I have seen the best-paid minds of my generation uri-nate. That's because my editor agreed to send me to the Oscars only if I spent the entire time in the men's bathroom. That's because my editor is a mean, bitter woman who has serious jealousy issues about my career and wants to sleep with me. I'm very good at this revenge thing. But it turns out that staying in the bathroom is no worse than watching the ceremony, which is the least manly way of spending an evening other than crocheting while watching the Miss America Pageant.
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