"The Paper" Alert

I'm down here at police headquarters, and no one's talkin'.

 

Are you wearing your press pass?

 

You have to go to the precinct for these things.

 

Deadline: A date or time before which something must be done.

 

You can't wear your press pass.

 

Fenian, can you bring your creamy friend along and join us?

 

Not to interrupt the frivolity here or anything, but it just occurred to me that instead of writing a summer novel, we should write a summer screenplay. You know, when summer arrives. Because this one-line-at-a-time approach has a pretty interesting rhythm. And we can all come up with one line. Carry on.

 

Piss off, Carl!
(p.s. -- Redd, you finished that Hollywood who's-banging-who chart yet?

 

Yes. And Zeke has Part III of the series on penile implants.

 

You can't cover Brooklyn from a barstool in Manhattan.

 

You're in management now. If everybody loved you, you'd be doing something wrong.

 

We run stupid headlines because we think they're funny. We run maimings on the front page because we got good art. And I spend three weeks bitching about my car because it sells papers. But at least it's the truth. As far as I can remeber we never ever, ever knowingly got a story wrong, until tonight.