of Chrismaramadanahanakwanzikah.

OK, nice one. But that means we need a cute, sappy cartoon character to teach them about Chrismaramadanahanakwanzikah. Any thoughts?


Also, I think that while this story goes on, we should listen to the Wu Tang classic that goes, “Cash rules everything around me, CREAM, get tha’ money, dolla-dolla bill y’aaaaaaall…”

Strawberry Shortcake

—OK, nice one. But that means we need a cute, sappy cartoon character to teach them about Chrismaramadanahanakwanzikah. Any thoughts?—

Oh that’s easy. That would be “Weapon Brown”


Throw in a third candidate, like Sandy Rios, and the prince’s choice could set off a wingnut Trojan War.



How about Melaine “Throw Bill Keller Into the Gas Chamber!” Morgan?


I thought this joke usually ends with…”so he married the one with the biggest boobs”.


On Morgan: Ooh, she’s lovely, and a high roller to boot.


I thought this joke usually ends with…�so he married the one with the biggest boobs�.

That’s how it would end. Except it’d be a draw, I think.


Ann and the Prince head to his bedchamber to consummate their newfound love. After a frenetic make-out session she slowly slips out of her dress. The prince gradually lowers himself down to his knees, only to find himself face-to-glans with…

Oh wait, that’s been done, hasn’t it?


If he was to marry the one with the biggest penis, I think we all know how that one would end …


And that’s all I got so far. Any suggestions on how it should end?�

They devour the prince whole?


while this story goes on, we should listen to the Wu Tang classic

It’s a new project for the Clan. Wu Tang for Wingnuts, a soundtrack:

“Coulter shadow boxing and the Malkin sword style. If what you say is true, the Coulter and the Malkin could be lucrative.”


The Prince opens a curtain to reveal a couch, a bullseye target and a box of ping-pong balls…


And that’s all I got so far. Any suggestions on how it should end?�

coulter is disqualified b/c she turns out to be a man.

Charlotte Smith

The ickiest threesome ever?


Any suggestions on how it should end?

Steel cage match to the death.


Ah, Weapon Brown. Didn’t think many other people had seen that. Good stuff. Jason Yungbluth doesn’t get enough props. And no, I’m not him and not a friend of his, just a fan 🙂


Suddenly, everyone was run over by a truck.

(hat tip, mr. michael o’donoghue)


The Prince opens a curtain to reveal a couch, a bullseye target and a box of ping-pong balls…


And no one mention Ann Coulter’s vagina dentata…I seethe whenever people make cracks like that.


The prince first places a small African child in front of both of them… the first one to eat theirs completely wins.
If that fails, then I suppose I’d go with a puppy drowning contest, and, failing that, an unarmed duel to the death– possibly on a platform suspended from a large hot air balloon, ringed with barbed wire and maintaining station above a very large collection of gore-covered spikes.
Last one standing gets to have sex with the prince upon the very blood of her presumably now-deceased rival.


Get Debbie Schlussel involved, and suddenly it’s the Judgment of Paris, nightmare version.


So verily, the prince was flummoxed. How to choose between these equally viscious, psychopathic, evil women? How to choose? Ah, after a time, the prince had an idea. He declared that each would spend one night in his chambers, and by their willingness to serve his needs he would determine the, er, winner. By choice of lots, the first night the prince shared his bed-chamber with the one called ann. She came demurely to him, clad in the hottest white garters, fishnets and bustier. “Behold,” she said, “for I am a christian woman. Now let’s get down to it”. The prince smiled. He took her in his arms and gently laid her back on the matteress, parted her creamy, if somewhat spindly, thighs and prepared to mount his conquest. “STOP”, she shreiked in a voice eerily reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard. “Just what the FUCK do you think you’re doing here, lefty? You think you’ll have me in this LIBERAL fashion?” The prince drew back in shock. Nearly speechless, the best he could do was to splutter “Why, you’re not very EVOLVED, are you”? The one called ann froze. “I knew it!! Evolved indeed!! You’re a godless liberal, probably a communist terroist symp. Maybe even a FAG!! Evolution didn’t happen, Prince–or should I call you Michael Moore??” The prince called out to his retinue. “Guards, get this crazy wench out of my bedchambers NOW!! ” 12 of his best guards rushed in and dragged the one called ann out of the chambers. Even halfway down to the dungeon, she could be heard railing against the prince and his family, now exposed for what they truly were, and trying to convince the prince’s retinue to torture him for his traitorous acts.

