Girls Just Want to Have Trust Funds

we're just going to slit our wrists nowYou may have wondered if it's possible to retch with disgust and laugh with nihilistic abandon at the same time. . . It is! We know, because we just stopped retching long enough to make this quick entry about The Hill's latest contribution to District anthropological studies, "Trophy wives in training," in which we learn about a group of blonde and might-as-well-be-blonde women who have formed a club for the express purpose of keeping other people out:

It’s not just that The Madison is exclusive. So what? If everyone could join, no one would want to. Good for these ladies for wearing their haughtiness on their sleeves. In a town notorious for its dishonesty and obfuscation, The Madison is refreshingly in-your-face about who’s hot and who’s not.
Refreshing, indeed. Refreshing like a fart in an elevator. Refreshing because who's hot lists are so. Fucking. Hard. To. Find.

And how best is it that it's called The Madison? Will they rumble with other gangs named after the pampered children of McMansioned exurbs? The Whitneys? The Morgans? It doesn't matter -- when those kind of girls fight, we all lose. And this will shock you, but Wonkette operatives have written to say The Madison girls are Smith Point regulars. We don't doubt that they bond with Jenna over proper barstool-diving form. But, hey, at least it's not a retrograde bastion of prissy and self-satisfied sexism. Oh, wait. . .

Certainly, the fellows at the Capital Club, The Madison’s male equivalent, see the sisterhood as something of a future first wives club. Said one: “We’re starting a breeding program. We’re going to maintain the blue-blood line.”
Oops! Spoke to soon. Oh, God, the retching has started again. . .

Trophy wives in training [The Hill]


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