Speaking of wordplay, we’re once again being told that Baby, It’s Cold Outside is actually an ode to date rape. As so often, the umbrage-takers display a remarkable level of tin-earedness regarding the sentiment of the song. And as noted in the comments over at Instapundit, “There was a time progressives would have said it was about a woman who obviously wants to have sex, but is being oppressed by slut-shamers through fear.”
Because you crave more feminist poetry and Ms Desireé Dallagiacomo feels the need to share:
“My thighs feel upset because you only offered one bite of your Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.” Previously.
A display of leftist piety. And one man’s extraordinary patience.
Via Jonathan.
It’s my bag now. // The Boston molasses flood of 1919. // The history of a meme. (h/t, Damian) // Happiness imminent. // Leia snails. // Hardcore shoe repair. // Gad Saad chats with Douglas Murray: “Islam is the slowest kid in the class.” // Swelling, wheezing and other dangers of kissing. // When warriors weep. (h/t, dicentra) // “It’s wheels stuck to your butt.” // It would happen and you know it. (h/t, Peter) // With pen and ink and patience. // There aren’t that many newspapers on New York City newsstands. // This. // That. // Dogs. // Drone countermeasures. // And finally, harrowingly, a robot rampage horror story.