bitchery

Legman lays blame at the feet of Miss O'Hara, calling her a "Venus Dominatrix" with "one hand always on the reins, the other ready with the whip" and lamenting how many men she ruined, murdered, or let die: "Margaret Mitchell did for bitchery what Edgar Allan Poe did for murder--she made it respectable." To the unsuspecting, the "bitch-heroine" appears to be "merely an historical hussy, an exceptional vixen." To those who see her potential, she masquerades as a "poor, helpless, pathological case." Legman's sociological usage of mask is advanced.

The movie within a movie theme plays out as a masterclass in bitchery and putdowns that would make a nun rip the plug off the telly.

Cloaked in white makeup, with a shock of orange hair and a bombs-away bitchery as unapologetic as Johnny Rotten's sneer, Hurt's Crisp is effete, delicate, and merciless.

The competitive bitchery characteristic of creative writing classes (at least in those days) did not surface in Mr.

And the bitchery that women suffered was awful.' He remembers incidents in which junior staff tried to circumvent job application processes, or demanded special treatment.

The arrival of Gwendolen and Cecily is splendid and the bitchery of the tea ritual drew huge laughter from an appreciative audience, who relished equally Michele Dotrice's beautifully realised, hugely quaint Miss Prism, as good an interpretation as I have ever seen.

But it's unfortunate that sneering at Fifty Shades has expanded, like a black hole of snark and bitchery, into dismissal of all fanfiction as ben-wa-ball-yanking blather.

Frank Sargeson seldom pulled punches when it came to bitchery about his fellow New Zealand writers.

Celebrity culture will breathe easier with her passing because she was one of the few big names to not just prick the bubble of the rich and famous but bayonet it with her hilarious but brutal brand of bitchery. Her reasoning was: "Truth is vicious, but why can't we say it?

I don't like to think it's true, and there's an element of palpable bitchery there, but..."

The multitude of stories, vignettes, and fragments comprising Lucy Corin's cunning, infectious collection reveal her fine-tuned ear for the trenchant humor at the heart of teenspeak, and American bitchery in general; these mordant, pitch-perfect apopularcalypses mock our manic inflation of the ordinary, how emotional minutiae run rampant in the hyperthyroid imagination of post-modern, post-religious, post-literate Apocalyptamerica.

Darcy's behavior toward Elizabeth is markedly friendlier at Netherfield, where his frank appreciation for her "'fine eyes,"' physical vigor, sisterly feeling, and lively wit contrasts with the snobbish, jealous bitchery of Miss Bingley.