On Monday, conservative pundit Ann Coulter tweeted her support of Mitt Romney with the following: “I highly approve of Romney’s decision to be kind and gentle to the retard.” In response to her use of the R-word, John Franklin Stephens, Special Olympics spokesperson and athlete, wrote Ann an open letter. We’ve received permission to repost it here.
Dear Ann Coulter,
Come on Ms. Coulter, you aren’t dumb and you aren’t shallow. So why are you continually using a word like the R-word as an insult?
I’m a 30 year old man with Down syndrome who has struggled with the public’s perception that an intellectual disability means that I am dumb and shallow. I am not either of those things, but I do process information more slowly than the rest of you. In fact it has taken me all day to figure out how to respond to your use of the R-word last night. Keep reading »
Dear Tami Taylor, I mean Mrs. Coach, I mean Connie Britton,
Well, I guess I should start by apologizing. I’m sorry for always calling you by the name of a character you played on a TV show that has been sadly off the air for over a year. You are Connie Britton, you are not Tami Taylor, wife of Coach Eric Taylor, mother to Julie Taylor and that kind of funny looking baby, and guidance counselor/principal to hundreds of teenagers in Dillon, Texas. (My therapist told me I should repeat this to myself as often as necessary, until it sticks.) It’s hard to separate you from Tami because Tami is the awesomest and you were so awesome at playing her that sometimes I forget the show was fiction, not a documentary about a place where the world revolves around high school football and a tall drink of sensitive man water named Tim Riggins. Is it okay, though, that I still ask myself, when I’m in a pickle, “What would Tami Taylor do?” I hope so. You, I mean she is so helpful!
So with that apology out of the way, I just want to tell you, Connie Britton, on the eve of your new ABC show “Nashville,” that I love you. Like, I wish you were my best friend, older sister, and first lesbian experience wrapped up in one person, which is really confusing and sort of weird, and it’s further complicated by the fact that I want to be you too. Don’t run away. Stay with me here. Keep reading »
Dear Members of the “Big Brother” Season 14 Jury,
Seriously, y’all are a bunch of butthurts. As a longtime fan of “Big Brother,” I am ashamed of you for voting for Ian to win “Big Brother 14″ over Dan. (Danielle, I can’t give you too many props for voting for Dan to win, because you only did so out of loyalty and loyalty in this game is bullshit. You should have voted for him because he deserved it.) The only reason you all voted for Ian over Dan was put best by Ian himself: he “played a slightly cleaner game.”
That is the worst reason EVER to award someone $500,000. If the choice is between someone who played a dirty game and someone who played a clean game, I can see why someone might choose the saint over the sinner. But faced with two liars, I would pick the one who lied the best, the hardest, the most convincingly, the one who lied with his hand on a Bible, on his wedding ring, and on the cross owned by his dead grandfather. That person, again and again and again, up until the very last second, was Dan. And you all fell for it. Ultimately, the only reason you didn’t vote for him to win in the end was as simple as … U MAD?!?!?! Keep reading »
Dear “The Voice,”
I heard the news that you will be replacing Christina Aguilera and Cee Lo Green with Shakira and Usher next season. I hate this idea. Not because I love Xtina and Cee Lo so much that I can’t stand to lose them, but because you seem to be getting a touch of “American Idol” syndrome.
That’s not a real syndrome, I just made it up. It’s when a reality competition show gets really successful, really quickly, and instead of sticking with what made it really successful, really quickly in the first place, it gets all full of itself and tries to change everything, therefore ruining itself. That was a really long sentence. What I’m trying to say to you is: don’t ruin yourself, “The Voice.” Keep reading »
It appears that, following in the footsteps of the Goservention, which intervened on Amelia’s obsessive fandom with Ryan Gosling, we are going to have to have a Vanessa Carltonvention with our intern Daley. — Jessica
You know those idiots who have come up to you saying “Oh my God, Vanessa, I’m like, your biggest fan”! Well, V, they’re wrong. Those bitches ain’t got nothin’ on me.
