Steven Weber does ann coulter:

[AnnInLa]

Remember Steven Weber from the TV show "Wings?" I think he is on some new program Studio 90, or 54 or something, have never seen it...anyway, seems he had a date with ann coulter and wrote about it for Huffpo:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steven-weber/my-date-with-ann_b_42525.html

snip

The door opens...and there she is. My Sweet Coult. Her long blonde mane has the metallic sheen of St. Joan's armor and her eyes flicker and glint as though reflecting light from a distant, blazing pyre and she says simply, deceptively "Hello". I enter.
"Nice place", I say.
"Faggot" she says.
I smile and nod again. The minx. She's working her magic early. She must sense that I am The One For Her and she's pulling out all the stops, just like an organist does when he or she wants to get the loudest, most resonant, most effective tones out of the instrument, the "stops" being those knobs that line the front and sides of the organ. You pull them out and it makes everything louder, bigger, more booming.
"Do you have a vase for these?" I extend the bouquet of roses to her.
"Oh, Towel Head?" she cries out and suddenly, what can only be described as a shirtless, stooped Middle Eastern man of about fifty enters the room, his body posed in perpetual flinch. Towel Head looks at me with mute, hollow, pleading eyes and a slack jaw, holds out his hands and grips the roses firmly by their thorny stems, seemingly inured to the pain. I note traces of what looks like dried, encrusted blood at his mouth, nostrils, nipples and crotch. Like I said, love is in the details. He slithers away.
"Lift your feet, dogwater!" she hurls after him. "And put a little sugar in the vase---" She turns to face me. "It keeps them blooming longer..."
My stomach makes a twittering sound, like I swallowed a terrified wren and the unquenchable desire begins in earnest now. I feel the heat emanating from her slinky frame and I practically see the air shimmering off her taut, pink dermis. She wears a green off the shoulder cocktail number, her golf-ball sized deltoids glistening under the track lights, her crisp nun's bosom securely encased beneath the emerald fabric---my God, is it cotton? She leans over


The rest is pretty funny too, who knew he could write this kind of thing:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steven-weber/my-date-with-ann_b_42525.html

[blue neen]

1. Brilliant.

You're right...who knew he could write this kind of thing.

[GoneOffShore]

2. For a minute there

I thought you meant something else.

I am so relieved.