In Which I Can Not Help Myself, Because...Tengrain.

Okay, I don't like to pick on Ann Coulter because I don't think she is actually well and picking on the unwell is not my scene, but, when the rabid Electra of the tragic Right mourns for an entire nation laboring under the tyranny of hashtags, there really is no answer but to slink to her Slitherin level.

It seems like Ann Coulter was not quite the figure of fun she is now, once upon a memory of mine, but I am old enough to remember K-tel music compilations and learned to crawl on a textured carpet. Anyway, I am old enough to remember that her slide towards random trollhood is not so new.  And continues to be sad. This may have everything to do with her copy-pasta-ing the same refrain "libs commies bad, me like guns, mens" with new footnotes, which naturally challenge the dedicated reader to test her veracity/reading comprehension.

Her social media fail is hardly a surprise; it's only a surprise it went viral because who knew so many people still recognized Coulter as a force once to be dealt with, let alone one so necessary to flick at, as one would a fly, to this day.

And yet it must be said--we see you, dear. Yes, we do.