With Wonder Woman set to come out in 2017, and the new Super Girl series out in a few weeks, Hollywood producers and US voters alike are trying to find the woman who truly embodies what it means to be America’s Wonder Woman.

Clinton was originally thought to be perfectly cast for the role. After being First Lady and Senator of New York after that, Clinton rose to fame quickly with her run in 2008, her power suits and bad ass attitude as Secretary of State, and her advocacy for women’s rights worldwide.

But does she really fit the part? As the presidential election heats up, Americans are wondering just that, particularly after Benghazi, her secret emails, and all the other shady Clinton dealings that are starting to seem more villainous than superhero lady-like.

In fact, Bernie Sanders seems more like a heroine these days than Clinton (And is it just us, or would he kill it in a red bodysuit?), and even the casting of Donald Trump as Republican party saboteur isn’t doing nearly enough damage to make Clinton look good enough to be a shoo-in.

Meanwhile, Warren has publicly stated that she’s not running for president in 2016, again and again and again and again. She doesn’t want the power, which is why Americans are seeing her as “that much cooler,” according to a recent poll.

Director Chris Nolan also thinks she’s perfect for the role. “Warren’s the hero Gotham – I mean, America - deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we’ll hunt her. Because she can take it. Because she’s not our hero. She’s a silent guardian, a watchful protector. A WONDER WOMAN.”

Ah, Cupid. Our favorite Greek god of erotic love, desire, and affection. With Valentine’s Day (Or for us single ladies, Galentine’s Day – thank you, Leslie Knope!) quickly approaching,  we at The Gabbler thought it appropriate to interview Cupid on modern love, online dating, and his perfect V-Day date. Note to readers: Beware of Cupid’s stray arrows. We weren’t so lucky.

The Gabbler: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Cupid! I know it’s a little early for Valentine’s Day, but at the rate CVS is going, Valentine’s Day falls on January 2^nd these days, anyway.

Cupid: I couldn’t agree more. It’s given me a lot of anxiety. Much less time to sharpen my arrows. Why can’t humans just live in the moment, instead of always pushing for what’s next?

TG: Sorry, man. To err is human, right? We’re not perfect deities like you.

C: Like I should be getting royalties on quite a few Hallmark commercials, for one. Who can I talk to about that? But besides that? I mean the concept behind it is sweet, and it’s nice to have a holiday to celebrate romantic and erotic love, but I think it’s a classic case of materialism and media hype ruining a perfectly great tradition. God, I think this string is loose on my bow. Can you pass me one of my arrows?

TG: (Slumps over into love spell, then slowly opens her eyes.) I, uh, never thought about that. Yeah, she’d be a pretty shitty mom, then. But wait, I thought you were like one of those “primordial gods” – who basically just popped out of nowhere, right? Did I ever tell you your eyes are like warm pools of amber?

C: No, you didn’t. And that depends on whether you’re reading the Greek version or the Roman version. I still think of Aphrodite/Venus as my mom.

TG: Well, they are. I just can’t stop staring into your eyes. I have this sudden urge to strip totally naked and swim in them.

C: Let’s, er, hold off on that for now, please. Damn, I need to get better about my aim!

TG: (Giggles, and blinks repeatedly.) So Cupid, how do you define modern love?

TG: No, like actual modern love. As in love in modern times. Do you really believe in love at first sight? Because I think I do now.

C: It’s usually lust at first sight, not love. It’ll pass.

TG: Lust, love. You need lust for love. Let’s make love. What do you say?

C: Er, back to your question: I find love in the modern era to be complicated. And it’s lost a lot of its mystery. A lot of that I blame on social media and cell phones. Before those things, there was time between seeing or hearing from each other that allowed for anticipation and longing. Now, it’s so instant. Plus, there were a lot more steamy affairs. Now everyone tweets pictures of their dicks, and people tend to find out.

TG: That’s just Anthony Weiner. Most people are smart enough to use Snapchat nowadays. How are things with Psyche, by the way? Is that still going on? Or are you single?

C: Oh yeah, we’re great. Very much a couple. I’m very much taken. I finally admitted that refusing to turn the lights on was a manifestation of my own insecurity, and we got over that initial hiccup. Zeus made her immortal, and it’s all good. We even have a little baby goddess, Hedone.

TG: Congrats. (Sighs deeply.) I already knew that, though. I follow you on Instagram, and you post like a million baby pics a day.

