It’s been a week since Milo Yiannopoulos graced the shores of Australia with his perpetually fabulous presence, leaving a trail of hyperventilating snowflakes in his wake. I don’t mean only the cry-screaming leftist journalists from The Guardian and The Sydney Morning Herald. Or the grungy, faux-trendy millennial Melbournian-slum-dwellers who permeate the labyrinthine passageways of Twitter and Facebook.
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