Ayn Rand is the curdled remains of a black, bitter, shrivelled apple from the tree of hypocrisy growing under the outhouse in the deepest pit of Hell.  She couldn't grope her way out of her own rectum with a flashlight and a copy of Gray's Anatomy.  Her entire rancid philosophy could have been killed if anyone had been brave or desperate enough to stick their penis into that frigid arctic pucker of her twat.