No, really. I’m not kidding. Seriously, you guys. It really is how “people” like the wretched shrew Marcotte “think.” Thank heaven for real women like Hemingway, who slices, dices, juliennes, and roasts the obnoxious, juvenile, hard-Left pretense of this sad little fool with her usual élan.
H8ers gotta h8–absolutely everything, 24-7, every minute of their cheerless day. You almost gotta feel sorry for them, they’re so pinched, stilted, and miserable. Almost. In the end, though, I’d have to say that their self-inflicted misery is its own just deserts, and thus eminently fair.