Evil Thoughts

I begin to have evil thoughts about Bill Keller. DeNiro's Al Capone, the crack of baseball bats and sticky pools of Hollywood on a tabletop. I do not like this. I want to write him a letter: Dear Bill, in a couple of days maybe there were nasty white spores on the envelope. I know someone who wants you dead, who they are, where they live and what size collar you wear. But as you are the 'public', you don't need to know. And I'm not sorry.

Were there ever Mafioso patriots? Could Tony & Vito apply gentle Louisville persuasion to the Keller knees? "Just a woid to the wise eh Bill. Yuh may want to re-tink just what's yoose publishin'. We got no qualms about your safety. Know whut I'm sayin''?"

Neither Russian, nor American, nor Iraqi, nor Tibetan, nor Korean, nor Japanese, nor German, nor Italian, nor Spanish, nor Filipino heads silent after seven minutes have touched his compassion. If heads tumbling like Aztec sacrifices won't do it, nothing will. Not in the public interest.

They'd best change the slogan on the masthead, the all the news that's fit to into: "Humanity don't sell papers. That's just for suckers. We're after power here at the Times". The short version? "Screw 'em".