I went to my mother's house with a fire lit under my ass, and before the door had even closed behind me, I blurted out, "Who is Emile Zarbatany?"
The camp brought together at least 100 people for a two-day feminist training camp last weekend, packed with workshops ranging from theory ("Intersectionality Class") to practical knowledge ("Introductory Self-Defense").
The melting Antarctic ice sheet, China's 18-year-old basketball phenomenon, a drug that could stop the AIDS epidemic, and more.
The club, about the size of a backyard swimming pool, was packed wall-to-wall with 60-year-olds twitching awkwardly to obnoxious techno music. It smelled like department store perfume and old clothes.
White people keep giving me backhanded compliments because of my brow game, and I wish they would stop.
For the past two years, Montreal's streets have been patrolled by a short, slim, vegan, queer radical feminist crusader named LightStep.
The alleged murderer is being praised on social media by extremists.
Montreal really should have learned from Toronto's colossal food truck failure, but it didn't.
Has the human race managed to settle all its differences yet?