Don't Make Him Angry...You Like Him When He's Angry

Be careful who you cross in the blogosphere. This is one of the funniest comebacks (worth the long read) I have read this year.

A taste:

Note: in one of those classic little asides meant to endear him to the chic upper-left-side Mo-Dowd demographic whose uteruses have turned to something indistinguishable from papyri rescued from Herculanuem, he refers to me as a “blogger beloved in the daycare community.” Whether this is a swipe at my infantile politics or tendancy to write about my child, I don’t know. I doubt he knows anything about me beyond a few excerpts, or he wouldn’t have thought “Lilek” is the name and “Lilek’s” is possessive. But when I read that, I thought: he has cats. Everything about his work suggests that he has cats. Not that there’s anything wrong with cats. I love cats, even though I prefer dogs. But sometimes you just get the impression of a soul whose incessant pissy hauteur is best expressed at the moment when they dump a stinky disk of fish guts into the bowl and mutter something clever to the elegant creatures feasting at their feet. The fact that the cats don’t quite get what you’re saying is irrelevant. No, on some level, cats get it. Whatever "it" is.