NY Times Article

Dear NY Times, Thanks for the hand-job but...

The more I think about this, the more it just annoys me. I posted a comment on Tracey’s page about this. Then I went to work-out and couldn’t stop thinking about it. There’s a bunch of commentary out there on the whole Spitzer-Client9 saga. I admit I’m loving it. The scandal, I mean. I don’t need the commentary. But what has irritated me is this piece from the NYTimes Online.

Basically this "newspaper of record", this great and grand grey lady of journalism, read Ashley Dupre’s Myspace page. Alot. The unfortunate 22yo working girl, mother of two, who now finds herself caught up in what can only be described as THE single greatest movie-of-the-week circle-jerk of real-life drama jizz since Amy Fisher’s car got banged up and Joey tapped out her dents, declares that music (not being paid for for her 3.5 diamond-rated services) is her first love. Quoting the article, which is quoting her page, "On MySpace, her page says: "I am all about my music and my music is all about me. It flows from what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen and how I feel." She wants to be a singer. Not an escort. That’s sweet. Here are some more gems. Again, quoting the Times quoting her profile: " in the interview, she referred to herself as Ashley Alexandra Dupré, which is how she is known on MySpace." and "On the Web page is a recording of what she describes as her latest track....and uses some dated slang, calling someone her "boo."" -- Time to update the vocab there Ashizzle to the D-izzle. Word.What is pushing me here? What is it amping up my blood-pressure and spinning my pinwheel round-and-round? Impudence. The appaling, bitch-slapping impudence of the NY Times to toss me a hand-job when they know I’m wanting a full-on, head-board screw with bruising to remember it by. - Like your 5minute stroke will sate me. Like that’s what I should be happy with.

Dude, I can read her MySpace page, myself. I don’t need batteries for that. I expect you to do the real-work. I expect you to work the dirt, get grimy, come home sweaty, seething of manhood, and f’n take me. Throw me down with your insight. Bodice rip me with your scoop, with your quoted, anonymous, well-placed sources. Give me the real Ms. Dupre. And I want you to call her Ms. Dupre. Not Ashley nor Kristen. Ms. Dupre.That’s what unbiased journalist do. Honestly here. You’re the NY Times. Fucking act like it.