I don't know about you but when I search Facebook for "Neal Pollack," I get two Neal Pollacks, neither of whom are the Neal Pollack that I want to find. (I'm looking for the Alternadad writer and blogger Neal Pollack who writes about his son so much!) But when I search from my friend's account, I get three Neal Pollacks, the last of whom is the Neal Pollack I want to find. How could we tell? Though we couldn't view his profile, we could view his friends. They include Timedouche columnist Joel Stein and his lovely wife, Cassandra Barry; Biblically-living author AJ Jacobs; Defamer editor Mark Lisanti; Gawker's once-upon-a-time editor Elizabeth Spiers; and Sloane Crosley, the indefatigable publicist. Come on, Neal! We want to poke you so hard!

We recently launched a sneak attack against daddy-author Neal Pollack's adorable 4-year-old son, Elijah. Or more accurately, we launched a sneak attack against author Neal Pollack shamelessly exploiting Elijah for his own literary ambitions. Pollack responded. Fark weighed in. Facebook profiles were updated. Pollack expressed a realization: That his constant blogging of Elijah exposes the little tyke—or rather, the trite twee petite-bourgeoise portrayal of him—to public scorn. One might think this would prevent Pollack from sending little Elijah back into the baby mines. But then one would be wrong.

Understandably unhappy professional father Neal Pollack is understandably unhappy that yesterday we called his four-year old son Elijah the worst and predicted that in a few years he'll be a full-grown horror show. Why did we launch this "disgusting sneak attack," he asks, in an email blast to his "Friends, Colleagues, Supporters, and anyone else who might be interested."

When is it okay to hate a 4-year-old? Maybe when the kid's name is Elijah Pollack. Elijah is the son of Alternadad Neal Pollack, the author and oh-so-hip dad who has been remanded to blogging his existence away on Epicurious. This week, they visit a cheese store and, well, Elijah is the worst. Now we know both he and his portrayal are at the mercy of his daddy.He is essentially a formless mass that has been fashioned into what he is by his father. But if we were to come across a sculpture that resembled, for instance, a large penis, we would be remiss not to mention that fact simply because the statue was created by a sculptor and did not form itself. And if you think we are somehow being hyperbolic or unnecessarily cruel in being so harsh on little Elijah, let us show you.

In our item yesterday on writer Neal Pollack's idiotic ramblings on his child-rearing process, we forgot to refer to Mr. Pollack as "alternadouche." (We were distracted by someone in our office, quitting her jobs.) Boy do we regret the error.