The World Cup is over. The German players have won and have kissed the trophy. Swabs of their saliva have discreetly been taken by NSA operatives. There is nothing left for us to do, as a civilization, but to turn and face the next pressing challenge:
What else can we use to piss off Ann Coulter?
It’s probably not a perfect benchmark, but as imperfect benchmarks go, it’s not bad. If we’re pissing off Ann Coulter, we’re probably on the right track.
Also, it’s fun.
So let’s take a look around.
1. The death of Archie. He took a bullet intended for his friend, a gay married senator and gun control activist. I confess I never saw this coming (and neither did Archie, apparently). I thought Archie was pure Middle America and probably a McCain Republican. But it’s hard to imagine how his sudden death could be any bigger an affront to the Blond Veronica unless Jughead were to reveal that he is really Bowe Bergdahl. (Seriously, there is a passing resemblance.)
2. The Sting Musical. Let’s be honest. “The Last Ship” may drop its anchor pretty heavily on many of us who are not Ann Coulter. But if the environmentalist and Amnesty International backer has a Broadway hit, that’s going to weigh heavily on the polar bear mocker and waterboarding maven.
3. The Song of the Summer. Nobody knows yet what the Song of the Summer – if there is one – will be, but there are several scenarios that would play into Coulter’s horror at international culture creep. Let’s take Ann’s worst-case scenario first: The song of the summer is “Am I Wrong?” by Nico and Vinz. They are from Norway. They are black. They sound vaguely African and a lot like Sting. They’re like a World Cup soccer team available in gel capsule form. They would have roughly the effect on AC that holy water has on Linda Blair in “The Exorcist.” Second worst case: “Rude” by Magic! Canadian reggae artists. Need I say more? Most likely case: “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea. Coulter’s exact feelings about hip-hop are slightly elusive. She once compared President Obama to Flavor Flav in a manner not intended to be flattering. So maybe she wouldn’t mind an Australian hijacking an American art form she doesn’t even like. but betting on her not minding something is usually long odds.
4. The Warren G. Harding Letters. A Republican double-philanderer-president who referred to his penis as “Jerry”? This will be tough gristle for La Splendid Splinter to chew on, although I was somewhat persuaded by a conversation I had with Robert Plunket – author of the fabulous comic novel “My Search for Warren G. Harding” – in which Plunket averred that the sheer courtliness and solicitous praise in Harding’s effusions redeem him. I cannot bring myself to dislike a man who passes along a message from his penis Jerry who “told me to say that you are the best and darlingest in the world, and if he could have but one wish, it would be to be held in your darling embrace and be thrilled by your pink lips that convey the surpassing rapture of human touch and the unspeakable joy of love’s surpassing embrace.”
5. The Tour de France. This is the obvious one, right? All of the foreignness and crypto-socialist cooperation that Coulter hates about soccer can be transferred to the Tour. Yellow (good) jerseys instead of yellow (bad) cards. Announcers with accents. Rules and strategies she does not understand. And America is most prominently known, at this point, for cheating.
6. A piece of performance art that is not currently in the works. Coulter has a way of tipping her hand about what she reviles. In her infamous anti-soccer rant, she wrote: “The same people trying to push soccer on Americans are the ones demanding that we love HBO’s ‘Girls,’ light-rail, Beyonce and Hillary Clinton.” Somebody get on this, and put it up on Kickstarter. I’m picturing a chamber opera in which Bey and Hillary meet Marnie and Hannah on the MAX Red Line in Portland. “Drunk in Love With Adam, Charlie and Bill.”
7. The viral video with the tiny hedgehog and two hamsters eating eenie weenie pieces of birthday cake. I have no proof but: Look at her. Think about everything you know about her. What are the odds she’s not a hard crush fetishist?
That’s all I’ve got, but it’s a lot. Enjoy your summer, and relish it even more knowing that every time you experience stirrings of happiness, something about that is pissing off Ann Coulter.