|
|
The holiday season is upon us and with it the Spy's annual appeal. This year, we're asking our readers to pause in their exploitation of Asian children and single mothers (also known as shopping at Wal-Mart) and open their hearts to the suffering of the chronically clueless, like these wretches:
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Tara Reid
It's been a busy year for the hard-partying ex-celebrity. First, she had a tacky reality show featuring her boozing it up around the world. Then the show was cancelled. On second thought, maybe it hasn't been such a busy year. Someday poor Tara will wake up and realize her career, like her face, has sagged out of all recognition. Then she'll face the choice of all washed-up celebrities: find Jesus or kill someone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Arthur Sulzberger, Jr.
Poor Arthur. First he has to back and then can his editors who got conned by a trash-talking crackhead. Then he's hosed by a leathery credibility-free neocon posing as a fearless investigative journalist. Then said fearless journalist spills her guts after promising not to, and claims that all the other Times editors were lying. Then to shut her up, Arthur has to fork over bucks bigger than most hacks will make in a lifetime, laying off real reporters to pay for it. At least he's solved the business problem of running a newspaper in the Internet era, right?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Harriet Miers
Remember her? For a bright shining moment, she was the person George Bush decided was the best-qualified person in America to sit on the Supreme Court, until Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson said "Boo." Forgotten but not gone, Harriet sits in her office in the White House loyally churning out arguments for imprisoning Americans without trial forever, like all too many lonely, depressed middle-aged woman (Hello, Condi!), reduced to living vicariously through her professional relationship with a powerful man who happens to be a whiny alcoholic with attention deficit disorder. If you think that's sad, wait until you see what happens to abortion rights after Justice Alito is finished with them.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Barbara Amiel
It's a long way up from slagging Fleet Street hack to wife of a peer of the realm, but when your husband and lord is accused of looting his company and indicted by Patrick Fitzgerald, well, the trip down is even longer and considerably faster. Just last year, Lady Amiel was holding forth in her husband's Daily Telegraph and hobnobbing with swells. Now she's wondering if she'll have to pawn her shoe collection to make hubby's bail. How was she supposed to know that some mutual fund manager and former SEC accountant could storm Lord Blackadder's castle, notwithstanding his phalanx of war criminal flunkies like Henry Kissinger and Richard Perle? She could dump her ennobled future jailbird, but by the time the feds, the Canadian authorities and a swarm of strike lawyers have finished picking at hubby, there will be precious little meat on the carcass. Kind of like Barbara.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Volume CCXXXV, Number 104 November 24, 2005
