After 2½ million Jenny Craig dropouts answered the question, “how do single gals leading empty lives kill a Saturday afternoon?” an estimated two ladies agreed that last Saturday’s “Girls Against Something/Anything, Aren’t We?” march was useful.
“I lost 4 pounds,” boasted a bulgy middle-ager who said her dad fought (at) the Battle of the Bulge. “Me, too,” nodded her chubby gal pal between bites of a super chicken she brought along for a snack.
Otherwise, typical of liberal-leftist-progressive-Democratic movements, the 2.5 million chronically unhappy ladies strutted the streets for 2.5 million incoherent reasons.
Incoherence long has been their battlecry.
Women strutting beside each other could not agree whether they were there to protest President Trump, lack of drive-through abortion clinics, global climate alteration, or a plethora of bathrooms for Republican women.
This is why leftism frequently falls into the ditch. Oh, they control our schools, Hollywood and the media, a crowd of misfits desperately unhappy, but unsure why or how to escape.
Enviable intellectuals such as Madonna stand before a crowd with IQs in the mid-double figures.
Liberally sprinkling her version of the Gettysburg Address with f-words, she maturely noted that she had considered burning down the White House.
She seemed to hope her casual employment of f-words would make her sound like the man she evidently always has yearned to be.
Good thing Madonna is not a Republican. There would have been wall-to-wall critical coverage of her show-off performance. Her career would be reposing in an ash can this morning.
Different rules apply to libs.
If 99 percent of the major print and electronic media were not weasly whores for far leftism, you would have learned about it elsewhere first.
“After 2½ million Jenny Craig dropouts answered the question, “how do single gals leading empty lives kill a Saturday afternoon?” an estimated two ladies agreed that last Saturday’s “Girls Against Something/Anything, Aren’t We?” march was useful.
“I lost 4 pounds,” boasted a bulgy middle-ager who said her dad fought (at) the Battle of the Bulge. “Me, too,” nodded her chubby gal pal between bites of a super chicken she brought along for a snack.”
This is a new low, Ari. Even for you. Three million Americans marched on Saturday, including probably hundreds of Culver Citizens, and the sum of your response is: “Ha ha, those women are fat.”
I personally know at least 20 different girls and women who spent last Saturday exercising their constitutional right to assemble and demand redress of grievances… amazing, beautiful, incredible women, each of them. Including and especially my own daughter (age 11) and my wife. These are neighbors of yours, Ari! Is the above how you truly see them?
Ari, I dare you– I freakin’ double-dare you– to look my wife or my daughter in the face and croak out any of the above to either of them. Call my wife a chronically-unhappy fatso. Call my daughter a chubby loner.
I bet you wouldn’t, Ari.
I know that you wouldn’t.