TG: God, you’re adorable. What a loving father. There’s nothing sexier than a man who’s good with kids.

C: Let’s talk about something else, please.

TG: Okay, okay. So tell me about OkCupid. What made you decide to invest in online dating?

TG: You know, if we were on Tinder right now, I’d be the nearest warm body.

C: But we aren’t, are we?

TG: I mean, I could log on right now…

C: We’re in the middle of an interview. That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?

TG: Okay, okay. Be coy about it. I like coy. So what’s your idea of a perfect Valentine’s Day date?

TG: I love you.

C: Listen, you don’t! There was a bit of a mix up with my arrow; my bowstring was loose, and a stray one sort of hit you in the noggin. I was the first thing you saw. You don’t love me. NOW SNAP OUT OF IT!

TG: But I’d do anything for you. I want you to have me in this interview chair, right here, right now. (Stands up and starts to walk over to him.)

C: Oh, look at that! Emergency call. Jay-Z and Beyonce just had a tiff, and he needs me to shoot an arrow or two. I’ve got to go. You don’t want to be responsible for breaking them up, do you?

TG: (Sighs.) No, they were too cute at the Grammys.

C: Exactly. You have to let me go. As in, physically unhand me, please!

 TG: Oh. Sorry.

C: (Flies away.)

TG: WAIT! BUT I LOVE YOU! WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

Dear Mindy Kaling,

I’ve been feeling this way for a while, but I tried desperately to brush it off. I’m obsessed with your show, “The Mindy Project.” I follow you on Twitter. I read your book three times, and when I finished, I couldn’t stop hugging it. I thought about writing to you then, but I felt like you’d probably think I was one of those weird stalker-types. And though I know you’d secretly be flattered to have a stalker, you’d also be kind of freaked out. And then, we’d never be best friends!

But let me cut to the chase. Here are ten reasons why I think that if the stars aligned and we finally met in person we would ultimately become best friends, Mindy:

1. I will never judge you for eating ice cream out of the carton. And not one of those teeny individual-sized cartons that skinny bitches buy when they want to “splurge.” Rather, I will buy my own tub of ice cream, too, and I won’t care if you stick your used spoon into my tub to try my Oreo Fudge Chunk when you’re sick of Moose Tracks. And we’ll both mix Nutella into our ice cream, too. (Have you never tried that? Mindy, you are missing out!)

2. I won’t say anything like “Ugh, I really NEED to go to the gym,” or “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just ate that!” after eating the ice cream mentioned in reason 1. I’ll just sit there with a smile on my face and let the onslaught of fatty sugars course through my bloodstream like heroin. And then we’ll watch Million Dollar Matchmaker.

3. I am a firm believer that one is never too old for friendship bracelets.

4. When I log into Pinterest, I feel like I’m bad at being a woman because I never have any time to make cupcakes that look like wedding dresses or shoe holders out of wire hangers. I haven’t seen your house, but somehow I doubt you’re into DIY shoe holders.

5. I’m also an avid believer in The Irish Goodbye, as referenced in the final chapters of your book, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?, which, by the way, I’m fairly certain my great-grandfather invented back in Ireland. (Granted, he just left the pub in a drunken stupor and forgot to pay his tab, but the phrase has evolved.)

6. I agree with you that Channing Tatum would make an excellent centaur. I also think Lana Del Ray would be the most beautiful mermaid ever, and that Danny DeVito looks exactly like a satyr.

7.  I will get wasted with you if you go through a break up, and we will end up belting out Alanis Morrissette’s “You Oughta Know” at a dumpy karaoke bar to an unenthusiastic crowd. Or just in my car. Either way, it will make us feel better.

8. When I go to art museums, I totally enjoy the beautiful art and all that, but really, I play a game in my head that in every room of the museum, I have to pick one piece of art to have in my house. In this way, it’s more like window shopping, and it allows me to stare at the artwork much more thoughtfully as I consider how they would look hanging on my freshly painted “Mediterranean Blue” hallway. Doesn’t that sound way more fun to you?

9. Last week, I bought a pair of pants that I absolutely love because they make me look taller and skinnier at the same time, and I wore them three days in a row. So no, I won’t judge you for wearing that sweater two days in a row – no one saw you, and it looks fantastic.

