Veteran Times reporter tells all

First, how do you like my fabulous suit? I bought it with the salary The New York Times paid me when I was their Moscow correspondent and a prototype of what every Times journalist is today.

With the support of the editors at the Times I helped cover up one of the most ruthless holocausts of a ruthless century: The forced starvation of Ukraine by the Soviet Union under Josef Stalin. In 1932-33, more than 7 million people died while I denied the genocide was even taking place. I ridiculed the dead and dying, and I helped discredit other journalists who tried to screw me over by reporting the "truth".

My take on Stalin's campaign of terror: "You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs." Pretty good line, no? I worked hard and did what I could to make Stalin and communism look good. I was the kind of journalist that George Clooney would call "courageous." One question for you, George: Why Murrow and not me? I like Ed, he's my friend, but hell.

In 1932, I was awarded a Pulitzer for my work. That made me look good. Very good, really. In fact, just look at this suit, would you? Plus, I only have one leg! Lost it in a train wreck. But can you tell? That's what I call tailoring! But I digress.

Every now and then, the ladies of the Pulitzer board meet to consider taking the prize back, but I'm happy to say that in the grand tradition of modern journalism they just can't make themselves say they were wrong. And they weren't wrong were they? I mean technically. Which is why the paper made me Gehenna bureau chief, a plum position most of my colleagues will die for, sooner or later.

The Times did slightly upset me by saying they personally would love to return the prize, but they can't find the thing. (It's here in the pocket of my suit, and notice how it doesn't disturb the drape a bit?) But when the Pulitzer board decided I should be able to keep my prize no matter what my petty critics claimed, I was vindicated. And I was touched when my young (if somewhat off-putting) acquaintance Pinch said, "We respect and commend the Pulitzer board for its decision on this complex and sensitive issue."

Now that I'm dead, I'm pleased to be the Times's man in hell. It's my final reward: Great weather. No humidity. Think Gaza, without the Israelis!

In fact, don't believe what the right-wing religious bigots say about this place. It's wonderful here. To tell the truth, hell was made for journalists just like me. So when you leave the Times or or the AP or CNN or CBS--well believe me this is exactly where you want to go. It's media heaven! We all blog of course. You can read my dispatches from downtown way down-under right here.

Herbert Matthews. Edgar Snow. Louise Bryant and Jack Reed. That crazy dame Anna Louise Strong. My friends and I all love it in hell. So Cronkite! Raines! Apple! When you get here, call me! I know everybody! Really fabulous place. Truly. It's the afterlife of the future. I've seen it first-hand and I can tell you one thing for sure: it works. Plus, I've lost weight! Bryant still has a few pounds to go, though. Talk about fat. Well, enough. I do go on...and I'm already late for Chinese at Mao's!