Hey Martha Stewart, you gloated about the death of a Post columnist — but I’m alive, bitch!
I’m alive, bitch! Even if the Domestic Dominatrix thinks she’s finished me off. It’s been 20 years since Martha Stewart traded her Manolo stilettos for ballet flats, her 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton bedsheets for a lumpy, polyester blend-covered bunk bed — the bottom half, she moaned — and suffered through a diet of horrific coffee and … Read more