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We have no idea if a blog calling itself WASPdate is done with any ounce of sincerity — posts about Palm Beach and snifters strike us as a bit too perfect — but it makes us want to wrap ourselves in a St. John's knit and weep:

WASPdate chronicles the drama, melodrama and tragicomedy of the dating scene among NYC s young elite and their wannabes. Each installment features a tale of life and love in Gotham submitted by you, our dear readers, and dissected, bisected and vivisected by our crack staff of love experts — hopeless romantics, spurned lovers, and meth-addled swingers. These days, being a WASP is a state of mind. So, if you believe that your rightful place is on top, whether earned or inherited, that you will get there because you are who you are, and you're looking for that special someone, or—gasp—have found him or her, we want your stories.

On second thought, this can't possibly be legit. Real WASPs would never participate in such an endeavor — that would indicate some sort of emotion, and that's just not done.