Being as it was still early, the prince had them bring the one called the malkin thing. After a steadying shot of cognac, the prince returned to his chambers. The malkin thing stood demurely (yes, again, what kind of story do you think this is, anyway??) next to his bed. Dressed in a simply red lace teddy, she looked quite hot, forsooth her eyes did not, at this time, bug out nor did her mouth twist into a rictus of hate. All that was still to be revealed. The prince smiled. “My my”, he said, “but you are a charming woman upon the eyes, and yet to know you have all that evil inside, it makes my royal motor run.” Indeed, as he spoke, the prince began to evidence quite a royal bulge under his gown. The malkin thing smiled and said “you don’t happen to have a couple of ping pong balls, do ya? I could show you something special”. Not understanding, the prince found this charming and strode to the bedside. He swept the malkin thing up in his arms and took her to bed. As he proudly removed his dressing gown, he watched her eyes for her response, as he was endowed as no other, and was righteously proud of his manhood. When the malkin thing saw it, her reaction was not what the prince was expecting. Her eyes bugged out of her head–way out. Her mouth twisted into a dick cheney leer of hatred and contempt. “Prince” she shreiked. “What are you, some kind of brown person? Are you a mexlamofascist? Are you even legal in this country?” Now she was on her knees up against the huge royal headboard, rigid, quivering with hatred, fear and patriotic indgnation. “What kind of brown terrorist are you? What aren’t you in a CAMP?”

The prince sighed and called for his retinue. “Remove this one with the other one.” Pouring another cognac, he sat and reflected on the evening, and what he had learned. He thought about his old friend Forrest, and what he used to say:

“Evil is, as evil does”.

The prince sighed, and went to sleep alone…



Judgment of Paris, nightmare version

Instead of kallisti, “for the prettiest,” this time the apple says kakisti, “for the worst.”

Yes, I had to Google that. I need a hobby.


You have only one bad premise – it’s not Europe, it’s Saudi Arabia and the Prince is Bandar – He can marry any and all of the above and share their favors with Commander Codpiece. Not that our emporer has any need to share his favors…


Where is Marie Jon? She’d pull up in her ark and take him AWAY from all this …


mikey, that was perfect. But I don’t think he’d go to sleep alone. We all know who he’ll eventually end up with: Pam. Really, nevermind positions or circulation, you can’t beat Pam for sheer viciousness.


To show these women that they are nothing more than dogs at his service no matter how vile they can be, the Prince converts to Islam, marries both the harpies, puts them in the burkha and immediately sets them to work condemning liberals for giving a damn, poor people for being poor and iraqi children for not having the gumption to not get raped and die.

Chris Moorehead

And what about Laura Ingraham and Rachel Marsden? We could make a “Harpies Gone Wild” video…


And what about Laura Ingraham and Rachel Marsden?

Geeze, with all that boniness, there’d be a heck of lot of grind, and a bump could very well put an eye out. Throw in ole 60 grit Kate O’Beirne and the rasping sounds would be deafening.

That’s all very sexist, isn’t it? Oh well…


This makes me think of the X-Files episode that guest starred Bruce Campbell.

In it, Campbell was being investigated by Mulder and Scully under the suspicion that he was killing his offspring as a sacrifice to a demon of some sort. In the end, it turned out that his wife was herself a demon, and he was killing their offspring in order to protect the world from her demon spawn.

That’s how I see this ending: regardless of who the Prince chooses, even he will be shocked at the horror of the Coulter/Malkin spawn.

“What hath I wrought upon this world?”


Any suggestions on how it should end?

They all get eaten by tigers.

Porgy Tirebiter

So he married the one with biggest Adam’s apple, and he smote her for her pretense at humour, making her slave to his concubine Malkin, who lavished upon her willing servant many showers golden.


I hope to god that’s an IVF pregnancy. >


Coulter and Malkin meet at the Prince’s palace. They look deep into each other’s eyes and fall in love. They move to MA, get married, and join Cindy Sheehan on her hunger strike. They try to repent for their sins by devoting all their time to Media Matters. Eventually, they contribute to Sadly No! and their newly-discovered senses of humor win them Koufax Awards.


Hope that closes the open italics tag.


Any suggestions on how it should end?

The cops come in and arrest everybody.


Unable to decide between them, the prince declared, “There is a contest in which only the cruellest, most heartless, sharpest-fanged bitch can prevail. You two will perform the Duel of the Dozen Felines: You will each have twelve attacks. Your tongue is your only weapon, and your wits your only ally. The survivor will be my bride. Malkin, yours is the first blow.”

Malkin licked her teeth as she circled her opponent. “You, Ann, are…too skinny. I fear your hips would cut the prince to ribbons on your wedding night.” The prince nodded; it was a good start.

Coulter merely smiled. “I pass my first attack.”

“Your Adam’s apple is grotesquely large, and your oversized hands dwarf even those of the monster in Young Frankenstein!”

Coulter shrugged. “I pass again.” The prince stared at her in surprise. What kind of strategy was this?

