Women who pursue journalism as a mostly unviable career venture must first have their heads cracked open and brains replaced by a few dozen robotically controlled mice, because it’s really the only way we can possibly justify the torrential downpour of abuse, sexism, creepiness, and body-breaking exhaustion that accompanies the job. While the complexities of a journalist’s job may not be obvious in the way that, say, inventing a machine that will keep your coffee warm when you forget it in a microwave may be, we do frequently sit through junket interviews for things like Sonic the fucking Hedgehog, navigating...
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