We're being talked about. All of us.
But it's a bit like when our family cat, Mozart, slinks into the room and flops down facing away from us: his ears are rotated toward us so he can monitor whether we're talking about him. When he hears the key words: "cat," or "kitty," or "Mozart," or some variation, he starts purring.
By the same token, I'll pretend to ignore the K-blogger thread, but its existence will fill the scrotum of my heart with a warm, fuzzy sensation-- a bit like wearing cotton sweatpants... then placidly urinating into them.
_
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