I started this diary entry trying to relate how responding to flame bait is not unlike scratching a genital itch in public. I took the metaphor much too far and it lost its coherency entirely, making for a completely unintelligible entry. Now I'll simply take pleasure in the fact that from now on when you think of responding to a flame, you'll think of me scratching my balls and adjusting my PA in the middle of a meeting or possibly your living room.

And it's spelled "Kaspar" because I say it is, Martin.