It's a painful exercise, making fun of the Globe in its hour of doom. Some days, I wonder if there is any point in doing so. For the record, in case anybody is confused: I'd like the paper to live, breathe, thrive, kick ass and take names all over Boston.
But they're not helping themselves with running stuff like "Where the boys (over 35) are."
Trees died to bring you this vital news. Pulitzer-finalist photographers were laid off so it could continue to run. City Weekly was killed so that...I'll stop now, I can feel the earnestness coming on. Nobody wants to see that.
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I....eee....huh....gee...No single guys...good thing everything is going so well in the world that this can be a space filler.
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