It’s here it’s here it’s here! We have not slept since Meghan McCain first promised the promised Daily Beast column in which she would refuse to apologize for her boobs’ preference for pop art. This was the biggest scandal in D.C. politics, just yesterday. “And I hadn’t even exposed a nipple,” she whines emptily and cynically. This whole thing is just such an excruciating exercise in bad faith, in which ole Meg asserts ad nauseum that she, like all American women and daughters everywhere, has boobs, so if y’all aren’t ready to deal with that then you should get ready, alright?
Okay, from the outset, know that Meghan thinks this whole thing is like, so not even worth addressing. Here is part of her 1000-ish word take on why:
For years I have struggled to accept the fact that the way I look in a tank top comes off more “sexual” than a flat-chested woman. And once again I was reassured by the media that someone with my cup size should always be covered up. Or what, I’ll be seen as a slut? It’s pathetic we can come so far in so many ways, but when Rep. Aaron Schock or Rep. Jeff Flake post pictures of themselves without their suits on—and their shirts, for that matter—they are proclaimed “hotties.” But put me in a tank top and I am suddenly an embarrassment to the Republican Party and women everywhere. The double standard is infuriating.
As those of you who follow me on Twitter know, I live my life very openly. I will happily tell you what I’m doing every minute of every day. I will tell you what songs I’m listening to, what movies I’ve seen, and what books I’ve read. (That’s Arthur Danto’s new biography of Andy Warhol in the photo, by the way.) I love reading other people’s Tweets to me.
Haha, okay, several things: JEFF FLAKE? The pansy? Second: Is it possible that Meg McCabe’s ostentatiously specific declarations of love for some new book about Andy Warhol are actually some sort of witty meta-comment on the commodification of celebrity? Third: No.
There’s no corroboration of the deus-ex-Twitter thing, so, T-minus negative two seconds until something exactly like this happens again, and Meg copies and pastes this insipid column and publishes it yet another time, for money. She ends the piece: “I just wanted to get that off my chest.” IF YOU’VE LEARNED ANYTHING TODAY ABOUT RESPECTING WOMEN YOU WILL PAY ATTENTION TO THE WORD “TO” AND IGNORE THE SEX PHRASES OF “GET OFF” AND “CHEST.”