The New Republic 's Gabriel Sherman has a lovely new story out about the dystopian hell chamber that is the Politico newsroom. The snarling, leprous leadership of Jim VandeHei and John Harris (a.k.a. "VandeHarris," or simply, "AnusHair") greets its intrepid blog reporters each morning at 5: 30 a.m. with a hot shower of molten lava, followed by a threat to feed them to the rabid, one-eyed Beast of Ancient Times (held in an office storage pod in Manassas) if they do not get a Drudge link by 11 a.m. "SMITH, BEN SSSMITHHHH," the death demon VandeHarris roars, spittle flying from its mouth, before slithering back to its dungeon for a breakfast of live rats, copper shavings, and ostrich blood. "YOU MUST WIN THE MORNING... A GUEST SLOT ON HARDBALL COMPELS YOU..."
Politico Writers Are Rich! TAX THEM!
Politico Writers Are Rich! TAX THEM!
Politico Writers Are Rich! TAX THEM!
The New Republic 's Gabriel Sherman has a lovely new story out about the dystopian hell chamber that is the Politico newsroom. The snarling, leprous leadership of Jim VandeHei and John Harris (a.k.a. "VandeHarris," or simply, "AnusHair") greets its intrepid blog reporters each morning at 5: 30 a.m. with a hot shower of molten lava, followed by a threat to feed them to the rabid, one-eyed Beast of Ancient Times (held in an office storage pod in Manassas) if they do not get a Drudge link by 11 a.m. "SMITH, BEN SSSMITHHHH," the death demon VandeHarris roars, spittle flying from its mouth, before slithering back to its dungeon for a breakfast of live rats, copper shavings, and ostrich blood. "YOU MUST WIN THE MORNING... A GUEST SLOT ON HARDBALL COMPELS YOU..."