I have been chosen. Farewell my friends. I go to a better place.

So that happened. (And that.) The Unethicist, no starry-eyed glom-along he, like Ramanujan straight out of nowhere and right to the heart of it, taking the slash-and-burn back to when noone even knew to ask what it meant--suddenly gets the Vanity Fair treatment, all New Establishment-like. Radar cries foul, girls get their knickers in a twist, Nieuwen's all Dylan's gone electric, and someone knew him back in the day. And who's the next lucky bastard to get plucked from the vending machine, the Oz-Man's anointed?

The claw is our master.