A certain Baby K. Smith is due into the world at any moment, like TODAY, and its mother will probably need to look after it for a while until it figures out how to work the safety on the shotgun and open its own beers. You will be left in the capable hands of your male editors, who will maybe force themselves to drag their asses out of bed at a vaguely human hour for the next few months.
Do you know what a blast it is to write for the Wonkette, and how deeply you, the reader, will be missed during these upcoming months of sleep deprivation and poop duty? A whole lot, is the answer. Wish us luck. We will see you in December.