Does My New Feminism Make Me Look

What Hamlet Suffers From Is A Lack Of Zombies. Let Us Say Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Show Up—ho-ho! Now You’ve Got Something That Stirs The, Um, Something That Stirs Things That Are Stirrable. Boom! A Pack Of Ravenous Flesh-eaters Breaks Open Their Heads And Sucks Out Their Eyeballs. No Need For Iambic Pentameter Because They Are Grunting, Groaning Annihilators Of Humanity With No Time For Meter. You’re Not Asleep In The Back Of English Class Anymore, Are You? This Is What I’m Talking About. Zombies. Learn It, Live It, Love It.

Didn't You Have Any Sadistic Nannies Who Told You These Tales To Keep You Quiet And Well Behaved At Night? Heavens, What's To Become Of The Empire If Governesses Have Lost Their Touch For Scaring The Wits Out Of Their Girls?

The Dull Pain Of Truth Weights My Soul, Pulling It Under. I Am Left Hopelessly Awake.

If God Has Nothing Better To Do Than Punish Schoolgirls For A Bit Of Tomfoolery, Then I've No Use For God.

Harold Brodie Is A Louse And A Lothario Who Cheats At Cards And Has A Different Girl In His Rumble Seat Every Week. That Coupe Of His Is Pos-i-tute-ly A Petting Palace. And He’s A Terrible Kisser To Boot.” Evie’s Parents Stared In Stunned Silence. “or So I’ve Heard.