I loathe our local newspaper. It's a prime example of the worst in unimaginative, lockstep, straight-from-the-DNC/ACLU-fax-to-you journalism. Their refusal to do any actual investigative, independent reporting during Clinton's Reign of Error has earned them lasting shame. I believe I've (unintentionally) sent their salespeople away close to tears.
Not that I have an opinion about what I lovingly call The Sacramento Eff, mind you.
I won't say that no amount of money could persuade me to subscribe... but it'd take a lot!
The one exception over the years, surprisingly, was where you'd least expect to find it: their excellent religion editor, Paul Clegg. I have no real idea what his religious convictions were. He kept it out of his job. I wrote a number of essays during Paul's stay, and you can read them here. He never, ever edited me for content. But that was years ago, and he is no longer their religion editor.
Now comes this hysterical review of... well, of a man who I just don't want to name, because that'd be playing into his one great goal in life. He is a man who wants to turn his unresolved personal issues into the nation's wrongly-resolved issues. He tried to add to his resume an entry titled "performer" -- and I gather the results were horrendous. Even if you don't care, read the review: it's pretty funny, given who this poor soul is.