Readers of this blog know that I hold for Maureen Dowd the sort of contempt one might have for dog feces packed into the tread of a new sneaker. It's nothing personal, really. It's the fact that she is unintelligent, smug, and unfunny, possessing the writing skills of a high school diarist. With dead tree readership down at the NYT, its publisher has turned to demand payment for the privilege of reading Ms. Dowd's thrice-weekly demonstration of her contemptible ignorance. Same for Paul Krugman's Economics (101).
For years, the newspaper of wreckard allowed Dowd's particularly menacing form of mental pornography into our homes in exchange for answers to a few demographics questions. Now, they limit her damage to only those minds already so polluted with intellectual waste they feel compelled to pay money to read Dowd's insipid columns.
My personal thanks to the NYT publishers for this invaluable gift to the English-speaking world.