Greets and saluts from the NYC metro area. Looks like another National Review writer may be in hot water. This time over a physical altercation at a theater show.

Kevin Williamson, come on down.

It was not. The lady seated to my immediate right (very close quarters on bench seating) was fairly insistent about using her phone. I asked her to turn it off. She answered: “So don’t look.” I asked her whether I had missed something during the very pointed announcements to please turn off your phones, perhaps a special exemption granted for her. She suggested that I should mind my own business.

So I minded my own business by utilizing my famously feline agility to deftly snatch the phone out of her hand and toss it across the room, where it would do no more damage. She slapped me and stormed away to seek managerial succor. Eventually, I was visited by a black-suited agent of order, who asked whether he might have a word.

In a civilized world, I would have received a commendation of some sort. To the theater-going public of New York — nay, the the world - I say: “You’re welcome.”

There is talk of criminal charges. I will keep you updated.

Let’s see, criminal mischief is a possibility, as is assault or menacing.