A Love Letter To Teresa Heinz Kerry:
Dear, darling Teresa,
Oh, how, if the stars were aligned differently, if time could fly backwards, how the Rude Pundit would love you. He would love your smile, somewhere between the gentle grin of a mother bunny and the disemboweling sneer of a tiger; he would love your sultry voice, all post-coital and absinthe-infused, with that vaguely European accent that makes you sound like nothing less than a latter-day Marlene Dietrich. Ahh, how the Rude Pundit would love you for your rudeness, your inability to take shit from anyone, your fire. When you gave your speech last night, the Rude Pundit, alone in a hotel room, couldn't help himself. He knows you won't mind if he says that he touched himself, delicately at first, but then, thinking about the idea of you sitting on his lap, whispering for him to "Shove it, oh, please, shove it," he manhandled his member a great deal more violently, for which he is paid this morning with an ice bag and a Vicodin.
But ejaculatory glee aside (and the Rude Pundit left a very nice tip for the maid's discretion), you spoke at times with the foresight of a visionary, of someone who has seen the city on a hill, of someone who believes that dreams writ large can be fulfilled: "It is the America the world wants to see, shining, hopeful and bright once again." But you, as always in the Rude Pundit's dreams, held the peacock feather in one hand and the leather glove in the other, when you proclaimed, "In America, the true patriots are those who dare speak truth to power. And the truth that we must speak now is that America has responsibilities that it is time for us to accept again." Oh, yes, how everyone will focus on your rebuke to that stooge editor and then on your lines about speaking your mind, but to the Rude Pundit, nothing is sexier than a woman (or man - the Rude Pundit does keep his options open) who would dare tell us all that we need to take responsibility. Goddamn, it's like a spanking, like if you asked the Rude Pundit to bend over while you lash that ruler across his ass, you sexy MILF, you.
Oh, forgive the occasional bursting forth of desire, Teresa. The Rude Pundit knows, he knows, god, how he knows, you are a happily married woman. He knows that your work as the chair of the Heinz Endowments is purposeful and noble in a way few can understand. He loves your words about America after 9/11 on the Endowments' website. Your line, "As long as America continues to build strong communities—diverse places that dignify people and their varied aspirations as human beings—the terrorists will fail," is a stunningly simple rebuke to right wing attempts to separate the country through fear and intimidation.
The Rude Pundit pledges his love. As long as he can sometimes hear your voice in five different languages, see your lips move, he will remain happy. He will defend your right to speak your mind as rudely as you like. He will smack down anyone who says you are a liability to the campaign of your husband. He will let you be the woman you are, the one unafraid to say what Hillary must have wanted to say a dozen years ago: "My only hope is that, one day soon, women — who have all earned their right to their opinions — instead of being called opinionated, will be called smart and well-informed, just like me."
Oh, god, since we cannot turn back time so that we might meet, the Rude Pundit had better sign off now. Farewell, lovely, lovely, deliciously lovely Teresa.
Lovingly and with love,
The Rude Pundit
P.S. Isn't Ann Coulter such a cunt?
