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THE INFERNO BURNS IN NAPA

THE INFERNO BURNS IN NAPA

Okay, I’m just going to say what nobody here wants to say:  Meghan, at this early point in time – just three episodes in – I think we’re all prepared and very willing to like you.  Personally, I think that you come off as intelligent and pretty and so unbelievably thin that I’d like to meet with you privately so you might rub yourself against me in the hopes that whatever parasite you have been infected with leaps directly from your ravaged digestive system into my own. I want your good standing on this show to grow and to prosper, like a beautiful cherry tree that I hope you get to plant in the front yard of a home you will never have to move from, a tree so lovely that Shannon will not be able to stop herself from pissing on it during a luncheon because of that one time when you didn’t flirt with her husband.   And with that form of kindness in the forefront of my mind, I have to tell you to stop it with the fucking hashtags.  I let the “hashtag coolstepmom” go by because it was your first episode and I was too busy contemplating the vast similarities between Tamra and that bile-spewing demon from The Exorcist and chanting safe words that might keep Vicki from shrieking and rifling through the latest issue of the DSM book of psychological disorders in my effort to properly diagnose Shannon as anything other than “simply out of her mind crazy,” but this week you did it again and actually allowed the words “hashtag over-it” to escape from your lips.  And so, with genuine affection, I must implore you to never let such a thing happen again and I will even use vernacular you are drawn to in the hopes that I achieve a breakthrough here:  hashtag stopthisfuckingnonsenserightnow.