Previously in New Column!

"I want The Stranger to stop picking on me."

--Leslie Miller,

Q-13

"I want The Stranger to keep picking on Leslie Miller."

--Jean Enersen, KING 5

"I want Leslie Miller to wear a salami bikini and

do the hula."

--Steve Raible, KIRO 7

"I want one of those Sony robot dogs."

--Steve Pool, KOMO 4

THE LAST TIME I had Frank Blethen over to my Orcas Island home, I told him to offer you people a decent contract. Frank was up at the island to check out my new 60,000-square-foot greenhouse. Did you know that Frank and I share a passion for raising rare orchids? The man does have a soft side. Anyway, I looked Frank in the eye and said, "Don't be a skinflint, Blethen. Pay your people what they're worth." He replied that they aren't worth a pinch of shit. I stood up for you folks and told that tight S.O.B. that you are certainly worth a "pinch of shit." But just that. Ha! Anyway, that vein on Frank's forehead was starting to throb when my Jewish wife (as rare on Orcas as some of my orchids!) rolled out the cocktail cart. Seeing as it's Christmas, if any of you strikers are looking to make some extra cash or are just missing the feel of the newsroom, we're looking for help at The Stranger. You would have to come 'round at night, however. Empty the bins, scrub down the break room, clean the bird cages in my bi-level office suite, and go. I don't want a lot of strikers putting ideas into the heads of my employees. We've never had a strike at The Stranger, and I want to keep it that way. If big labor wants to unionize a local weekly paper, I suggest they go after a certain local weekly paper that's been afflicting the comfortable (with bridal issues) and comforting the afflicted (with gift guides) for 75 years now.

My family sends blessings to all of you at this sacred time of year.

Tim K

Publisher, The Stranger

by Frank Blethen, special to The Stranger

AS YOU'RE PROBABLY AWARE, members of the Pacific Northwest Newspaper Guild went out on strike against the Seattle Times Company last week.

The Seattle Times Company is owned by me, Frank Blethen, and while I don't actually spend much time at the office, my official title is "Publisher, Seattle Times." It's right here on my business card. Anyway, I don't actually do all that much, but I dropped by the office this year to make sure we endorsed George W. Bush, who promised to repeal the estate tax, something near and dear to my heart. I'm a rich guy; I'm getting up there in years; and I want to leave my paper to my kids, not Uncle Fucking Sam.

Anyway, we've made what we consider a fair offer to the members of the Pacific Northwest Newspaper Guild, something like a three-buck-an-hour raise phased in over six years. Or was it 10? Anyway, they said no, and as far as I'm concerned, they can walk that picket line until they forget how to type. They want more money, I'm told. Oh, really? They go on strike and want more money right after we run a series of stories called "New Money: How Prosperity Is Changing Life Here"? Is this some sort of goddamn coincidence? I don't think so, and I'm dog-shooting mad about this. The editor who assigned the "New Money" series? Shot. Fired him. And he was management, which means I was able to fire his ass without giving anyone a reason. I hope his family starves.

So we've made our offer. The union can take it or leave it. I mean, what do I care? The Post-Intelligencer, owned by those patsies at Hearst, is on life-support. The only thing that's gonna be "in the P-I" soon is its own obit. Ha! And then this will be a one-newspaper town--my newspaper!--and those shits on the picket line will come crawling back to me, begging for their old jobs back. And they'll get them, too, at substantial pay CUTS. You, too, Godden. Gonna cut your pay and assign you the sewer-commission beat. Wait and see.

Sincerely,

Frank Blethen

Publisher, Seattle Times