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Ah yes. It’s always fun to read some Robert Stacey McCain. It’s like a nostalgic mental trip back to the Clinton-Bush Years, when he was last relevant — before that sad, tawdry episode where he got fired from a real newspaper reporting job for pretending to objectively cover a south-will-rise-again advocacy group that he was secretly a part of.

I always play a game with myself: “Will he try to awkwardly shoehorn Bill and Hillary into this one? He did! Ten points for me!”

Good luck with your career, Robert. As with my old cross-stitch portrait of Stonewall Jackson, the bygone art of slut shaming, the banjo on my father’s knee and the silhouette of my dear old barefoot, pregnant ma, whipping up some hominy grits in the kitchen, I will surely miss you when you’re gone.

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