If SHE was a HE, Heather Havrilesky would have already inked a multi-special, multi-million dollar deal with Netflix! But the joke's on you because your comment reveals you as a humorless SEXIST prig. From Vulture:
Bill Burr’s Exhausting, Frustrating, Fascinating Battle With Himself
By Kathryn VanArendonk
"Red Rocks does not attempt to tie those different sides of Burr together into one coherent picture. He is the angry yelling man. He is the man who regrets his anger. He is the man who rants about feminism. He is the man who has been changed by his experience as a father. Red Rocks has no palpable design for how these different aspects of Burr clash against one another, but one emerges anyhow. At the beginning and the end, it’s furious, frustrated Burr, smiling cheekily when he knows he’s made you mad."
I'm only halfway through Havrilesky's book but I've already laughed out loud several times.
And just FYI, I am anything but some embittered cynic: I fell in love at first sight with my husband many decades ago, and I am still in love with him now. (As for his part, he put our names on the waiting list for NYU married student housing a month after we met.)
A) First of all, points for the sick burns! I lauded out loud at the “deflated breasts” line.
B) Why even publish this? She’s clearly a miserable harpy; is there some market for miserable harpies everyone has been missing? I though supermarket romance novels had that market cornered.
C) If I was her husband, the retort to this airing-out would simply be “oh yeah? Where are you gonna go?”. The only living thing that would cohabitate with this frigid witch is an equally frigid cat.
If SHE was a HE, Heather Havrilesky would have already inked a multi-special, multi-million dollar deal with Netflix! But the joke's on you because your comment reveals you as a humorless SEXIST prig. From Vulture:
Bill Burr’s Exhausting, Frustrating, Fascinating Battle With Himself
By Kathryn VanArendonk
"Red Rocks does not attempt to tie those different sides of Burr together into one coherent picture. He is the angry yelling man. He is the man who regrets his anger. He is the man who rants about feminism. He is the man who has been changed by his experience as a father. Red Rocks has no palpable design for how these different aspects of Burr clash against one another, but one emerges anyhow. At the beginning and the end, it’s furious, frustrated Burr, smiling cheekily when he knows he’s made you mad."
I'm only halfway through Havrilesky's book but I've already laughed out loud several times.
And just FYI, I am anything but some embittered cynic: I fell in love at first sight with my husband many decades ago, and I am still in love with him now. (As for his part, he put our names on the waiting list for NYU married student housing a month after we met.)
A) First of all, points for the sick burns! I lauded out loud at the “deflated breasts” line.
B) Why even publish this? She’s clearly a miserable harpy; is there some market for miserable harpies everyone has been missing? I though supermarket romance novels had that market cornered.
C) If I was her husband, the retort to this airing-out would simply be “oh yeah? Where are you gonna go?”. The only living thing that would cohabitate with this frigid witch is an equally frigid cat.