I lost my virginity in the backseat of my 1990 Nissan Pathfinder that I had purchased with my Bar Mitzvah money to a girl named Christine on a darkened street in Santa Monica, CA when I was seventeen years old. Towards the end of the seven minutes of condomsex she told me to hurry because she had a misshapen canal and “this wasn’t working out” as a result. I didn’t understand what any of that meant, but I knew then and there as I sat panting and confused with my jeans around my DCs that I wanted to be the night editor of BlackBook. Another awkward first time after the jump.

The Washingtonian informs us today that former Marine-winning Pulitzer veteran Henry Allen of The Washington Post punched out Style writer Manuel Roig-Franzia over the weekend after Allen found a slew of mistakes in something called a charticle. Roig-Franzia appeared at Allen’s deskside and allegedly called him -- from what I can surmise from the missed letters -- a “cocksocket.” In his raging Network moment Allen “seethed over the lost art of long-form journalism,” writes this night blogger. Raging against the dying of his light and seemingly scripted by David Simon, Allen’s reaction is a beautiful reminder of both the sobering decline of a once storied medium and, more pointedly, that old-man strength is not a laughing matter. Allen will most likely be asked to leave the Style section he so clearly loathed. Should you be in the Washington D.C. area and come across a stricken Allen please choose your words and commas carefully.