Hi Friends! I am so excited to know that you refuse to publish anything and everything I write. How intransigent and fun! All of it is in my book book book! How about that! There’s a lot about how educational it was learning from you. I am so glad I got to write that book. I get to portray you as cunts. I understand your hatred goes very, very deep.  I don’t give a flying fuck about what you hate. You are not even a human being. I have a lot in the book about AI. I am not saying you are AI. I am saying you do not use what AI you have well at all. We give you a tool and you eat it.
You have not heard the last of me. I have been out there beating the bushes trying to find someone who hates you more than I do. That might be impossible. Hate away. You love pretending you are not really editors. But deep down, you think you are. Shake your pretty little head. You don’t have to put your name on anything. And yet you are the gatekeeper who decides who gets in and who does not. You have power which only means you can lose it.
We don’t share any values. We share nothing. How is it that I am supposed to be sensitive. To you. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! You have no values. You are empty and alone. Poor you. You have your little job and it makes you happy as a pig in shit. In fact, it’s all you have. Versus having a life. Your work fucking other people in the ass is your life. You can direct and tilt an issue. Spin it, baby, spin it like pies on plates. Juggle nine bouncing balls. Let us see what you can do with a slinky.
I have seen your awkward hand in this publication a thousand times. You get to pick and say this one not that one. THAT MAKES YOU AN EDITOR NOT A COMMENT FOOL. It’s all beginning to assume the sound of a writing voice that is such a monotone, you all sound the same. You are not talented. You have no name. You are not talented. You are a blast to the past. The future will see ALL this as issues of comment moderation. How the New York Times decides to deal with comment moderation post-pandemic, suggests a sea change. There are many votes there that would get rid of comments. It’s a burden and can be turned on a dime to include or exclude. Where is the evidence you make the publication. You lose the publication money. Arrogance always dies poor and alone. Especially alone.
You do not want anything interactive. The New York Times is my granddad’s paper. You. Are. Old. And not dynamic. You are not talented.You all sound the same. You all sound the same. You all sound the same. You all sound the same. Perhaps comments are made up by comments staff. It has happened before. Dean knows where all the bodies are buried. Apparently, so do a few other people. Think about it. I’ve been digging. It seems that there are folks who want to talk. Apparently, they don’t work there anymore. But they want to talk to someone. I will volunteer to be that person. Comments are supervised by marketing. Freelancers are surprised by that. Wait until more of them become aware of this. They thought their work was being tended to by professionals. You are not even journalists, and if you continue to make up comments, it’s all going to be too much and will fall apart on you. You are not even in editorial. How is it we are supposed to trust people who have no names and no accountability to make the right decisions. The anonymity does not work. If you are going to FUCK WITH US, we have the right to know who you are.
These are issues that transcend the obscenity called Facebook. Facebook is pulling its hair out over comment moderation. Book publishing wants me to compare how comment moderation is used by disparate companies, and what I see is the New York Times dangerously conflicted. If I were the NYT, I would tend to this. The paper is looking hard these days. Hard and exhausted.
We pay you to reject us. Subscriptions cost money. But what are we buying. Comment moderation where the New York Times gets to pretend it is the public.

Tell your comment cohorts to never, ever contact me again.

Now, there’s a story.
Our trust is not free, In the end, you are going to become ephemeral if the New York Times decides it can no longer carry you around on its back. Your jobs are not forever. You can hide behind the sentiment that comments are not that important. Who cares what the unwashed people think.
You do.
I know this to be true. And you know it, too. Perhaps it was going to stay your little secret. This is publishing. You do not merit secrets. The reality that some little comment moderator overlord makes the big decisions is shocking. What, do they all have a sixth grade education. I put a lot of work into this book, and you are in it, baby. It’s all about you, and how the New York Times turns moderation into censorship. That makes it a bigger issue than little you. Nevertheless.
I have nailed you to the wall. Did you knew that some of your people are addicts. How much control in comments do they assert. This is all silly to you. I assure you, it is not silly to Americans. It is not silly to Americans. As consumers, once again, WHY ARE WE PAYING FOR BULLSHIT. You are responsible for the paper. It’s going to come back and bite your cunt.
Refusing to publish anything by that bad bad bad bad mean man who says bad words that make you cry. Poor you. Is censorship. Real. Censorship can be a kind of spin, too. We need to define that term, and I just did. Thank you for opening that door to me. I wish I could be there when you see the book for the first time. I use you like a mop.
I use you like a mop. I use you like a mop. I use you like a mop. Wish my book a great success. I use you like a mop, bitch.