So, the refrigerator light blew out.  Stop your bitching and run out to Target a get a new one. Christ. How old are you, ten?

As someone who often describes himself as something of a free speech absolutist (which is a bit of a misnomer, really—I’m closer to a free speech pragmatist with absolutist tendencies), I’ve really kept up only peripherally with the Google / China / US conflict.  In fact, it wasn’t until dinner last night, when my wife mentioned something to me about the DoJ handing out subpoenas to Google, Yahoo, MSN, etc.—and

—and what?—and the sneaky little reiver just washed down my last 20 Klonopins with a bottle of Black Swan Shiraz and is busy flinging himself heavily into my bookshelves, singing the Allman Brothers’ “Sweet Melissa” over and over and over again at the top of his squeaky armadillo lungs like some trippy lunatic Vietnam-era rat trapped in shrapnel-pierced body armor? Is that what you were going to ask me?  Because