We:09:06:06:03:59
“Years ago,” in His Sonic’s phrase, overcome with an uncharacteristic, sudden attack self-doubt and self-loathing, not for his healthy and righteous obsession with Hitchens, but for a confounding, unprecedented insecurity about his prose styling, Sonic – out of nowhere – sang the praises of another, and moaned, in a lonely one-sentence posting, that his own Voice was crap.
It would be to be able to write as well as Wonkette.
But a flood of positive, encouraging comments filled the heart of The Hedgehog
I wish I could be able to write as well as you, sonic.
and our Trogloditette was back in top burrowing form, and on the case – in under 24 hours – with a wicked exposure the Popinjay’s disastrous boozing (the direct cause of which is the deaths of more than 100,000 Iraqi kite-flying children).
“O lord,” shouted Sonic from the wind-swept hill, “thou hast seen my wrong: judge thou my cause, not my prose.”