10. I always intend to buy the New Yorker at the airport, but I then become riveted by Cosmopolitan’s latest headline: “Have You Tried the Sexiest Hair Oil in History?” So I end up with Vanity Fair as a compromise to myself, but then I skip all the serious articles about politics, and go straight for the Fan Fair section. (Don’t worry, I’ll buy the Cosmo for you, too.)

The following  journal entry is an excerpt from Laurie Penny’s forthcoming memoir, Confessions of a Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Penny recently divulged her status as an MPDG in an article  for The New Statesmen. Since then, she’s decided to come clean to The Gabbler about her Type-A tendencies that lie hidden beneath her thick bangs, bangle bracelets, and  spontaneous outbursts of song.

Dear Blank Moleskine Journal That I Decorated With Blue Feathers, Silver Sequins, And Hello Kitty Stickers,

I can’t take this anymore. I get it, people. I get that I have wide and vacant blue eyes but my skin is kind of pasty and I’ll never have big, amazing boobs so perky that you can balance a tray of cookies on them.

So I made a choice, and for a while, this Manic Pixie Dream girl persona worked – I mean, it really worked for me. Truly, men were falling down over me all the time, all while I was able to show off (and then continuously invent) my personality quirks – in a cute and girly way, of course.

But this “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman,” who also hates Britney Spears act is exhausting. The truth is, I’ve been living a lie, and I need to confess my true self, Karmic Kitty-Buddha. 

You see, I spend my days actively trying to be this dreamy, waif-like creature to seem mysterious and exciting to men, but it’s a lot harder to be whimsical and quirky 24-7 than it looks. Sometimes, I just want to wear yoga pants, cook a bunch of healthy dinners that I can freeze for the week, iron my clothes, and discuss my 5-year-plan. Is that so much to ask? But instead, I’ve somehow convinced everyone that all I want to do is binge drink cheap red wine and go on picnics in the rain. The following are my confessions that must never be revealed – or else my Manic Pixie Dream Girl status will be forever revoked…

CONFESSION: Last week, Rob asked me to make him another mixed tape. I couldn’t think of any more whimsical indie songs, so I just copied the “indie summer + love” playlist from 8tracks.com.

CONFESSION: I keep only white chocolate chips, mustard, and red wine in my fridge when guests come over, but secretly I move all the kale and spinach to the cabinet. I need to keep this “waify” look going, so I’m on Atkins. The only reason I’m ever weird and loopy unintentionally is a biologically simple  one – I’m fucking starving.

CONFESSION: I always tell men that the only thing I know how to cook is grilled cheese (then I burn it – cutely!), but I’m actually a really talented cook. I know how to make sweet potato gnocchi! From scratch!

CONFESSION: I hate The New Girl. I think it’s trite and poorly written. And yet I own every season on DVD, and depending on whether I think my guest likes Zooey, I say I bought the DVDs myself or my roommate from Zimbabwe bought them for me. “Malik is just obsessed with American pop culture and says my hair reminded her of Jenny or Jessie, whatever the main girl’s name is…”

CONFESSION: I tell everyone that I majored in philosophy, but I secretly was a triple major in economics and finance. I just work at Poppie’s Popcorn stand for a little extra cash. I have zero intention of selling caramel popcorn with rainbow-colored sprinkles the rest of my life.

CONFESSION: I have a 401-K. I set it up when I was 18.

CONFESSION: I buy Gap jeans on sale and then rip them up and distress them so they look “vintage.” Then I tell people I found them on the street and decided to “save” them. I do that with my J.Crew scarves, too.

CONFESSION: Sometimes I can’t sleep because I’m worried or upset. I tell my boyfriends that it’s just a bit of melancholia because I’m still mourning the death of Sylvia Plath, but really, I’m just worried about my credit score and how it might affect the purchase of the condo I’m saving up for.

CONFESSION: I have a great relationship with my father. I still let my boyfriends try to psychoanalyze me, though. I just tell them evasively that “a lot has happened in the past,” and that “conceptually, the past is something that can’t be discussed or it would become the present and it’s not right to try to be controlling like that.”

CONFESSION: I may be star ukulele player and founder of the Naked Noodle band, but deep down, I know we suck.

