In an article about a brave woman who goes to a party to confront her enemies and finds them to be a bunch of wonderful guys.
It was very nice. But I have a complaint. (I mean, what am I blogging for if I can't complain?)
- But, like so many of us in this lonely world, they [the bloggers] crave recognition. Many of the young men I met - for they were mostly men - truly deserve it.
Of course, even if you're subtle, you've got to watch who you're tangling with. Because The Relaxed Catholic don't take no guff.
And in her version of the evening Antonia lurches in slurring, "Where'sh all the guysh? Gimme a f**n beer!" (OK. That's my version of her version. You can read the real thing here.)
And then there's The Meatriarchy. He's a black belt, you know. And he shows it off in his rejoinder called "It's Official: I'm Mental". Gotta read that.
And, back to my complaint? Well, Damian might have been there looking for a little woman, but most of the people I spoke to were Married with Children.
And, by the way, ladies, if you want to live in Newfoundland, Damian's a good catch. He's no loser. And, he says that he was only joking about 51 being "old". (Though I must admit, he had me fooled).
You can find my take on the evening here.
(Now, everyone's saying it isn't true!).
Updates! The American Spy comes out swingin' here. The Small Dead Animal sticks a knife in your guts here. And The Staple Singer is more gentle, here.
And now The Ambler offers his ideas. (He seems to be taking on all of the women in the room.) And, oh yeah, apparently, some people think Tarantino is god.