The Angry Drunk

It’s one of the eter­nal ques­tions that has vexed mankind since the dawn of civ­i­liza­tion. Socrates pon­dered it. Tacitus med­i­tated upon it. Aquinas prayed over it. Locke (the real Locke, not the gimp on the Island) debated it. Rand would have pon­tif­i­cated about it, but she was too busy giv­ing a “Captain of Industry” a Rusty Trombone. What is this age – old ques­tion? Is Mike Arrington a Dick?

For the first time since mat­ter coa­lesced from the energy soup that fol­lowed the Big Bang, the answer to that ques­tion has changed from “yes” to “no.” For, you see, Mike Arrington has man­aged to tran­scend the bonds of mere dick­dom and has risen to new heights of douchebag­gery.

Now, I was orig­i­nally going to state at this point that Mike had grad­u­ated from being a dick to becom­ing a cunt. But, the more I thought about it, the more I real­ized that that wasn’t fair — to the cunt. See, a cunt is a won­der­ful thing, a use­ful thing. I might even go so far as to say that I love cunts. I don’t, on the other hand, love Mike

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