CONFESSION: Inspired by Holly Golightly’s rescued cat named “Cat,” I found a cat in the dumpster, brought it home, and named it “Pussy” (I still wanted to be original). When my grandma asked its name, I realized I might have taken things too far. That, and the fact that he turned out to be a male. Pussy is a really good boy though. He’s never complained about having to hide my identity and his for the sake of keeping me a dream girl. He’s giving me a weird look now. Oh shit, I’m doing it again. Okay, he’s actually not even in the room with me right now. 

“Oh, you’re from Texas? I have this thing for cowboys. But only because of some pretty intense erotica I’ve been reading lately.”

“Hast thou not heard, my fair gentleman, that today marketh Talk Like Shakespeare Day?”

“I love your eyes. The gold flecks make them look like Edward Cullen’s after he feeds. Do you want to be the “lion who fell in love with the lamb?” You know, like that Twilight quote?”

“Confession: I may have created an imaginary Facebook account impersonating your aunt and friended you a few days ago. And can I just say, your college graduation photo with your mom from like, 2008, is adorable!”

“I always wanted my first time to be with a redhead.”

“I’ve told my mom ALL about you.”

“Is it okay if I Live Blog our date?”

“Have you ever done it in a PortaPotty?”

“I love that neighborhood! I’m hoping to move there as soon as my restraining order is lifted.”

“Yeah, my last girlfriend was obsessed with giving me blow jobs.”

“What do you think our kids would look like? I hope they have your eyes, and my cheekbones!”

“So, would you say you’re more of a Dom, or a Sub?”

A woman believes that being prepared for the day includes remembering to carry chapstick.  A woman dislikes her natural love for sleeping in late. For some reason, a woman always looks great in lipstick and a baseball cap, even if she owns neither. A woman hates running out of candles and taking out the trash, especially if there is thick liquid or glass beer bottles involved. A woman would much rather not do push-ups, which she forces herself to do even though they make her feel like she is in prison. She doubts she will ever get better at them and yet she is accustomed to carrying much heavier things in her arms. A woman takes off her makeup before going to sleep. A woman laughs when things are actually funny and is quick to point out at the expense of Daniel Tosh when they are not. A woman is never done plucking her eyebrows. A woman wants to know what the nutritional difference between ‘wheat’ and ‘whole wheat’ is, but cannot be bothered to look it up.  A woman doesn’t smell all that bad without deodorant. A woman never forgets to set her alarm.

A woman is constantly in the middle of having deep, ongoing conversations with a dozen people whom she checks up on at least every three days or so, pinning to the inside of her brain the article mentioned by one, what another said would be a good song to download, each with time-sensitive tags that require her feedback and which she believes might be made better by setting a personal course of action, like sending somebody flowers. Tiger lilies, red poppies, big yellow sunflowers, roses. A woman is not above making up reasons to write – post-its, to-do lists, letters. A woman is reluctant to throw out shoe boxes because they make excellent storage units for keepsakes. A woman owns at least one peeled over photograph of her mother on her wedding day and at least one gooey acrostic poem written to her in sixth grade on Valentine’s Day by the object of her simultaneous attraction and repulsion, Rob.

A woman knows she looks awesome naked and she loves watching your face thinking the same exact thing, too. A woman likes the sight of her cleavage, no matter what size her breasts are. A woman knows that the stringiest thongs are the most practical and sexy of all, but that doesn’t mean she likes wearing them. A woman hate thongs. A woman hates wearing pantyhose. A woman loves wearing sweatpants. A woman cannot wait to go home and put on that pair of baggy grey sweatpants with that big hole in the crotch. A woman always notices: jawbones, shoulders, abs, eyebrows, ass. A woman knows all of the words to one Tupac or Biggie Smalls song.  A woman wishes she could redefine the word cunt for everybody’s benefit.

A woman knows there is no such thing in the world as a ‘free dinner.’  On a first date, a woman wants to go Dutch and she would have kissed you, if you had just leaned in a little bit closer. A woman calls you and promptly leaves a voicemail so that you know exactly why she called you. A woman is open to the idea of a romantic lunch. A woman asks you out. A woman pays, a woman treats, especially to ice-cream. Unsuccessful male bartenders have perpetuated the myth that women dislike the taste of alcohol. Actually, woman love gin. Woman love scotch. Women love tequila – women breathe in tequila. Women love swirling booze around in a glass with tumbling rocks, left-eye squinted before casting a dart.

