The common domesticated cow

Those morons who have no tact, talk incredibly loud on the phone, order a big mac, large fries, and "diet coke" (seriously, as long as you are wishing your veins a fond farewell, toss the sugar in there for good measure -- although on second thought, she may just throw it up later, so who cares, really), who drive Escalades, drive while trying to apply mascara and talk on their cell phones at the same time, while swatting their twin brats off each other, swerving through the southdale parking lot, trying to sip their triple-shot latte from starbucks, get their boobs done at their husbands behest, have no idea how to cook or knit and whose parents paid for the 4-year, private college education only so they could smoke pot and get knocked up halfway through their senior year, marry the dork, divorce him when they caught them in bed with the babysitter, and land some rich executive who did the same thing to his first wife 15 years beforehand, who bred two aforementioned hideous, in dire need of braces and baby boot camp, 12-year-old twin boys who each have their own abercrombie accounts, iPods, cell phones and PSPs.
Those, my dear, are the common domesticated cows of our gender.