The Washington Post’s recent debacle should not solicit sympathy from anyone interested in a viable Fourth Estate; that is, the noble profession of journalism. Reporters, like firemen, are supposed to be the ultimate do-gooders in our Society. Firemen, for little or no pay, risk their lives to save the lives and property of complete strangers. Reporters were supposed to seek out and publish the truth, unvarnished – to keep the fat cats in line, watch out for the interests of the common man for little reward and certainly not for fame. Yes, and there have been times when journalists printed the truth at the risk of their lives.
These salons that the Post wanted to throw…how many of them go on at the Cosmo Club on Dupont Circle, or other private dinners where people blandly pay to play as naturally as wiping the dandruff off the padded shoulders of their expensive suits. How much would you pay to have your picture taken with Obama? How much for Dick Cheney? They are always for sale. Look at Ronnie Rayguns multimillion dollar windfall when he retired; and then proceeded to milk his celebrity by going to Japan. (Then these same Republicans who would suck Ronnie’s cock call Obama a celebrity. But I’m straying off topic.)
Nobody buys newspapers anymore because they aren’t even worth wrapping dead fish in. If they printed something that people want to read, they’d pay 50¢ a day to get the annoying news print on their fingers first thing in the morning.