I hate Ann Coulter.

When I was little, Mom never let me use the word “hate” in reference to anyone. It was alright if I didn’t like someone, even a whole whole lot, but I could never hate them. But Mom, my thirty years have taught me the true definition of hate, and I have found a worthy exception. I hate Ann Coulter.

I try not to hate her. I try to not think about her and when her name arises in conversation, I try to change the subject. My theory is that if people stay silent about the bony hussy then maybe she’ll fade away into her own irrelevance. But alas, no luck. Network news reports her views, morning news shows check in with her, cable news lives so far up her rear that they’re staring out her throat. And the only thing I can do is change the channel while hating Ann Coulter.

I know it’s the media I should hate, the media that provide her with a microphone, the media that run her column. But each time she speaks, that hatred just goes right back to Evil Barbie herself. How has she gotten to the position of “pundit”? What experience does she have? What knowledge of hers do we seek? She merely spouts malicious and juvenile attacks toward anyone veering left of fascist, enjoying the reaction as does a toddler who just learned his first cuss word. She flaunts skirts too short, hair too long, and desperation far too apparent (no matter how much cleavage or leg you show, Ann, you’re not hiding your age from anyone, honey). She “attacks” people by calling them gay. Ann, a little head’s up – this generation doesn’t see “gay” as a slur. Anyone walking upright on the evolutionary scale doesn’t see “gay” as a slur. Then again, the people Ann courts don’t buy into that evolution business anyhow.

I wish, I really wish, I could let it all go. She’s ridiculous, she’s irrelevant, she needs to be ignored. But again and again, Ann Coulter finds her way into the news and into my seething angst. Luckily, someone far classier than I answered her attacks this week: Elizabeth Edwards. She called during Coulter’s Hardball appearance (the day after Coulter said she wished John Edwards died in a terrorist attack). Elizabeth calmly asked for an end to personal attacks that only interrupt the political process, citing the time Coulter “joked” that John Edwards had the bumpersticker, “Ask me about my dead son.” Coulter just flung her hair around and asked why Elizabeth called instead of her husband. Elizabeth again cited the need for true political debate in this election and then said, “I am the mother of that boy who died.” Even that didn’t wipe Coulter’s smug grin off that long, horsey face of hers.

Perhaps one day, people will stop caring what Ann Coulter thinks and she will fade into her own irrelevance and I can let this grudge go. But until then, I’m afraid… I hate Ann Coulter.

However, I love David Letterman: