The Filthian, pompous and facetious as ever, is " opening a new style of long
form blog" or some such shit. It means it is publishing tedious essays by in-house wankers, the first of whom, sirprise, surprise is its own supreme editor in chief for life.
The repulsive Alan Rusbridger, head of the Guardian Praesideum, has a lecture to prepare for delivery in about six weeks' time and has - phony and and condescending - asked for assistance from those who cross party swords at Comment Is Free, But Rigidly Moderated. So Not Really Free
Rusbrudger's beef is that the traditional, centuries-old dominion of so-called journalism - the press and more recently the broadcast media - is under threat from what he means but refuses to describe as the blogosphere. How can redundant rubbish like him hang on to their gigs?
Many of the more servile commenters - stereotypical Guardianistas, cunts, in other words - fall willingly on Arsebridger's knob and attempt to help him shore-up his worthless, poisonous, faux-liberal, ecologically wasteful, outdated but obscenely lucrative position - Have you thought of so-and-so, Alan; Alan opens an interesting debate, and so on. Campaigning for the poor and exploiting the charitable status of the Scott Trust, which owns the Filthian, Arsebridger pays himself over ten thousand pounds a week for presiding over the decline of a once truly fine newspaper into so-called ethical consumerism and lame, cheesy Coalition-wanking.
But this delight leapt out of the know-it-all dross. There is as much, more, between the lines as upon them. I reproduce it without necessarily sharing its optimism and - obviously - without permission.