What the hell is going on up there, blogowise? These pajama-clad typesters whose PJs may be fire-retardant, but whose posts are obviously not retard-retardant, are disturbing my peace down here.
The latest: A comment made by a man without a pronounceable name to this item by Roger Kimball. Frank Rich filling my shoes? Ha. Let me tell you about Frank. I popped into Frank’s little cubicle one night, drew moustaches on all his Mike Golden, Janet and Pinch pictures and when he came in the next morning, he was so scared he’d be caught with defaced icons that he filled his own shoes. He’s the most nervous man in show biz.
I fear nothing but fear itself. Also hunger. Hunger freaks me out a bit.
Posted 25.10.2010 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty
Or is he the Fox News Mormon madman? Doesn’t matter. I have had it down to here with these people and their character-bashing. For the last two months, all the right-wingnut bloggers have been getting on their high horse about me being a shill for Joe S. I was not, and am not, a shill for anyone. I prefer “communication specialist,” which is modern and ‘net-ready, just like me. But I will settle for “New York Times Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter,” which is still what it says here on my business card.
One thing I am not: I am not Thomas Friedman, and one place Thomas Friedman does not sit is here:
…the Walter Duranty Chair at the NYT.
That’s from somebody named “Glenn Reynolds” who styles himself an “Instapundit” – which means “add a few broken eggs and mix,” but who could not find the Duranty Chair if he tried. (It’s the little door in the closet off Marty Arnold’s old office on the 8th, and the plumbing still works just fine, thank you, despite Adam Nagourney practically living in it for three weeks straight after lunch with Roger Ailes.)
Posted 09.10.2010 by Pultizer Prize-winning New York Times correspondent Walter Duranty