Recently, after catching word of his edgy worldview, the Federalist caught up with Brandon Ainsley, CC ‘18, as he gazed pensively into the distance and sipped black coffee in Brownies Cafe.
“I guess I just appreciate a good throwback,” he stated, adjusting his man bun and making sure his coffee-stained post-modernist screenplay draft and copy of Infinite Jest were visible to all passerbys. “I’m a huge fan of women operating in separate spheres from men. I mean, c’mon, the 1950s? The post-war resurgence of female domesticity? That’s my aesthetic. And, oh my god, Republican Motherhood? Now that’s a deep cut. You just don’t see that kind of intricately-crafted oppression anymore. It’s all mass-produced sexual liberation nowadays.”
He paused his musings to check a notification from Rolling Stone and kindly correct the grammar of the girl sitting behind him. “I mean, the glass ceiling used to be a mosaic—a true piece of art. Now it’s just a thin, cheap sheet of recycled plastic that could be shattered with a toothpick. It’s a moral disaster of the highest order.”
At press time, Ainsley could be seen sitting in Avery, rocking a head-to-toe Urban Outfitters ensemble as he perused a book about Victorian-era restrictions on women and loudly marveled to the innocent souls around him about their “refined, yet radically bold appeal.”
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6. My younger brother.
4. Kill the author of this article.
"Frankly, between seeing you at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and now this, I’m tired of your shit,” Grandma Ester tearfully remarked as she dug the ceremonial meat cleaver into her gnarled forearm.