I think I’ll start with “cackle” since it seems fairly obvious you meant “gaggle,” or maybe you meant “cankle” as some sort of mean-girl reference to stompy-booted lezzies like Hillary Clinton. Who really knows? Perhaps you were Tweeting in tongues.

Now, let’s get to the meat, Sarah – the implication that a “cackle of rads” “hijacked” the term feminist. Hooker, a [cackle of rads] INVENTED feminism ergo they are incapable of “hijacking” it.

I could write a thesis on this one tweet if I weren’t, you know busy being ironic (& passe)….wait, I mean, lazy.

I have burst into tears (hopefully unnoticed) no less than 6 times this week. No sobbing or actual weeping, just that moment when your eyes start to bulge and feel like they’re on fire and your throat swells and aches. The kind of tears you can stuff back into your face.

I’m trying to hold it together, but I can totally feel my breaking point approaching. Something has got to change or something has got to give.

In preparation for very weighty and frightening conversations I’m going to have in the near future, I’m reading two very important books by ladies who know how to get what they want!

You might be a 90s Woman if…

Any of the following changed your life: Bikini Kill, Nirvana, 7 Year
Bitch, Hole, Babes in Toyland, Sinead O’Connor, Lisa Carver, Tank
Girl, Sister Spit, Liz Phair. Girl you know it’s true. Bikini Kill, Liz Phair, Nirvana… I’m looking at you

You have had a crush on any of the following: Paul Rudd, James Spader, Brittany Murphy, Winona Ryder, Johnny Depp (21 Jump Street era). Check. (Paul Rudd, of course)

You’ve read Sassy. I remember buying the Sassy with Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain on the cover at Broulim’s in Rexburg and thinking – I really want to Kool-aid dye my hair… and be in mega-cute, punk-rock love. What did I know?

You’ve defended sex workers or been one. Defended? yes. Been one? No.

When you heard Billy Corgan and Jessica Simpson were dating you got upset. I just couldn’t decide which one of them was slumming.

You’ve made a mix tape on an actual tape. …or about a zillion mix tapes on actual tapes.

You know lines from Clueless. I only watched this a few times, but I do know many lines from Reservoir Dogs and Glengary Glen Ross, so that’s counts for some 90′s cred, right?

You were kind of slutty for a while and aren’t ashamed. Not slutty enough. I was a bit of a make-out slut, but looking back I really could, maybe should have been much, much worse.

You’ve marched for abortion rights, against the first Iraq War, or for Take Back the Night. I got suspended from my christian high-school for drawing a peace sign in the white checks of my uniform skirt during the first Iraq War. Our principle was a retired colonel and a mega military hard-on who hated Mormons. So you can only image.

You have ever been into Wicca, eco-feminism, or liberation theology. I like watching Willow be into Wicca…and I’ve read a lot of Mary Daly. Does that count?

You have a speech ready whenever any of the following come up: Camille Paglia, WAM, Katie Roiphe, or the Michigan Womyn’s Festival. Oh, please don’t make me talk or think about Camille Paglia. Ever. Ever again.

You think any of the following items of clothing are hot: thigh-highs, plaid shirts, work boots with dresses, cat-eye glasses, chunky heels, baby-doll dresses, overalls, plaid, flannel, bra straps showing, barrettes. Shut up.

You’ve dyed your hair a color not found in nature, ideally with Manic Panic. Manic Panic and/or Kool-aid…my hair has been: green, blue, orange, pink, orangey red, turquoise and purple. I’m thinking of going blonde this spring, so look out.

You are all over your birth control responsibilities. Check.

It would never occur to you that women wouldn’t work or that men wouldn’t clean the house. Check.

You have self-identified as bisexual (even if you’re gay or straight). This one is funny. I’ve been consistently accused of going the gay way for most of my adult life… I just embrace it. It makes me seem much more interesting than I actually am.

You can do a feminist analysis of your favorite pop culture. I can do a feminist analysis of your face. That’s how good I am.

You started—or at least read—a zine. Now it’s a blog or tumblr. Well, duh.

You are both ironic and sentimental. But for real, not like that “like rain on a wedding day” Alannis Morissette irony song, which you have mocked but know all the words to. Yes. Of course not…. and fuck you. I wasn’t totally aware of this fact until I had to sing it playing Rock Band and I murdered it. In a good way.

The original – in case you missed it.

I’m sad to hear Michael C. Hall’s voice say this stuff. Boo. And just in case you think it’s only hairy-arm-pitted feminists who were offended by this commercial…..

I was a 36C or D, and at 5′ 1″, I knew that being a small person with big boobs standing in front of an audience was not going to be easy. It would be really hard to get people to pay attention to me without mocking me. Getting a breast reduction to prepare for my career was no different from people who work to get good grades to get into a good college to get into a good graduate school to get a good job. I went down to a B cup, and it was the best thing in the whole world.

I’ve always loved Janeane, but I’m kind of disappointed with this (old) news and not just because she chopped off  her knockers to make standing in front of an audience easier – but, because she had an opportunity and she missed it.

How much stronger would her career and message have been if she did all she’s done and said all she’s said, while rocking 36Ds?

Having fully realized bazooms is a mindfuck for most of us – there’s the objectification, the shame, the fear of jogging/jiggling, the never being able to find button-down shirts or coats that fit. It sucks. If you don’t want to take my word for it, google the phrase “positive things about big boobs” and you’ll find nothing but self-loathing chicks with sweet racks, desperately wanting to get breast-reduction surgery – followed by pages of ladies with small breasts wanting large breasts, so the cycle of female self-hatred continues.

Imagine a world where dudes with huge dicks went around lamenting them and hacking them up to fit societal norms. You can’t – because it’s fucking crazy and so is this.

How did we let this happen? How did we let our society make us hate ourselves so much that even the strong and the funny among us have given into the pressure?

Frankly, it pisses me off and makes me sad. You can be smart and have big tits. You can be funny and have big tits. You can be powerful and have big tits. You don’t have hide or shrink or for fuck-sake, mutilate yourself in order to be taken seriously.

Will people mock you? Probably. Will dudes perv over you? Definitely. But, women have to stop changing themselves and start changing society.