Here’s what you should have been reading this week. Or, you know, last week.

On Monday, Mallory presented “Texts From Dagny Taggart.” That’s Ayn Rand, if you’re an innocent and happy person who doesn’t know that. I told you about the things French women don’t do, and JH Palmer moved us to tears and to remember Billy Dee Williams’ Colt 45 ads.

Tuesday, “beautifulnotbeautiful” became the new “sorrynotsorry,” we met Maria, and Jessie-Lane Metz went on the offensive against defensive feminism.

Wednesday was a pretty banner day in the Toast household. We pledged our troth to Timothy Olyphant’s lower abdomen, wrote a stirring tribute to Robert Townsend which he READ and LIKED and THANKED Mallory for (she’s dead now, I wrote Texts From Jake Barnes posthumously as a tribute). But she couldn’t have been dead because later that same day…street harassment, coming soon to a place you can buy Toast-branded prints.

Thursday, we had this weird little illustrated poem about mustaches, and I took great satisfaction in being mean, and Mallory erased the damage from running two back-to-back pieces by men by unleashing her wrath on male antiheroes:

He picked his daughter up from wherever she had been before he picked her up.

“You look different from before,” he said to her.

“Different how?”

“Like older.”

She nodded. “Oh, yeah. That’s from time.”

He thought about it for a minute. She might be interesting after all. Not like her mother. That bitch. He handed her a cigarette.

And now today is Friday, so romantic comedies and racist action movies.