Unfortunately, this book was written too quickly to give me much of an opportunity to annoy my friends by making them read it. On the plus side, most of my friends can’t be mentioned in an Ann Coulter book anyway. After taking the time to figure out what the Resistance was so upset about, I only had about a week to do the writing, so I don’t think anyone saw more than ten pages. Consequently, this book should not be held against anyone mentioned here if they’re ever nominated for a confirmable position.
The ones I can thank (or haven’t asked) are:
Mickey Kaus: My brilliant, liberal—still kind of an oxymoron—New Republic writer/editor pal who, by the way, agrees with me on EVERYTHING!; Robert Caplain: Great reality TV producer who loves animals as much as I hate children (I’ve always relied on his encyclopedic knowledge of arcane facts . . . actually? I really haven’t. Never mind.); Melanie Graham: Hilarious comedy writer and personal friend of Three 6 Mafia. She was formerly as addicted to drugs as she is currently addicted to all things ME (note to people on twelve-step programs: The thirteenth step is reading all of my books and subscribing to the higher power that is ME); Jim Moody: Not only did this MIT genius help design the cruise missile system, but he was also Linda Tripp’s lawyer, and most importantly, a fellow Deadhead (Jerry may be deceased, but my love for Jim remains very much alive); Ned Rice: Comedy writer extraordinaire, who has basically worked for everyone—Bill Maher, Jay Leno, Conan O’Brien, Craig Ferguson, Joan Rivers, etc. (That said? Despite his pedigree, I’ve never really needed his input); Younis Zubchevich: My beloved friend who’s also the kind of Muslim who makes me sound like a Muslim apologist (thanks for that, Mohammed Uncle Tom); Jay Mann: One of those uneducated, backwoods yokel Trumpsters (Cornell, Harvard Law, Columbia Business School—and very early Trump supporter); Jon Caldara: What to say about the head of the Independence Institute in Denver, apart from the fact that I’ll never eat any brownie he offers me; David Friedman: He’s been a friend of mine forever, a doctor for even longer, and pretty much my only access to healthcare since Obamacare became law; Bill Schulz: Liberal and an excellent drinker, funnier than anyone else at the table even blind drunk, which we test frequently; Suzy Vasillov: She was the cool, disaffected pal I always aspired to be, back in the day; Mallory and Thomas Danaher: She’s an actress, he’s a rich businessman . . . how could it possibly work? (Yeah. Of course it worked. But bless Mallory for her right-wing screeds and bless Thomas for tolerating said right-wing screeds); and the handsome Rodney Lee Conover: Or “Hot Rod” as . . . well . . . nobody calls him—but I owe this wonderful comedian way too much, including his suggestion that I call him “the handsome.”
Last, and certainly not least, (unless this book doesn’t get prime placement at various airport bookstores . . . then you’re all “least”), my beloved crew: My WME agent Mel Berger, who is so wonderful, he even likes my so-so ideas! Editor Helen Healey (thanks for actually not “editing” so much . . . there’s wisdom in restraint!); My production team, who are getting my latest tome up and out quicker than it takes her author to actually wake up and get out of the house (I’m a late sleeper); and publisher Adrian Zackheim, who had faith in both Coulter and the content (okay . . . he mostly just had faith in the content).