So here is what I propose: Just like when somebody stole something in Kindergarten, we’ll shut off the lights and give it thirty seconds. Whoever took the dignity and nobility out of Feminism can put it back. That way when we turn the lights back on, everyone can focus on the original goals of Feminism and perhaps we can be productive again. Maybe, with time, men can even be reprogrammed to open doors again without fear of retaliation, and those few brave, chivalrous souls who never gave it up can come out of hiding. Then I, too, can wear the neat shirts that say, "This is what a feminist (a strong woman, not a left-wing propagandist) looks like," (Quite frankly, I’m sick of all the angry women bogarting the cool, indignant clothing).
And this is what it looked like when my digestive system had finished excreting it in the middle of the infotainment superhighway:
So here is what I porpoise: eekEEEEEEKclickclickeeekEEEK!. Just like when somebody stole something in Kindergarten, we’ll shut off the lights and give it thirty seconds. When we turn it back on, everyone will see I've stuck all the crayons in my vag. Whosoever took the Dignity and Nobility out of Feminism can put them back in, because True Feminism enjoys Double Penetration. Maybe, with time, men can even be reprogrammed to open doors again without fear of retaliation, although we must continue to make them fear our EMP blasters, lest they turn on us, and we become the slaves of our own android creations. Then I, too, can wear the neat shirts that say, "This is what a robot-whipping harpy looks like," (Quite frankenfurterly, I’m sick of Humphrey Bogart angering the cool Ingrid Bergman).
In other words, it wasn't tasty -- I could barely pass it! And that is why Townhall, mainly for hiring writers like this Noel Stanger, deserved this so very, very much:
