Just to make the record clear, the sordid calumny for whcih Little Hawk was so recently vaporized and emulsified is the following remark on the innate character of our Mom:

As for the MOAB, forget it. No one is insane enough to try and analyze that. It has become a tiny club for the terminally verbose and Shatnerless types who lurk at the fringes of society, desperately hoping against hope that something they say or do actually matters.

The reason this was grounds for a challenge is it is false slander against all of our natures. If I hoped for a minute to make something I say "really matter", Little Hawk, are you really deluded enough to think I would put it on the MOAB?

This story shall the good man teach his son;
    And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
    From this day to the ending of the world,
    But we in it shall be remember'd;
    We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition:
    And gentlemen in England now a-bed
    Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

So hold thine own, Monsieur Hack, and find some use therefore better than such craven sprinkles.