Dear Reader(s - I mean, there could be more than one of you, but really, these days, who knows?):
I've just finished reading the letter to you people from incoming publisher Austin Beutner, and now that the laughter has subsided, I wanted to take a minute to say WHO'S THE MAN? I AM THE MAN. $85 MILLION AND I GET TO KEEP THE REAL ESTATE! Right now, I have to think I could sell ice to an Eskimo. I am just that good.
Also: y'all are the biggest bunch of suckers since the Indians who sold Manhattan for a bunch of beads. Did any of you really think I believed all that right-wing garbage I was printing? All that cheerleading and editorializing? You acted like you believed it. You wrote about it like you believed it. And that's what matters. If I'd gone about trying to do quality journalism, afflicting the comfortable and comforting the afflicted and all that jazz, the U-T would be one more ripple on the surface of the indifferent ocean. Sunk, like so many other newspapers in the digital infotainment age. But by faking right, I managed to get everybody's attention, and keep it — right up until the day the Tribune Company came sniffing 'round my office, looking for a deal.
In closing, I'd like to leave you with a warning: don't be taken in again. This Beutner guy sounds like a another flim-flam man. Just look at the closing line of his letter to you: "The San Diego Union-Tribune will be there, continuing to engage and inform you." If you believe that — especially the first part — I've got a newspaper I'd like to sell you. Oh, wait, no I don't — because I ALREADY SOLD IT.
Papa Doug Out