I was 11 when “A Thousand Miles” came out. I knew I was over the moon in love after watching you magically fly down the street, pounding on your gorgeous piano, with that mysterious owl and those awesome red wrist sweatbands.
Time passed by, but don’t worry, you didn’t live in my precious memory. I made sure to keep you alive in my daily pursuits, emulating you in every way possible. I was 13 when I asked my mother to curl my straight hair almost every day in junior high so I could look like you. In high school, I wore big sweaters and tightly wrapped scarves around my neck in Texas’ 90-degree weather. Now that’s loyalty. Keep reading »
Hi. How are you? Well, clearly you’re very angry. I’m not sure what possessed you to write “F**k You” on your face in eyeliner and flaunt it at LAX this past weekend. Well, right back at you. You seem to find it funny and so does your your girlfriend, Lindsay Usich. I think I have a pretty good sense of humor and I’m not laughing. Not funny. Just lame.
I don’t get what you’re so pissed about. That people judge you harshly for being different? Join the club. Such is the human experience. Are you mad that paps are taking your picture? Get over it. That’s part of being famous. You get large ass paychecks for making your music, which I don’t care for, but plenty of others do. That is a privilege in life, to get paid for your artistry. And the drawback is having your picture taken when you’re in public. That’s how it goes. And while paps and the haters may be an annoyance to you, it’s a small price to pay to be able to exercise creative freedom for a living. Keep reading »
Dear Pigeon Who Relieved Itself On My Head,
My scalp is not your toilet! Do you have any idea what it’s like to have have some good morning mojo going, to be steps away from arriving to work ON TIME (I’m not a morning person) only to be shit on by a winged rat? It sucks. I was rounding the corner to my office building, listening to Astral Weeks by Van Morrison, trying to feel a vague sense of well-being and spiritual connectedness when you dropped your load on my head. I prayed that the warm mess in my hair was just a big raindrop. But it was not raining. I put my finger in it and my nightmare came true. I ran into the nearest deli with a shit smear on my finger. I rode the elevator with your pigeon-y poop on my hand. People looked at me. I’m sure they smelled me. Or should I say, YOU. Keep reading »
Vagina you. No, seriously, VAGINA. YOU. You’re so scared of the vagina word that you barred Rep. Lisa Brown from speaking after she used it when addressing her opposition to Michigan’s recent string of extreme abortion bills. “Finally, Mr. Speaker,” Brown said, “I’m flattered that you’re all so interested in my vagina, but ‘no’ means ‘no.’” So you vaginas can regulate and legislate and tell women what to do with their vagina vaginas, but you find using the vagina word too “offensive” to actually say? One of you vaginas actually said , “It was so offensive, I don’t even want to say it in front of women,” one state representative said. “I would not say that in mixed company.” Keep reading »
Dear Sexually Ambiguous Guy On The Subway,
You got on at the same stop as me, so you might live in my neighborhood. I saw you waiting on the platform and thought you might be gay. I tend to
air err on the side of gay when I check out men. My friends fault me for this, they say that I am overzealous with my gaydar, and then when a guy is legitimately into dudes, I tend to think of him as “definitely straight.” Mainly just because he’s not afraid to admit he might be into sucking a d**k once in a while. By the transitive property of bizarre logic, this makes him very straight to me. Anyway, back to you, Sexually Ambiguous Guy On The Subway (who may or may not be gay), I was ignoring you, thinking you weren’t into me that way, until you smiled at me. I like gap-toothed guys with glasses. And you had both, plus a slightly salt and pepper beard. But you were dressed really well, with a button-down, suit jacket, nice jeans and stylish sneakers, so I was confused. I got kind of excited thinking — wait — maybe you were smiling at me like you were attracted to me, but maybe you just were smiling at me like, You have fierce taste in scarves. It was hard to tell. My scarf is really nice. Keep reading »
Dear Guy Who Seemed Cool On Our First Date But Freaked When I Said I Wanted To Take Sexual Stuff Slowly And Sent Me A Barrage Of Douchey Text Messages Which Culminated In Pronouncing Me “Crazy”,
I feel as if we have gotten off on the wrong foot. Keep reading »