The New York Times does not in any way represent freedom or freedom of speech. Their modus operandi is censorship. They bemoan censorship when it comes to other people being censored. Then, they use it more deeply than any other paper in the world. As a writer who has published with them, and they have reviewed my books, I have awards there as Notable Books of the year.

I can tell you that for me, the New York Times 1.) Lies constantly. 2.) The publication is like any other publication. Take notes. The New York Times wants its fetish dope. Hits. A few days ago, a certain clown who makes me vomit, was publishing that fat old thing he calls a face, 127,455,892,500,803.600 times. On one page. Only columnists get respect. They have their own area in the building. This is a bad thing because they don’t interact with the Little People. I am told to be more humble. And where is their humility. I think that little old lady from Pasadena now runs the paper. The pressure for reporters is the clock. Not the one on the wall. The one you punch. Take the elevator up. There is a lot of security. About the size of a small army.

The two people who run the dog and pony show are overwhelmed. I am surprised at myself for thinking Kathleen Kingsbury is perhaps the best editor in the country. She is amazing and so is her staff. I am rock and rolled out on my big fat white ass over the powerful stuff on thermonuclear war. She tore up the town with it. I know I learned a lot. I now believe a war like that is inevitable. It would be worse than the Quaternary epoch. There were no homo sapiens at that time. There will be no homo sapiens when the contemporary Quaternary epoch ends. Who will survive. Armadillos. The New York Times is pretty grim. The Wall Street Journal is bigger. They sell more content than NYT. And they are invested in attitude, but nothing, nothing, and no publication in the world, has more attitude than the New York Times. NYT claims Trump will be a disaster. To that end, they elected Trump the first time simply covering him page after page, wall to wall, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, year after year, decade after decade of smelling the ass of a butterball farm porkus.

I love porcus. And now 44 more years of the same old same old. I lived on a farm, too. Then, I sold it. I can smell him from the television. I hear Melania lived on a farm, too. In Kansas. Her people raised ham on the hock. We must punch the clock. Another beef. Reporters who never leave the office. Their boss might consult the time clock. Harder harder harder. Faster faster faster. I have spies. I am amused with the way they describe writing from their use of a telephone (why not try meeting the people who actually inform us). You cannot write an interview with anyone on the telephone. You miss things like why is he drooling. No one knows because only the chosen few get to leave the office and the whips. The NYT is not beloved by the union. I can only write in comments. They cage me in. I do it so I can write about them. Comments. Are for commoners. The people of the NYT will laugh in your face. It’s not a serious thing with serious people. It is disrespect.

 Often, comments are what people really read. This gives moderators validation because hits means money, and they don’t want just hits, They want continued engagement. Fully three quarters of the thing is AI. They are hoping AI can do it all. This reduces us to the status of Gomer Pyle. Good lighting. Some, think comments is for the people who have nothing else in their lives. Pathetic lives. Uneasy lives. It’s about the ridiculous attitude that oozes from these guys. Because they’re suits. We all know where a suit lives.

Their Best Book people demean us, too. Over-produced covers, paperback smarm, lit up on the front page and big awards (not the little ones) for who can write the best obituaries. And you think Biden is old. I am interested in the beginnings of this civil war we are facing. The country has disintegrated. The MAGA monsters are to blame. Period. The NYT gets excited with issues and content. They approach it very, very carefully. This is the USA Today paradigm of simplicity. The stuff on parents and kids is nauseating slow and preachie, I would make stuff on families a team.

A team that coordinates, versus competes. They never interview a kid because it would be abuse. The fantasies of their empty Maga minds has kept the New York Times afloat. The theme is let’s do more of that. Even if it’s old.

I think they need to go back to their old building. Facebook throws me off this page 99% of the time, too. Civil wars are ordinary. The good people get to live in Delaware. Us bad people can live anywhere we want. Like Vegas. That will solve most problems. I had a another book review there where the reviewer only wrote one sentence. “I have never read a book like this.” I thought that was the cutest thing I’ve ever read. Conflict brings the paper legs. They will never allow comments to leave the building. Who owns what. Is a big issue. I own my comments because once the New York Times started articulating that comments were insignificant, and they were not a part of the publication itself, then, I own the rights. To My Comments. Which are going in a book.

The moderators edit. By throwing you into the alleyway. With the dumpsters. Go through their dumpsters. It’s a treasure trove. And furniture. With a lot of stuff, they are years behind. Sometimes the news is old news. We hear it somewhere else first. Then, there’s the cowboy contingent. The hip new bucks. But what I want to know is why a little old lady with a sixth grade education gets a job throwing out comments. That makes her an editor. Editors make more money.

They think they are looking for grammar. So yesterday. Read any of the New Irish Books. They slay grammar with a sword. The moderators way or goodbye. It’s tedious. My eyes to the sky. The moderators keep their smelling salts by their computers. It gets crazy when they faint. Someone said booboo. It is a mean embarrassment to have any of my work there. I don’t write booboo. I am here to provoke the New York Times. – Tim Barrus