Malkin stood straighter, drawing strength from Coulter’s weakness. “Truly thou art a skank-ass trailer-park whore with an inexperienced hair colorist!”
The prince gasped in delight. How quickly this cat drew blood!

Coulter grinned. She took a mirror from her purse and held it up to Malkin’s face. “Poor, poor Michelle. You. Are. Not. White.”

Malkin’s face contorted in disbelief. Her mouth twisted in rage. The tendons in her neck stretched and pulled while her head alternately thrust forward and retracted, as if she were a turtle on LSD. Her eyes opened wider and wider, bulging from her forehead until the prince was certain they could bulge no more. And in truth, they could not, for her head split open at her eye sockets, and her skull burst into pieces, splattering the assembled court with blood and rot and bits of atrophied brains.

Coulter sauntered over to the prince, smiling in her triumph. She reached up and wiped a spot of cerebellum from his cheek, then slipped her gore-covered finger into her mouth, slowly dragging it in and out.

The prince cried out with joy. “At last I have my perfect bride!” He took her gigantic hands in his and led her straight-way to his bedchamber, for his desire was strong and he could barely contain his seed.

He laid her down upon the coverlet, her blonde hair splaying out against the purple velvet. He tore away his tunic to reveal his strong chest covered in dark masculine fur, his tight stomach muscled like six pints of ale packed tightly together, and his impressive manhood engorged with anticipation.

“Oh, my prince!” Coulter breathed. She took hold of his rippling governator arms and pulled him down to her…
…and bit off his head.


(I have to go shower now. Ew.)


*clapping appreciatively* Dorothy wins teh internets!!!


yes, what celticgirl said. go, dorothy


Si, Dorothy ees veectorious.

Someone, por favor, pass the brain bleach.



Dorothy wins, I believe– though she should eat his testicles afterwords so as to produce spawn; such is the cycle of life.


By she, I mean Ann– not Dorothy (unless….).


Yeah, Dorothy wins. Or loses. Hard to tell….


wasn’ t this a Buffy episode with Xander and the giant praying mantis??


I left it vague as to which head she bit off. Maybe she’s a fan of the Greek “kill daddy by cutting off his testicles” method.


Since the prince is not a bright man, he decides that since he cannot choose, he will–in most Solomonic fashion–cleave the two skanks in half. After his henchmen complete the act and he looks down upon the four bloody piles of carved flesh, he says, “Okay! well that didn’t help.”


Where is Marie Jon?

Out looking for her missing apostrophe, of course.

looks down upon the four bloody piles of carved flesh, he says, “Okay! well that didn’t help.�

It didn’t? Coulda fooled me.


Tigrismus: The first declension feminine dative singular does NOT end in an iota! Shame!


I know it’s eta, but when I googled whether Paris’s apple said kallisti or kalliste, kallisti got far more hits. Maybe I shoulda just pasted in the Greek, but my Kos check is late this month so I couldn’t be bothered.

Chris Moorehead

I think we’re overdue for one of those demonic cat photos…


“And then they lezzed up”. The End.

Did someone ask for evil-looking cats?


I know it’s eta [with a subscript iota], but when I googled whether Paris’s apple said kallisti or kalliste, kallisti got far more hits.

Prob’ly due to eta being pronounced as i in most modern Greek.


*clapping appreciatively* Dorothy wins teh internets!!!

yes, what celticgirl said. go, dorothy

Si, Dorothy ees veectorious.

Dorothy wins, I believe– though she should…


Tough Crowd

Damn You, Dorothy!! I’ll get you someday!!!

Nice post, girl



Bistroist — I bet you are exactly right.

And did you add that subscript comment? A+!!!


. . . unless i messed the accent up.

Refrozen Seabass

And that’s all I got so far. Any suggestions on how it should end?

“So he chose the one with the biggest tits. The End.”

Refrozen Seabass

Ha! I should’ve searched for ‘boobs’ as well as ‘tits’ before posting. Oh well.


Amusing, but the archaic English needs a lot of work.


But then a lowly court attendent, let’s call her Pamela, fell into a fit and was overcome by shrillness. And she screeched at the court reporter, “Thou art guilty of Treason for reporting that the King has boasted of his terrorist tracking programs.” And the prince was overwhelmed with joy, for he had found the shrillest in all the land. And he rewarded her with her own blog.

Something like that.




[…] The ensuing hilarious 81 comments range from her possible meanings of “pie-wagon” and “corn-fed” to what lip-gloss exactly is (someone really didn’t know?). An exercise in clever ludicrousness to match that of the original statement.  But then there’s this link to Sadly No’s take on Ann Coulter as contender for evillest woman in the world, which is kinda cute in that way that white urban educated men like to be; those comments take on an entirely different flavor: immediate recourse to fuckability, vag and penis, and of course the de riguer reference to Wu-Tang.  Idgits.  I hate everyone. […]


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