What happened to you, Tucker? A long, long time ago you used to be sort of cute, with your wavy brown hair and sexy little boy pout. Almost cute, in a nerdy, stick-in-the-mud kind of way, maybe like Ryan O’Neal’s character in What’s Up Doc, looking hot in suspenders and boxers. As a small “c” conservative, you showed signs of intelligence with reasoned thinking. And while I usually didn’t agree with your analysis on any given issue, I could tell you had an analytical process in place.
But now? You’ve gone totally nuts, bonkers, insane. Or more accurately, you’ve become a giant asshole. What happened? Was it all because of Trump? As you wrote in a text to a co-worker at Fox, “Trump is a demonic force.” Have you been thoroughly possessed? Was that text a cry for help? Are you afraid of the Dark still, my sweet baby? Those Dark people who live in your closet at night ready to jump out and get you like the Bogeyman? Why so afraid, little man?
Well, I know what happened. I know about your biological mommy. How she rejected and abandoned you when you were little. She was an artist (of all the terrible things!) who moved to France (of all the terrible places!) and you never ever saw her again. And what’s worse, even though she left you a million dollars in her will, she changed it to one dollar when she saw what you’d become. And that was back in 2015, right when Trump came into prominence. Oh, my bleeding liberal heart goes out to you, poor baby.
She didn’t love you, sweetie, but I will. You and I come from the same fine stock, old San Francisco money, and we were even born in the same hospital, San Francisco Children’s Hospital. Isn’t that romantic? I’m going to be the mommy of your dreams, Tucky-Wucky-Duckies! But first, you need to know what a bad boy you’ve been. You’ve been a very, very bad boy. Mommy can forgive everything you’ve ever said and done except for one thing. Being a Grateful Dead fan. You know so much better than that! As a San Francisco native, you know very well that the Grateful Dead was the most mediocre of all our 60s bands. If not for the strong LSD going around, nobody would’ve paid them any attention. Later their cult-like following developed because stoners, being stoned, can neither tell bad music from good, nor a 20-minute guitar solo from a 20-second one.
So you’re going to get a well-deserved spanking for being such a stupid little boy. You’re going to pull down your pants and show Mommy your butt. And I’m going to spank it hard. And then you’re going to say, “I’m sorry, Mommy. I was wrong about the Grateful Dead.”
And then, my sweet boy, you’re going to pull up your pants like a little man and come sit on Mommy’s lap and listen to me. I’m going to tell you what you need. Do you know what you need? You need titty. Lots and lots of titty. What does than mean? Well, for one thing, you can play with my breasts anytime you want. Yes, sweetie, in public is fine. Here in our hometown of San Francisco there are naked men riding bikes and people having sex in taxis. No one will even notice you playing with my boobies. Boobies, boobies, titty, titty, titty! You won’t be able to get enough. In fact, we’ll be polyamorous to make sure you get all the titty you so desperately need. And with your mouth full of titty, you will shut the fuck up.
Remember how you used to take the National Geographic magazines into the bathroom to look at the bare titties? No, that wasn’t naughty, but aiming at the titties, making the pages stick together later was rather thoughtless, sweetie. Well now, in our hometown you can have all that Black titty like from the magazine, plus Brown titty, Yellow, titty, and even Red titty—rarest of all thanks to our genocidal pioneer ancestors. So we are talking about a smorgasbord of delicious titty! The women of our multicultural, racially diverse hometown are lining up to suckle that little-boy pout into a big sloppy smile. They know and I know that with your mouth full of titty, you will shut the fuck up.
And no, you’re not going back to your wife. That poor old titty is worn out. You’ve been at that breast since high school. You are starved for new titty. And a new religion, too, as you’ve complained about attending your wife’s Episcopalian church. Well, getting plenty of titty will lead you to worship the Goddess, the Great Mommy, and you will dance with me in the forest naked. In service to the Great Mommy you’ll perform all household chores as sacramental duties. This reverence and deep obedience to Her, as personified in Me, will awaken an ungovernable Lust in you that only I can satisfy—which I will do only if you are a good boy. And when you’ve been a bad boy, you will offer up your bare little bottom and cry, “I’m sorry, Mommy, I’ve been bad. Spank me! Spank me now!” And I will spank you—then cover you with kisses.
And finally, you will be the leader of the New Great Replacement Movement, which says that change is good and natural, just like titty. You’ll head down to remote parts of the border every weekend with a big Welcome sign and plenty of water and snacks, waving and cheering as exhausted people go stumbling by.
And maybe you’ll be inspired to try some Man titty (Daddy!) or Trans titty, which might be best of all, given your very busy schedule, because Trans titty is the 2-for-1 Titty Special.
So get ready to tuck in to the Great Rainbow Titty Smorgasbord, my sweet little man. Just like in the song, “The breast is yet to come.” And shut the fuck up.
Milo
This blog post was inspired by and directly references Henry Rollins’ Letter to Ann Coulter.
Thank ye kindly, Mr. Rollins!
