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The Post Surrenders the Pink
WP's Hank Stuever went to yesterday's "March for Women's Lives;" we think it frightened him:
Women were screaming and whooping as they got off the Orange Line deep down in the Smithsonian Metro station, and their happy, combative squeals bounced off the concrete corridors. . . . Up the escalators and into the gray, slightly chilled Sunday midmorning, where there was -- Whoa. Wouldja lookit. A sea of pink.
Yes, Hank, you're soaking in it. Or, to put it another way, "This was a big multi-generational Vagina Monologue, starring everyone." Which, to be fair, does sound pretty scary. So scary Hank couldn't quite bring himself put a name to the huge gaping metaphor that hovered over the Mall. We admire the way he dances around it, tho:
The only gift this White House administration has given the women's movement in the last four years, it seems, is a president surnamed Bush and vice president named Dick. This has meant limitless poster and T-shirt slogans. . . Lick it, stomp it, conquer it.
Or, what the hell, insert a penis into it! Is he making himself clear yet? No? Try this:
Then a spoken-word poet stood onstage and waved her arms around and riffed on the Con-stitution, the coun-try, coun-ter-revolutions -- except in each of those c-words, please insert the naughty c-word. (The one we're not supposed to say in print.)
A real headscratcher. We have no idea what he's talking about. Unless, of course, Stuever is referring to our embattled Cunstitution.
Body Politics [WP]