The internet connection being a bit dodgy around these parts, I buy The Globe and Mail rag edition when I’m down at Grumpy Manor. And of course on Friday there’s the TV listings so that I can see which film the comely Ms. Schneller will be rabbiting about on Saturday evening.

So I am distressed nay fucking apoplectic, to note that this last remaining scintilla of utility has been excised from what is now an utterly tragic waste of good lumber. To be replaced by “in depth analysis”, “help navigating the 500 channel universe” (how fucking 20th century is that clichéd metaphor?) and other such piffle.

Are the denizens of 444 Front Street West so clueless as to be unaware that one of the main reasons for declines in newspaper readership is the fact that faceless editors select the news and the subjects in which we should be interested? I am unequivocally not in the least bit interested in Prison Break, Survivor, Desperate Housewives, Dancing with the fucking extremely dubious Stars, American fucking Idol or the execrable 24. All all of which have been selected by the gormless twerp in charge of the TV section for a spot of in depth analysis and navigational assistance.

And so after a quarter of a century I shall now permanently remove my coveted (and it should be noted quite attractive) demographic profile from the readership and continue to check in with the better Globe writers who can generally be found through their Twitter updates and blogs or being relentlessly Twitter-touted by Mathew Ingram.