Originally Posted: 2005-04-21 1:11pm
I Think Her Name Was Ann Coulter, On The Slopes That Day
Many years ago, I met this blonde on a company ski trip. I think her name was Ann Coulter. She came as a guest of another employee.
She had a slender body and long blonde hair. Some guys thought her face looked alright, while others thought she looked masculine.
On the first night at the resort, about a dozen of us came back from a bar and gathered around a fireplace. Things were mellow and most were drinking beers. Ann opted for a huge mug of decaf. Opening the fridge door, she asked, “Do you think this is still good?” picking up a quart of ½ & ½ left by the previous occupants. “It expired, but it smells alright, I guess,” answering her own question, Ann poured all of it into her mug.
“Hey, you sure you want to drink that stuff?” One of the guys showed concern. “Don’t worry. I’m always right,” replied Ann.
The conditions on the slopes were miserable the next morning. It was very, very cold and the slopes were too icy. We let Ann tag along with us because her friend decided to take snowboarding lessons that morning. I must admit she looked pretty darn good. She wore a headband, sunglasses, and a shimmering white one-piece jumpsuit with a white turtleneck underneath.
The upper part of the mountain was mostly ice. The right side of the slope, near the tree line, was 100% ice. The left side was O.K. To my surprise, the slender blonde managed the icy runs beautifully. With her blonde hair in the air and her white suit seemingly floating on the snow, she was carving the most graceful turns big and small. She glided through the snow with ease, and appeared almost weightless. She was simply a thing of enchanting beauty that morning, an absolute joy to look at.
After a few runs, we gathered at the top. “Time to eat.” Said one of the guys. “O.K., is there a restroom at the halfway lodge?” Asked Ann. “Yeah, but it’s closed today for repairs. We have to go to the main lodge at the base.” That was at least 15 minutes away. Ann looked a little panicked and said, “You boys go ahead. I have to pee. I have to go in the bushes, because I’m about to burst. I’ll join you at the lodge.”
The guys and I skied half way down the mountain and decided to wait for her. We were standing there, lost in our thoughts, when we heard the scream. “AAAHHHHH…..” Instinctively, we looked up. The scream paused for a split second, and continued much louder with even more fear in it. “NOOOOOOOO! UUUUHHHHH-AHHHHHHHHHHhhh---------.” With that, we saw her. Launching out of the bushes like a cannon ball, she exploded onto the main ski area like a superhero.
Evidently, when she went to pee, she was too much in a hurry. Her first mistake was not taking her skis off. She might have gotten away with that, except, she made a second critical mistake. She squatted down with her skis pointing downward. With one shift of her weight, down she went, with her white jumpsuit around her knees and her bare ass exposed for all to see.
After this fantastic entrance, even without her poles, she remarkably maintained her balance. We could hear her skis bouncing madly on the ice, as she sped down the mountain like a toilet racer.
When she tried to slow down, her jumpsuit got caught under her skis. She went down on her right butt. “OOOWWWW-,” she yelled out in pain. All that jagged ice, on her bare butt. Ouch.
As she went past us, she hit a bump, got airborne, and landed on her back. Her sunglasses flew off, but the skis did not release. Now, she was barreling down the mountain, on her back, her butt going down first, her feet and skis in the air, and her jumpsuit flapping around her ankles like a white flag of surrender. She looked as though she was receiving a pelvic exam with her skis on.
One of the guys observed, rather inappropriately under the circumstances I thought, “Hey, she’s not a real blonde!”
With her crotch on full display, she entered the crowded area of the mountain. Her hysterical screams did not sound human anymore. The mating call of a howling monkey could not match the piercing intensity of her scream.
We started to follow her down. Finally, and mercifully, with hundreds of people looking on in disbelief, her torturous journey came to an end when she crashed into a line of people waiting for the lift.
As I got closer to her, I heard her scream at someone in the line. “STOP TAKING PICUTRES, YOU ASSHOLE!” I thought to myself, that’s got to be the most embarrassing thing ever, for anyone – sliding down the mountain with your bare crotch leading the way, because you didn’t take your skis off while you were peeing in the woods. But, when I got to her. I knew I was wrong. There were more. There were these… these… stains on her white jumpsuit, her face and in her hair. And the smell…
She wasn’t peeing.
The ½ & ½! It had gone bad after all!