Weinraub, squared: Confessionals should be fun, Bernie.
OK, fine, we’ll kill this string dead right this second. But not until we let the Observer compare Bernie’s self-serving sayonara with the recollections of news doyen Russell Baker, who was never exactly known for driving HSE Range Rovers and toadying to his wife’s canary-yellow V-neck-sweatered friends all pretending to respect, rather than tolerate, him. And with this, we will now shut the hell up about Bernie, who is, no doubt, enjoying every inch of ink devoted to all this. As director Joel Schumacher told Fishbowl years ago when our gills were still pretty wet, “from the first second your feet hit Hollywood asphalt, you sell out. So relax about it.” Try that, Bernie. And save a few trees in the process.
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