A woman raises daughters to be sons and sons to be daughters. A woman wants for other people’s children to love her: that includes that Chinese woman’s drooling adolescent daughter in the blue Cartoon Network t-shirt in the third car on the subway. All women believe that helpless mothers with crying infants on airplanes will one day have their redemption.

A woman believes that beauty is the one natural cure for everything and remains permanently unaware that such a cure includes herself. At any age, a woman is pursuing higher education. A woman is over-practicing self-assessment. A woman is getting a raise. A woman spends a lifetime wrestling with her intelligence. Her intelligence usually wins. A woman learns to do the things that no one else will: file a 1090, speak Spanish, use mental arithmetic at the grocery store, give directions. A woman has multiple senses of duty that frequently come into conflict with each other. A woman intuits effects and believes in causes. A woman is an expert at alleviating pain.

A woman is self-conscious about her mouth but never realizes when she is biting her lip. A woman believes that her temperament is predetermined by the color, cut, consistency, etc. of her hair – and sometimes, she must change it. A woman enjoys the idea of a sustained bath more than the actual undertaking of it: something about the soapy water making fake wrinkles on her skin.

A woman can always feel sad for an infinite number of abstract reasons and while she doesn’t always know why, she knows that it is essentially good for her to at once feel the heavy weight of the world, from time to time. A woman is the most romantic person in the world because she bares all, whether or not she knows it. For example, a woman is always the first to notice when there is a sunset. A woman is guilty of finishing the toilet paper with no intention of ever replacing it.

All women love rain.

With the help of Hillary Clinton, Dr. Jill Biden, Michelle Obama and Maria “Rosie” Castro (mother of keynote speaker and San Antonio mayor Julian Castro) The Gabbler debunked a few claims made by the men of the DNC and confirmed one universal truth: a convention speech is only as good as the women who it slathers with praise.

Bill Clinton: “I am very proud of [Hillary].”

Hillary Clinton did not confirm nor deny this claim.  She simply shook her head and walked away, saying, “I have more important things to do than to fact check what the boys are saying. Someone has to run the State Department.”

Vice President Joe Biden: “Jilly…I [am] so proud of you…And I’m grateful. So grateful that you said “Yes” on that fifth try.”

Dr. Biden confirms that her husband Joe is nothing, if not really, really grateful that she finally broke down and agreed to marry him. “Here’s a tip, ladies: make them sweat it out. Be coy, wait until at least the third proposal to say yes. That way, he’ll be eternally grateful for your sacrifice in agreeing to marry him. And grateful husbands are like well-trained dogs, they’ll do anything you ask them to.”

Julian Castro: “And while she may be proud of me tonight, I’ve got to tell you, Mom, I’m even more proud of you. Thank you, Mom.”

Ms. Castro debunked this statement, claiming, “It is not possible to be more proud of someone than I was of Julian that night. Also, Julian, if you’re so proud of me, you could be a little more like that nice Mr. Christie man who spoke at the Republican Convention. He doesn’t look like he’s ever turned away a plate of food from his mama just because he was on a ‘low carb diet to lose those last 5 pounds before the Convention.’ You’re too skinny, mijo.”

President Barack Obama: “Michelle, I love you so much.”

Michelle Obama confirms that this, if anything, is an understatement, saying “You better. I don’t get  up every day at 4:30 to do push ups just for the fun of it.”

When The Guardian, ABC News, Huffington Post, Business Insider, and dozens of other publications mistakenly published articles all stating that Saudi Arabia had plans to build a women-only city, they really got a lot of women’s hopes up. At least, that’s what Bill Koch, billionaire and twin brother of famed conservative David Koch, believes. Koch, who recently decided to also reconstruct an entire faux Wild West town in rural Colorado to “play cops and robbers,” decided that a women’s only city was a fantastic idea for a tourist destination, and began plans for building one in the US immediately. Because he knows absolutely nothing about women, he enlisted the help of the makers of Pinterest.com to design and manage the production of what has come to be known as “Lady-Land.” The following is an excerpt from its complimentary brochure:

Ladies, ladies, ladies!

Are you feeling tired? Underappreciated? A few pounds overweight? We bet you are. When is the last time you got your toes done, had lunch made for you, or enjoyed cunnilingus from your partner?

Too. Damn. Long. (Are we right?)

But what if there was a place where you could always relax, where no one cared about the stubble on your legs, and where Robert Pattison gives out complimentary foot rubs on Fridays?

