Some of you wonder (I know it!) why I continue to pick on crazy old cat-lady, Phyllis Schlafly. I think you now get it. Between the blacks (not said with irony, either) and unwed women kicking their husbands out (what?) and welfare sponges, Crazy Phyllis is not taking the back seat to any old Teabagger.
(Full disclosure: in the Reagan-era ’80s, Schlafly showed up at my mother’s house to address the DAR meeting she was hosting. My sister, Eightgrain, stood up in the middle of the speech, flipped off Schlafly and walked out of the meeting, along with the younger half of the chapter, never to attend again. This story always stayed with me.)