Here’s how: read this, look up everything you don’t immediately understand, and then bask in the neurotransmitter backwash.

As part of my annual registration renewal for my truck, I received the standard specialty plate up-sell brochure. While perusing it, I noticed something interesting: specialty plates are normally $30, but if you want to mention god on your license plate it costs you $10 extra. Government exploiting faith, rather than sucking up to it, is so refreshing. The question is, where are they sending that extra $10? Probably to ASCAP.

I’ve heard comments about Slate not inhabiting the real world when it comes to some of their opinions, and I have to say that for perhaps the first time, I agree. I have to wonder if Seth Stevenson even knows he’s being a chauvinist prick, if he’s even slightly aware how much of the thin-is-in Kool-Aid he’s imbibed. Whatever the back story, Seth spends about 800 words trying to come up with “nice” ways to call these gorgeous women fat. Until the last sentence, where he just comes out and calls them fat. Man, if these women are fat, or even “hefty” or “big-boned,” then I really need to move to Seth Stevenson’s town. Because by any measure, these women are beautiful. They’ve got pretty faces, smooth skin (hey, it’s a Dove advertising campaign, they better), great smiles, good proportions. What they don’t have, at least from where I’m standing is “paunches” and “asses,” at least not ones worth commenting on derogatorily. And I’m pretty sure their doctors are not hounding them to lose weight at every routine physical. How many of us can say that?

Hey Seth, go eat a sandwich. And then go fuck yourself, okay?