Oh, I say, Wm.TM, not paying your intern?

Even when I was a lowly Subaltern they threw me table scraps and a few Crowns a month.

Your publication is seventy percent advertisements supporting one consistently funny columnist, one cartoonist worth his or her salt, a dirty old man for cheap thrills and a lot of filler without which the Mercury would be ninety percent advertisements. (Of course, if you count the barely re-written press releases, the percentage is higher.)

What are you paying those politically correct, exceedingly polite hacks you employ? They really aren't worth their wages, don't you know. Certainly not consistently funny.

Question: Do you or your staff ever get out of your office? Do you ever talk to anyone other than each other? Or do you occupy your day in front of the facsimile machine awaiting the next press release?

This kid has talent. Throw him or her a bone. Perhaps a Trimet pass. A handful of Safeway coupons. Cuts in line at the Blanchett House. Something. Anything.

Oh, well, it is a business.

Not funny.

Next!