Oh, they’re all there. FÃƒºstar and Grandad, Skinner, Sweary, Twenty and Mulley.
The whole lot of them, all there together in the Irish Times. And how comfortable they look, lounging around on page 17, in their dinner jackets and cocktail dresses, all positively exuding fin-de-siÃƒ¨cle languor and ennui. It’s great. For once, the mainstream media acknowledge the Lords of the Blog O’Sphere.
Where the hell is Bock, I ask myself, as a horrible suspicion begins to form in my frontal suspicion lobes: can this be happening again? Is the terrible Moriarty to my Holmes at it again? The Mycroft to my Sherlock. The Harpo to my Grou- ah you know what I mean.
I scan frantically down the page, and there he is. Again, damn him. Again. Why does he hate me so much? Can’t I even have this tiny pathetic moment of glory?
No. Here’s my evil doppelganger, quoted by the Irish Times, and using the very same words as I did.
Who am I talking about? Why, who else but Block the Robber?