Wednesday, September 29, 2004

I can't get the damned song out of my head now 

Forget the pajamas. Nick Coleman has become the Incredible Mr. Limpid and declared us "talk-show barracudas".

This just in: I am a very wealthy man, born into privilege and power, and a stooge of the Democratic Party.

Oh. That reminds me, Smithers: Bring me the heads of some Republicans, would you? Also, set out the good silver. Fritz is coming over to give me my marching orders.

Dad-ums would be so proud, wouldn't he, Muffy?

Nothing in the opening paragraph is true, but bloggers and talk-show barracudas have said so, tossing stuff against the wall to see what sticks.

What sticks, I think, has been the recent string of "outings" of media bias, including a laying of the wood on Coleman's colleague Jim Boyd. As Captain Ed points out,
I'm curious, Nick: exactly what kind of accountability do you have? What kind of accountability does the Strib have? Is there some magic about putting words into
newsprint that automatically assigns truth to your words? Because from where I sit, having read your column for several years and laughing at all the wrong parts, I'd say that you're not fit to carry Scott's pen. Scott and John helped unmask an electoral fraud at a major news organization while you write paeans to editors, for Pete's sake.
I'd simply ignore Coleman -- as I've said, I don't read the STrib except for the parts Minnesota bloggers point me to -- except that I'm now stuck with a Heart song in my head.
So this ain't the end -
I read you again today
Had to turn my eyes away
You write like no one -
Slandering everyone
And tall tales - it never fails!

Your point's so low in the ledes
Bet you gonna ambush me
You'd have me dressed in my undies
Wouldn't you, Barracuda?

Back over Time when we were all
Writing for free
Met up with Boyd and me
No right no wrong your selling a Song-
A name whisper game.

If the real thing don't do the trick
You better make up something quick
You gonna burn it out to the wick
Aren't you, Barracuda?

"Edit me edit you" the Boyd said
But down deep my party's dead
You...I think you got the blues too.

All that night and all the next
Wrote without looking back
Made for Fritz's pools - silly fools!

Remember, lil' Nicky, barracudas hunt, and you're being found by many, even leaving out the Fraters. Many have punted on your newspaper and taken to the blogs. (Nick, for the love of God, don't bring sharp objects to the screen when you read Steve.) Hell, even your friends don't like you today.

I have just the thing: new underwear.