Thursdays with Tina: Back on Friday Edition

Wonkette's weekly service to our readers: Translating Tina Brown's Thursday column in the Washington Post. We understand it so that you don't have to.

Tina saysTina means
If you hoped to get away from the U.S. political campaign this summer by going to London, forget about it.I've been re-reading vintage Jay McInerney.
But within hours of the report's release, the headline on London's Evening Standard was an inflammatory screamer.This being England, we do have demure screamers. Important distinction.
It hones him for the gladiatorial sessions. . . Mmmm. . . honing gladiators. . .
In Britain, it's a smackdown across party lines. . . Mmmmm. . . smacking parties. . .
With the tabloids, it doesn't matter if the facts don't fit the argument. Why are you looking at me like that?
That's why if you're a Brit like me. . . My contract with the Post necessitates that I remind you that I am British twice in each column. Not like they'd read it to make sure or anything.

. . . it's hard to get too riled up about Robert Greenwald's new documentary, "Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch's War on Journalism," I'm bored. . . New topic!!!!!
It's unlikely, after all, that passionate devotees of Bill O'Reilly are trawling West Side cocktail parties and gate-crashing screening events looking to have their minds changed.Attendees of West Side cocktail parties and screenings don't think Bill O'Reilly devotees walk upright, so it's probably for the best.
But this is the year when it's not enough to vote, you have to vote with your veins popping and your eyes bulging.Oh, I shouldn't. . . but . . . Oh, I can't help it: Penis!
. . . telling them to "SHUT UP, I said shut UP" like the nightmare blowhard you can't escape in a beer-soaked bar.I stole this line from the restraining order Harvey sent me.
It's the flair, stupid.Colors are pretty.
In the U.K., the Daily Mail, which isn't owned by Murdoch, is scarily powerful not because of its parochial, jingoistic, Little England judgments but because of the flawless timing of its malice, the instinctive brilliance with which it identifies and exploits the next national paranoia or distraction. I have cleverly sandwiched information which might disprove the flimsy "premise" of this column in a hurried "which" clause.
It's that Roger Ailes's brilliant belligerence and formidable TV skills are not matched enough with reportorial testosterone and creativity elsewhere. Everything comes back to the penis. Really, it does.
Wanted: A new entrepreneurial media wild man, with deep pockets and real curiosity, who's turned on as much by rigorous reporting as access to power. No fatties.

Looking for an Angel to Outfox Murdoch


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