Under "New York's Drunkest Journalists":

Being a fall down, hopeless drunk must be a prerequisite to get a job at the Post as anyone who hangs out downtown and has had to suffer through a drunken conversation with starfucker Mandy Stadtmiller or tin-eared Mary Huhn knows all too well.

Where ever Moby is you will find these two lushes following close behind basking in his glow of mediocrity.

OK, first of all, the starfucker thing is a bit from my set. Lazy. Second of all, I wish I could fall down and be hopeless. I'd be way more interesting.

Third of all, Glow of Mediocrity is the name of my new vaginal cleanser. Not cool.

Fourth of all, based on the shitty over-thought-out writing and who was there the single night Mary and I happened to meet Moby after a show I was doing at Mo Pitkin's, it's pretty easy to figure out who wrote this spineless, anonymous comment.

And all I can say is, God bless you, lad.

As Julie and Jackie noted after Bro'in Out tonight, this is the kind of douche you kind of have to stand back and marvel at—the way you would any huggable retard.

I say! Your ears, they're made of tin, see, and the Internet, I hear it's a good place to disparage others, see, and this is how we do it, fella, with news on the march.

I would also like to point out the fact that my father has a metal plate in his head because he was shot twice in the face in Vietnam. He wishes he had tin ears. But instead he's got a metal plate in his head. So thanks for reminding me. Of how much I'd love to fuck anyone who's ever starred in or had a chief gaffer role in a Vietnam reenactment flick.

Thanks a lot. Platoon counts. Thanks.