I’ve had my shares of disputes with David Anderson. Politically, h tends to flirt with the edge of moonbattery (although this piece cut him quite a bit of slack with me), and he’s got a few spelling tics that really bug me no end. (It’s “occasionally,” David, not “occassionally.”) But despite several nasty blow-ups, I’ve never really wished him or his any ill will.
David has a nephew. He’s rather fond of him, but I have a shameful confession. I spent a great deal of time last year wanting to see him die. Die in the most brutal, violent, horrid fashion. And I still do.
David, I still mostly like you, and kinda respect you. Just don’t ever introduce me to your nephew, OK? I’m sure he’s a fine, decent, kind, funny human being. But he did just a little too good a job last year…
(In an odd aside, Michael Chiklis, the star of The Shield, is probably Andover, Massachusetts’ most famous son, a town I’ve spent a great deal of time in myself…)