I subscribe to a rag, part III

...although, in all fairness, this wasn't written by a Gazette staffer; it was a Washington Post article by some decrepit hack named Hank Stuever which was reprinted in the Gazette. The article is basically a rambling, misty-eyed reminiscence for some fictional bygone era where journalists (cue trumpets) rode high in the saddle, chain-smoked Marlboros and brought powerful men to their knees.

Stuever writes:

It was possible, our ancestors inform us, to go to a bar and tell a girl that you were a reporter for The Washington Post and she might go home with you. That was part of the allure of the Deep Throat culture -- the reporter as chick magnet. (Now she would tell you that she doesn't really ever look at the paper. Or worse, she only looks at it online.)

The only thing worse than some moth-eaten gynobibliophobe made oblivious to his own impending obsolescence by raging egomania, balls-to-the-wall sexism and obsessive nostalgia for some arcadian wonderland is... oh, wait--there IS nothing worse. This asshole's shtick would be laughable if it weren't so fucking pervasive.

Is he really getting all misty-eyed over the continuing collapse of the old boys' network? Why, I believe he might be... poor little ponce, my heart bleeds.