Enter Lady-Land, a relaxing, stress-free, and entirely pink oasis that is strictly women only. Based on the concept of a Saudi Arabian city built to employ women in its otherwise extremely restrictive culture, Lady-Land offers much more than the ability to walk down a street that is cat-call free.

This city is designed with a woman in mind; from carpeted streets (we know how bricks and cobblestones suck to walk down in heels), to “small plate” style dining (we also know how much you love paying $15 for three pieces of calamari, just so you don’t feel like a pig), and a mini Effeil Tower (we even know that every woman secretly dreams of living in Paris. At least once. Don’t lie to us now!)

But this isn’t about just creating a sparkly haven where puppies and kittens and babies play openly in the streets, mind you.

Lady-Land is a safe, stress-free environment where you can enjoy just…being a gal! No rape is legitimate here, ladies. Plus, with the exception of the help, no men are allowed, so you don’t have to worry if they’ll try to take your right to choose away, either. And if it’s that time of the month, trust me, we get it. Ice cream and yoga pants for everyone!

We don’t give a fuck if the Augusta National Golf Club has let in two women for the first time ever: we have our own golf course here, and it comes with shirtless caddies and a complimentary bottle of Perrier Jouet. (Things always taste better when they’re fizzy, right?)

This is a place where Martha Stewart gives out cooking lessons. Where Tina Fey does stand up. Where you can throw back cocktails with Sarah Jessica Parker and Maureen Dowd and gossip with Hillary Clinton (if she ever gets off that damn blackberry, of course).

Want to see the latest unoriginal Katherine Heigal rom-com in theaters, but don’t want to be judged by your peers? Snuggle up with our complimentary cashmere throws in our 24-hour movie theater and watch them all until you feel like your brain starts to explode from all that estrogen! (But make sure you cry, even a little, because everyone needs a good cry every once in a while over absolutely nothing at all. We get it, girl.)

From free wedding dress try-on sessions, to group therapy with Oprah, to nude beaches (there are no creepy dudes watching, so who cares!), Lady-Land is truly the place to celebrate being a woman. You have tits, you can grow your hair out long without looking like a cheezy 80’s cover band, and you possess the power of LIFE. Beat that, boys’ clubs.

The Gabbler: Hi Big Bertha, it’s great to speak with you today!

Big Bertha: Just Bertha will be fine, dear. Please, sit down.

G: Oh, thanks! I didn’t just want to assume that it’s okay, you know, now that I know that couches feel and think and stuff and aren’t just furniture in our homes and all.

BB: Oh no, honey, this is what I’m here for. Take a load off!

G: Oh, wow, Bertha, you are comfy! So, how long have you been a couch here at Duke?

BB: Oh, going on 50 years now. It’s really been quite a lovely place to furnish.

G: I bet you’ve seen a lot of stuff. (Wiggles eyebrows) You know what I’m sayin’ Bertha, don’t you?

BB: Oh don’t be so puritanical, sweetheart. Sex. People love to have sex on me. Last night one of the pledges was–what are the kids calling it nowadays?—”gettin it in” right where you’re sitting. I was so proud.

G: Oh, Bertha! Gross! Why didn’t you tell me?

BB: Oh don’t worry, all the stains are dry by now.

G: (Moving to nearby armchair) So, you’ve seen a lot of “getting in it” or whatever during your lifetime, huh Bertha? Was all of it consensual?

BB: Of course! My boys would never! That’s disgusting. They’re not creeps waiting in back alleys to prey on unsuspecting women. They’re fine, upstanding, handsome young men who any girl would be lucky to be with.

G: It’s interesting that you say that, Bertha, because I have a complaint filed by a female student this year, saying that she was sexually assaulted right here, in this library on a, what did she call it? “A grungy old powder blue sofa.”

BB: I’m not grungy! That whore! I know exactly who you’re talking about. She came in here with the president of the frat, during their lingerie party, wearing nothing but a bra, panties, and some stilettos. What did she think was going to happen? With a man that powerful? And in clothes that revealing? Why would a girl come to a lingerie party if she didn’t want to slut it up with some hot frat boys?

G: Did she tell him no?

