When you leave Twitter, you free yourself from the baffling spectacle of watching intelligent people waste their entire day arguing with random Internet users.
Amid their male privilege, these Hollywood directors apparently forgot that a sizeable segment of the population has gone barking mad.
Join me, friends! We should all take our own little part in the Great Internet Revolt of 2017.
The sign indicates that large numbers of parents were idling about on their phones all the time. If you live in twenty-first-century America you can instantly confirm this.
‘No Boys Allowed: The New Rule of Co-Working Spaces,’ declared the title of a fawning BloombergBusinessweek profile on January 4.
In times of turbulence and chaos, fake Christmas trees remain the same. They’re like the Rock of Gibraltar, if the Rock of Gibraltar were a manufactured petroleum product.
Beth Stephens and Annie Sprinkle advocate treating the earth like a lover, not a mother. They call for adding an ‘E’ to the long-suffering, ever-lengthening acronym of LGBTQI.
Amy Schumer’s latest period-related shenanigans at Sunday’s Emmy Awards could make anyone question whether she’s ever had a period before.
In the age of modern feminism, it’s very much in vogue not to own any of your you-know-what, no matter how dysfunctional you may be. That’s not Miranda Lambert.
The week Ann Coulter’s book ‘In Trump We Trust’ rolls out, she learns no, no we cannot.
Instead of attending the Republican Convention, Sen. Ben Sasse will ‘take his kids to watch some dumpster fires across the state,’ his spokesman says. Finally, someone gives dumpster fires the credit they deserve.
Forget Brexit. It’s time for a Texit.
Not gonna lie. I’ll probably be back.
We will all now join John Kasich in eating our feelings about this sad, sad 2016 election season.
Why anyone expected a robot who learned on Twitter to become anything other than a Nazi is beyond me.
Once again, a feminist tome attempts to tell women that they can be happy by transcending marriage and motherhood by engaging in a litany of flawed rationalizations.
Hillary Clinton’s problem is that she’s Hillary Clinton, not that she’s a woman.
In the end, all of our gifts are messy replicas—a mere reflection of the awe-inspiring, incomprehensible love behind Christmas.
Redirect your outrage, Internet mobs, and protect us from the Christmas creep.
Feminists sure love Ruth Bader Ginsburg! But few others are likely to be enamored of a new book on the Supreme Court justice.
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