Ah, there is an inflitrator in my house...

So I was beginning to write a little rant on virility: on the need for Catholics to stop whining like that little twit Donahue and to instead take action when a-holes like Savage get out of line: you know, the old broken pool cue and castor oil treatment. I was planning on writing about how modern man has become soft, unwilling to resort to fisticuffs, even when one is dealing with an irrational, unrepentant heretic. I wanted to write about the restoration of virility in the public sphere: for men to wear beards, to eat roasted meat, to hunt and fish, to smoke cigars, to drink single malt Islay Scotch, and to listen to the music of Bach and Scarlatti, shunning the fussiness of Mendelssohn.

And then I realized that I was wearing a necklace made of little pink, purple and yellow plastic beads, and that a purple unicorn in a onesie was sitting on my lap. I immediately realize that I have an enemy agent in my house, one trying to subvert my plan from the inside. Right now she is riding a Pegasus rocking horse.

You have to watch that little one.