“Doug, you tiny little fairy, you arrested boy, I will break your back over my knee in the press and I will push your face inside out in private or public . . . Mention my name anywhere ever again, and we’re going to find out two things: First, whose word means anything anymore in this town. Second, how many times I can slam my fist into your face before someone pulls me off you.” He signed off: “Now you wait for it.”

and here it is, at Toby Young’s book party.

Gawker has the whole slideshow.

Jacob wrestles with an angel. You pick who’s who.

We hate these events, these self-importantant celebrations of a crowd’s collective arrogance. But once every three or four decades, something genuinely interesting happens. In this case, at Toby Young’s book party tonight at Soho House, the crowd was treated to two writers working out their mutual hatred like twelve-year-old boys. Former Page Sixer Ian Spiegelman lost his job in 2004 ostensibly because of a threatening email he sent to [insert sketchy adjective here] writer Doug Dechert (more backstory here). Tonight, these two were reunited and, after the right amount of lukewarm liquor, they worked their issues out with fisticuffs. There’s more to explain later in the forthcoming party crash, but at this hour the pictures are story enough. More bloodshed — or the drink-throwing sissy journalist version thereof —here

and a little background on the party here, from the Huffpo. If I could find it in the debris that is Diary-X, I would post my own review of Toby Young’s first book. All you really need to know is that I used the expression “Three-orgasm Schadenfreude.“