Poor Mojo's Newswire

The malicious worm affecting Twitter over the weekend has now mutated and continues to invade the popular microblogging network. Although Twitter is taking action against the problem, security analysts fear that further mutations of the worm will continue to wreak havoc on the network over the week. The worm, appearing as "" or "StalkDaily", was created by the 17-year-old Mike Mooney "out of boredom" and is now generating thousands of spam messages containing the word "Mikeyy." This is the fourth attack by the worm in the last four days, which sends Twitter messages from infected accounts, without the owners' knowledge. How to keep safe from Mikeyy First of all, experts advise Twitter users not to click on any links from messages containing the words "Mikeyy" or "Stalkdaily." It is recommended you use third-party Twitter desktop clients like Twhirl or TweetDeck (both PC and Mac) and that you do not use the Web-based version of Twitter, especially for viewing user profiles (as this is where the attack seems to originate).

As a rhetorical trick, it is simple. Anyone can do it, and we are all tempted sometimes. When you have lost an argument - when you can't justify your case, and it is crumbling in your hands - you snap back: "But what about x?"

You then raise a totally different subject, and try to get everybody to focus on it - hoping it will distract attention from your own deflated case.

So whenever I report on, say, atrocities committed by Israel, I am bombarded with e-mails saying: "But what about the bad things done by Muslims? Why do you never talk about them?" Whenever I report on the atrocities committed by Islamists, I am bombarded with e-mails saying: "But what about Israel? Why do you never write about the terrible things they do?" And so it goes on, whatever the subject, in an endless international shifting of blame, united in the cry: "What about them! Talk about them instead!"

This argument is almost always disingenuous. . . .

A man carries cash, or at least a debit card. Maybe a handful of loose change, which he puts into a bowl of assorted change at the end of the day. Or perhaps the man just throws it on the coffee table. Because a man owns a coffee table. Also coffee mugs. But not demitasse spoons. A man wouldn’t be caught dead with a demitasse spoon. Unless he is Jonathan Adler, in which case he proudly carries his demitasse spoons with him.

A real man fears Jonathan Adler. He knows that Jonathan Adler will cut you, motherfucker.

A man builds things. Bookcases out of bricks and 2x4s. A coffee table out of a deer crossing sign. A fort out of his mashed potatoes. A mountain out of a molehill. This is his way of escaping mortality. Also of escaping Alcatraz. A man knows how to tunnel out of a maximum security prison using only a toothbrush and the cardboard from the center of a toilet paper roll. Steve McQueen was a man. So is SpongeBob Squarepants. You can tell because they both wear pants. That’s where they carry their cash and maybe their demitasse spoons.

A man can look you up and down and tell whether you’re wearing pants. Before you say a word, he’s figured out the pants situation. That’s because a man is fearless about scoping the crotch every once in a while. Even if he gets busted. From your shins, from your loins, from your button fly, a man infers.

. . .

A man looks out for children. Makes them stand behind him. Especially at parades. Because a real man loves a parade and doesn’t want any damn children blocking his view.