Oh, Manchester, So Much To Answer For

I must be doing something right: this week, I received my first hate (e)mail in response to something I wrote for Stylus. The piece in question was my "Pop Playground" feature, American Idol: The Hit Factory, in which I said, regarding Clay Aiken,

His debut album was an exercise in tepidity that made Josh Groban sound positively edgy. Flashes in the pan can be created on that bedrock, but lasting careers cannot. One more album, tops, before he’s forced to go indie and continues to sell to a small but devoted niche of people I never want to meet.

Apparently, that rubbed some "Claymate" the wrong way, as I recently received this anonymous response:

Well you pompus [sic] ass, the feeling is mutual and I never want to meet you either.

Really, what more needs to be said?