. . . and in the process kicks the candy ass of Maureen Dowd for whom "men have played so recklessly with the globe 'they nearly broke it.' " You can break your finger nail, sweetie, but not the globe. Girly-girl talk! While C. P. is a good antidote to P. C., she cannot be awarded a plenary MavPhil endorsement because of the silly things she has said about philosophy and women in philosophy.
But Camille, the one on the right, well deserves a partial endorsement. Here is a delightful Pagliaism: ”Leaving sex to feminists is like letting your dog vacation at the taxidermist.”
The image above suggests that the the ideal woman might well be a trinity: Maureen in bed; the mannish Camille in the parlor for serious dialectic of the non-physical sort; the Virgin Mary (not depicted) on a pedestal.
Note the dialectic (in the Continental sense this time) of revelation and concealment displayed by the coquettish Maureen: one eye invisible, the low-cut top inviting the eye downward, while the gals to her left are bundled up like Muslims.