Faint on this, bitch

George Will lays the smack down:

“Is this the fruit of feminism? A woman at the peak of the academic pyramid becomes theatrically flurried by an unwelcome idea and, like a Victorian maiden exposed to male coarseness, suffers the vapors and collapses on the drawing room carpet in a heap of crinolines until revived by smelling salts and the offending brute’s contrition?”

You’ve all read it already, I’m sure, but it’s just too funny not to mention. Mr. Baseball’s throwing chin music and the melody is sweet.