Faced with Charlotte Allen's infamous, self-inflicted piece of
girls-are-dumb ditz-hood, how could these two writers have come up with
something so absent sputtering incoherent rage? I mean, seriously, do you want the finger on the button to be this
calm and incisive? If they'd been in charge the past seven years, jeez, they might have made
peace. And we can't have that.
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