Quote:
Originally posted by Nicole
Drew Anderson (24, shaggy hair, tight pants) parks his Toyota Prius Plug-in Hybrid and shuffles to the HuffPost offices, where he blogs for $45/post. His green messenger bag (more of a murse, really) is slung over one shoulder. He holds a flat, glass, eco-friendly water bottle with one hand and scrolls through his phone with the other. His sandals slap against the soles of his bare feet as he walks.
He sits at his cubicle and opens his laptop. It's entirely covered with stickers that say Bon Iver, tUnE-yArDs, Arcade Fire, Bright Eyes, Grizzly Bear, Childish Gambino, Mikill Pane, Kid Sister, Kreayshawn, XV, Chiddy Bang, Macklemore, Azealia Banks, The Swank, Air Dubai, etc.
Drew cracks his fingers and gets ready to write a piece on the Swift-Minaj feud titled "Get Off Your High Horse, Ms. Swift! How Patriarchy, Institutional Racism & Anti-Feminism Are Preventing Strong Black Females from Receiving the Credit they Deserve."
Badger, finish it.
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Drew scrolls through the multitudes of tweets on the subject, the content getting progressively profane and irrelevant. He sighs, wishing he did not have to sift through the pubescent whinings of this accursed generation. He knew that Twitter wasn't a particularly prestigious source of references, but then again, this was Huffington Post.
After an hour of transcribing social media vitriol, and deleting and rewriting countless sentences, Drew decides that it's time for a break. He yawns, stretches and gets up from his desk. As he makes his way to the water cooler, his attractive blonde colleague Dana Simmons smiles at him. He smiles back, and his gaze drifts towards her visibly ample bosom. He twitches guiltily and wrenches his eyes away from her chest. "Come on Drew", he mutters to himself, "Don't give in to your oppressive primeval male instincts".
At the water cooler, he fills up a plastic (unfortunately non-recyclable) cup of cool liquid and takes a long gulp. He thinks again to the multiple suggestions he makes to his boss about setting up a homemade wheatgrass juice bar in the cafeteria, which inexplicable keep being ignored.
Drew feels a large heavy object collide with him, and a pair of thick, unnervingly strong arms wrap themselves around him. He chokes to see his girlfriend Becky beaming up at him. His heart sinks, wishing he was with a tall modelesque beauty (like Dana) instead of this unstable gremlin - but that would be problematic of him.
"Hey Moon Of My Eyes" he says in the most romantic tone he can muster. He hears Dana giggling at her desk, and his ears flush in embarrassment. "Hey Sun Of My Stars" Becky responds, hugging Drew so tightly he swears a couple of ribs crack. "I came over because I knew you'd be hungry. I brought you lunch!"
She gives him a woven basket, filled with tofu sandwiches on wheatless bread and various vegetables one won't find in the supermarkets. At least she's good at providing food, Drew thinks - cringing as he realises the sexism of these words.
Becky marches him arm-in-arm back to his desk, and looks over his work as he eats. "This is such a coincidence!" She cries morbidly. "Just last night I was speaking to Taylor Swift about her privileged attitude."
"Oh really?" Drew said absentmindedly, discretely trying to catch more glimpses of Dana's cleavage.
"Yah-huh! I'm so glad my boyfriend defends these poor minority artists against the evil corporations in the music industry!"
"Yeah I like to think I'm making a difference" he says loudly so that his colleagues can hear him. "Nicki Minaj should have the right to act ****ty and receive acclaim for it."
Drew immediately regrets these words. Becky slows turns to face him, her eyes ******* and bloodshot, her pudgy fists clenched, a trickle of spit drooling down her chin. "****ty?" She strangledly whispers. "NICKI MINAJ IS A STRONG OUTSPOKEN WOMAN WHOSE BODY IS A TEMPLE AND DESERVES TO BE WORSHIPPED. MALE CIS HETERO SCUM LIKE YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND!!!"
Her rant continues in this vein for the next thirty minutes.
Just because she doesn't care about the feud doesn't mean she can't call a spade a spade
