NY TIMES - A Gray Drag Queen Gets His Stockings Wet

When I grumble about the media, I usually glower in disgust at the DAILY FAIL and the rest of the tabloids. They are the ones, after all, that write stupid shit promoting the Cuntrashians. Even worse, they love running gruesome eye-catching photos of eyeless burn victims or slashed corpses or soggy dead children pulled from the water. All of this pandering to a taste for violence and destruction is cheerfully promoted with or without a "caution, disturbing images" caveat. Usually without.

The tabs are also prone to be loaded with blood pressure-raising editorials about why The Eagles were a "bad" rock group. The Snooze ran a piece on a politician who came out in favor of a ban on carriage horses in Central Park and illustrated it with a Photoshop job showing the guy with manure all over him. The Snooze for some reason is FOR carriage horses clomping around the park in all kinds of weather and being a tabloid, figured it had the right to be tasteless in reporting an opposing view.

The "wisdom" is that tabloids are sensationalized for idiots, but...The New York Times gives you class and "all the news that's fit to print."

Like this?

This is why the fucking New York Times is nicknamed "The Gray Lady."

On the other extreme, rather than lurid news and two-fisted editorials, The Times offers obscure dry political pieces (often about politics in other countries) and limp-wristed editorials on anything inane.

Their affluent readership includes aging Yuppies who fret each morning making sure their socks match their ties. It's orgasm-less women ordering the latest flavors at Starbuck's. It's middle-class morons buying the paper to find out what minority dance troupe is trying to sell over-priced tickets at Lincoln Center.

And in the morning, sitting comfy in a $400,000 condo (one bedroom or smaller), waiting for the coffee to brew in that $200 Braun coffee maker the Times' cooking critic praised, a reader will catch the headline and photo above, and become engrossed in utter palaver.

Yeah. The Times hits the nail on the head: after it snows...there are...PUDDLES!

This article is almost the ultimate parody of the satiric line, "There will be a letter in The Times about this!"

Yes, some pussy named Tom Vanderbilt (like that posh last name?) wrote a letter in The Times (an essay, or more correctly, a guest EDITORIAL) about the PUDDLES on street corners that are SO inconvenient. And shouldn't something be done?

We know the obvious. After a huge snowstorm, sewers are backed up and clogged. If plows don't remove enough snow, it melts into big puddles. So? Why an editorial??

This tedious pipsqueak turns a Tweet ("Jeez, stepped in a puddle at every street corner today") into a fucking MOBY DICK of piffle.

It's here, mass-verbatim, as an example of what's wrong with The New York Times and its overly intellectual White Liberal readers. Their extreme dryness and wimpy preoccupation with tongue-clucking isn't exactly an antidote to the tabloids with their fingers in their noses and their mouths drooling over "ample cleavage" on some half-breed rapper bitch.

Here's Mr. Vanderbilt, using the Times formula of starting with a boring personal anecdote, and then winding his way through impotent verbosity ("infrastructure!") to reach a pathetic conclusion (that we "can do better.")

How much of this will you actually read? How much can you stand?

It's a perfect example of what's wrong with The Gray Lady, and why its male authors seem more like they're in drag and about to try out for a production of "Charley's Aunt."

Bored, right? You're wondering what kind of fop uses phrases like "Spirited urban resilience" and "urban Tough Mudder course." This isn't the 18th century, but here's somebody writing about areas "a few hardy souls had first traversed..."

Do you want to be around any sweater-wearing cocoa-mug sipping prig who calls you a "hardy soul" for going out in the snow, and who wants to know what areas you "traversed?"

The Times probably has a rule: "never write like people talk. Stick a fork in the reader's eye by using multi-syllabic phrases Charles Dickens would've red-penciled ("exhaust-tinged mire...an elaborately pantomimed dance...the PERIMETER of my neighborhood park.")

Go on, Vanderbore...

Painful isn't it? A reference to "the scholar Anastasia Loukaitou-Sideris." One sentence contained the tongue-tripping words "jurisdictions, municipalities...shared responsibility particularly...liability..." It's like the ultimate white rap song.

You probably skipped over the fourth paragraph. It ended with a Jew reference.

It's no surprise that some haters call the paper the Jew York Times. Mostly that would be because it's full of banking and financial news as well as Liberal views, but most glaringly, the paper thinks Jew references are ESSENTIAL to any article. So even a GOY like VANDERBILT has to try for a Jackie Mason chuckle. He questions the mayor banning travel: "Does that mean I can't go down to the corner for a bagel?"

Oh ho! A BAGEL! He wrote BAGEL! Ha ha! BAGEL! Don't forget to ask for a SCHMEAR on it! Hee hee hee! Will you digress and tell us your FAVORITE place to get a REAL bagel, or do we wait for another editorial? (Do you wonder why people resent The New York Times and Jews??)

Professor Vanderbilt isn't over yet. Wait for the finish. You'll PLOTZ.

FINALLY.

IT'S OVER.

And what does it end with? A bony finger pointing in no particular direction, and a self-assured and triumphant declaration that somebody or other, perhaps the editorial we, "can do better."

Times editorials are like being in an elevator with a pontificating pest who natters on so tirelessly you get sleepy. You feel like the ride started from the top of the Empire State Building and somebody pressed every button making you stop at every floor. Only this guy has his finger pressed to your chest saying "one more thing..." so you can't walk out and find an express car with NOBODY in it.

The Times, unlike so many newspapers and magazines, isn't anorexic. It's robust with full page fashion ads and ads for luxury watches. It seems to need wearying filler like this, and the editors seem to be instructed to never cut a word.

You can imagine how proud Sir Vanderbilt is today; showing his printed article to everyone he meets, and expecting theme to spend ten minutes reading it while he beams with pride.

I'll borrow a Piers Morgan phrase, which applies to the editorial AND the writer:

"WHAT A WASTE OF SPACE."