We're in our editorial meeting from 9 to 11 a.m., so we'll be observing Slog silence, but look—we made an entire paper's worth of stuff for you! Here's what Birch has to say.

Another week, another deification of the slovenly young reprobates who have decided to make downtown Seattle their bedroom (and—ugh—their bathroom). The Stranger has decided to praise the slimy rabble-rousers and self-described anarchists of the so-called Occupy Seattle movement for the second straight issue, at the risk of alienating the meager half-dozen employed Seattle citizens who still bother to read The Stranger. It is a sprawling, two-page tribute to failures and whiners, and a pathetic call to arms that will undoubtedly remain unheeded. What a tremendous waste of resources in praise of a tremendous waste of resources.

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In other quixotic news, this is also The Stranger's 2011 general-election endorsements issue, in which the politics writers and editors "endorse" exactly the wrong candidate in every race on the ballot. In case you are picking up The Stranger for the very first time—and if that is the case, run, dear child, for the love of God—allow the public editor to refresh your memory: In 2008, The Stranger endorsed Barack Obama for President of the United States. Obama was elected, and we remain in the worst economic quagmire since the Great Depression. Further, in 2009, The Stranger put Mike McGinn on the cover as the publication's official dreamboat, and now Mayor McGinn paints dangerous bicycle lanes on what should remain car-only thoroughfares while wiping out the local economy in order to turn what's left of Seattle into a loony-tunes liberal nightmarescape. Do you need any more evidence? Vote exactly the opposite of The Stranger's poorly written, supposedly "humorous" endorsements, unless you'd like the downward slide to continue. If the writers at this paper get their way, Seattle will be a smoldering hole in the ground by next Memorial Day.

Elsewhere, in sections of the paper not devoted to the wrong side of life-and-death struggles, we find far too much DAVID SCHMADER. In addition to his usual doddering, outdated ramblings (Last Days continues to fill an entire page?), we also find him in the music section, where he reviews a woman's music without ever once mentioning her surname. I suppose that Miss Robyn Whatever is relieved at this lack of information, however, as Mr. Schmader's glowing, giddy prose makes her music sound as distasteful as the dying yowls of a crippled Siamese cat.

A few final notes: BOOKS: A girly dolt pretends to worship at the altar of Hemingway, even though his mincing, weak-kneed prose is an insult to a great writer's good name... FILM: Making cinema sound terrible since 1991... FASHION: Literally incomprehensible and, moreover, Nordic... SAVAGE LOVE: This week's installment finds the unrepentant homosexual calling his readers ugly and dumb. I am not exaggerating. How is it that anyone bothers to read this column? Is it just because Mr. Savage has not personally insulted them yet? Their time will come, I am sure.