My Sweet Annie C.
I bet you hear this all the time from the baying chorus of your admirers, but when I undress you in my imagination, I can't help picturing one of those really bony, rib-showing, narrow-headed dogs with the long, lank hair - a mean, blonde Afghan as it were, or a rabid Saluki in a wig. Considering their cranial dimensions, one supposes their brains can't be much larger than Vienna sausages. 
Here are photos of a long-haired Afghan and a Saluki in a wig!
Other times you remind me more of a moray eel: eager, hungry, mouth impossibly agape, dull eyes glittery with rank, venal and deeply self-satisfied ambition, slithering out some dark filth-hole to caper and smirk at yet another Fox Network News group grope. Now that I think of it, the Britannica entry on the moray would make a terrific dating profile for you, Ms. Coulter: "their skin is thick ... while the mouth is wide ... with strong, sharp teeth ... they can be quite vicious."
Boop-oop-a-doop!
This is a photo of a really ugly moray eel:
Darling Ann, my winsome hyena, how I yearn to slip the tough, leather straps over your slavering muzzle and ride you like a gaucho through the befouled and slippery charnel house of your political desires! Your saccharine sophistries reek of an utterly Faustian and silver-tongued sodomy of the human spirit. Give me the chance, sugar plum, and I'll coo deliciously of pogey-bait Democrats and certain Supreme Court Justices hung wriggling on meat hooks as you and Pat Robertson buck, croak and caw with jubilation.
Here is a picture of a slavering hyena:
You made me love you, my jack-booted and jackal-headed succubus.
Oh, Annie, your unqualified prostitution of the soul has set the bar so high. How do you do it, girl? Does it really feel as good as you make it look? Compared to you, Rush is only obnoxiously orotund, O'Reilly merely a vehement and imbecilic lout ("Shut up!"), jolly Olly North a grinning, drooling halfwit. And, Yipes! Poor Mad Mikey Savage - a cautionary tale for us all, eh? Virulent, pandering, oleaginous little plague rat, shrieking pitiably from his Petri dish for the attention of the big boys. With a mouth so unavoidably evocative of a talking canine rectum - even Dick Cheney can't watch him at supper time.
This is a dog's rear end:
Jeez, it's such a fine line in reactionary punditry. There but for the grace of God, right Ann?
And now, inevitably, there's now a veritable mob of emulous and auto-pimping Quislings - Miller, Hannity and their yapping ilk - scampering puppy-like in your bold hoof prints. They squat, offering the best part of themselves to the slack-mouthed, hate-gorged troglodytes of the ultra-right. Take me! Take me! Give me money! How they envy you your sallow and piggish fanatics, howling in adulation, snuffling your heinous spew and tonguing the spavined cur simpering from your dust jacket. I only wish you could have worked an assault weapon into the photo, because nothing says "Compassionate Conservative" like a spittle-lipped bottle-blonde fingering a greasy trigger.
Loved your last book, "Liberals into Lampshades: The Coming Dulcet Day of Right Wing Reckoning." I thought it very fair and balanced.
Sincerely, your biggest fan
Henry E. Panky, Associate of Arts (candidate)
By Henry E. Panky
"The Humorist Our Times Deserve"
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