BB: Well, of course she did. Most girls do, just to prove that they’re “good girls” so that boys will still respect them enough to take them out for waffles the next morning. They’re greedy! They want it all! They want to be able to have uninhibited, wild, hot, slutty sex and still be able to get waffles the next morning. My boys don’t have money for waffles! You should see what they pay in social dues!

G: So this happens a lot? Where girls come into this room with members of the frat and tell them no and the boys completely disregard them?

BB: Not all the time. Like last night for example, he was the one who wasn’t into it. The poor dear was a virgin, I think, really nervous. I guess all those tales of conquests he told during rush were just lies. But, he kept telling her no, maybe they should just talk, get to know each other first. But that girl, she had spunk, I liked her! She just kept on going until he stopped whining. Made a man out of him! That boy was lucky to find a girl that determined to get it in or else he would still be a virgin.

G: But, Bertha! That was rape! If he said no and she kept going, that’s rape! Don’t you get it?

BB: Boys can’t be raped, honey. That’s absurd. In fact, I remember seeing, a few years ago, while some boy was doing a bit of research, the FBI defines rape as “the carnal knowledge of a female forcibly and against her will.” So men can’t get raped at all! And while I’ve seen a lot of carnal knowledge of the female body, I’ve never seen anyone use too much force.

G: I believe that was the old definition. I think they’ve replaced that with something a bit more comprehensive. In fact, in 1998 the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda defined rape as “a physical invasion of a sexual nature committed on a person under circumstances which are coercive.”

BB: Oh, honey, that’s ridiculous. If that were rape, then your boyfriend would have been raping you that time he coerced you into having sex during the season finale of Real Housewives by nibbling on your ear.

G: Hey! How did you know that? Have you been talking to my sofa?

BB: We have our channels of communication.

G: Bertha, not cool! But that wasn’t coercion, that was seduction. If I ever had told him to stop, at any point, he would have listened, no questions asked. That’s how sex is supposed to work.

BB: Oh, coercion, seduction, tomayto, tomahto. Same thing. Listen, this is one of my biggest pet peeves about women. You dress up like you want it. You kiss like you want it. Some of you even get down on your knees like you want it. And then all of a sudden you change your mind and the poor boy is left to choose between coercion (which now apparently equals rape) and a hardcore case of blue balls, which we all know could affect their reproductive ability later in life. And the fact that you even think that these boys, who have basically been turned into puddles of mindless hormones by these whores before they back up and say no, can even think logically about that decision is absurd! They have no control at that point. And these sluts all bring them to that edge and then expect them not to topple over.

G: Bertha, that’s crazy talk! I assure you that, unless it’s part of consensual rape fantasy play (which I don’t get, but whatever, each to her own, right?), no woman is asking to be raped or “wants it.” And men who rape are fully responsible for their actions. We don’t look at murder victims and say: “oh well, it’s their fault for being so murderable. They should have worn bullet-proof vests instead of those flimsy cotton t-shirts. They were asking for it, really.” Women have the right to rescind consent at any point, regardless of what they wear or what they’ve done prior to that point.

BB: No, they don’t. Consent isn’t just a license that you can take away for driving drunk. Once you show him your road, he can drive on it however he wants. I mean, just look at me, do you know how many people sit on me without permission? But that’s what I was made for, that’s all I’m good for. Just like women and sex. It’s really my own fault for looking so damn comfy. And I can’t very well just tell them to get their asses up halfway through Glee just because I feel uncomfortable.

G: But, Bertha, you do know that there are couches who live in homes with families, who only sit on them with respect and love, right? People who get home from work and just snuggle up with their couch and sigh contentedly because, in that moment, a good cuddle with their couch is more than enough to bring them complete joy. And they respect their couches, they have their upholstery cleaned when it’s stained and sewn up when it’s torn and they buy them beautiful throw pillows and even take family portraits on them because their couch is, well, part of the family. You do know that respect and love can be part of the male-female relationship or of the couch-owner relationship, right?

BB: (Shakes head) Oh, honey, you have so much to learn about life.

G: I’m sorry you feel that way, Bertha. But thanks for speaking with me today. It’s been a very…interesting experience. And I really do hope that one day you find yourself a nice family that appreciates your comfy cushions for what they truly are.

BB: You’re very welcome. And listen, just a word of advice: even though you believe all of this about not wanting it or asking for it with your clothes, you might want to wear a less low cut top next time you venture into a frat house. Because, frankly, you’re kind of asking for it.