Always loved #Murdoch as newspaper man,

Always loved #Murdoch as newspaper man, glad to have sold my newspaper to NewsCorp. Even some Popes aren’t wholly saints.

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Effective Memorial Day, new posts will no longer appear here.

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We’ve got an interesting story updating the saga of Rep. Weiner’s Twitter pic, posted at 5 pm on Memorial Day. Check it out at our new self-hosted WordPress site —  http://www.coneymedia.com/.

Thanks,

Ed

Rep. Weiner tweets his wienie

When Facebook tells you your password’s been compromised  … it’s probably a call to immediate action.

Anthony Weiner. BPaper photo

Brooklyn’s Rep. Anthony Weiner — recently wed but a perennial source of single-guy-on-the-prowl off-color humor — was shown on Twitter in [drumroll, please!] all his glory.

His bulging wienie, cloaked in gray briefs, appeared Friday night on his official account, available to 45,000 followers (and by extension to an indeterminable number of their friends).

The NY Post is calling it Weiner-gate.

The congressman had been warned by Facebook about a week ago that his password might have been compromised. Although he’s a proud technophile, like most users, he took no action, giving the hacker plenty of time to engineer mischief.

Weiner had been tweeting about a hockey game a few minutes before the shot went up [“followers of my lame hockey tweets recall i picked tb and nashville”]; he was monitoring his stream and quickly spiked the offending item — but not before it had been retweeted and screen-grabbed by several followers, the Post reports.

He quickly posted, “Tivo shot. FB hacked. Is my blender gonna attack me next?” and later, “Touche Prof Moriarity. More Weiner Jokes for all my guests! #Hacked!”

The congressman’s spokesman, Dave Arnold, told the Post that the wiener wasn’t Weiner’s (although we’re not certain if Arnold used those exact words).

Once again, for members Congress and all of us plebeians, the gods of social media are not to be trifled with. Protect your passwords!

Here’s the full NY Post account.

• • •

Who’s the Weiner? Let’s say he’s not afraid to speak his mind; he will not yield. Here’s the congressman’s classic House explosion last summer in defense of 9/11 emergency responders—

Never miss a promotional opportunity…

This is precious.

Raygun — which calls itself “The Greatest Store in the Universe” — is a grass-rooted shop in Des Moines’ East Village (mostly T-shirts lauding or laughing at all things Iowa). They sell shoes, too. Their customer service and marketing is consistently exceptional. And they never miss an opportunity to exploit any [wholly unplanned] promotional opportunity.

Yesterday’s Men

This Phil Coulter tune — a few decades old, with an Irish twist — is obviously relevant to today’s America. Performed here by Celtic Thunder‘s George Donaldson. Thanks to Michael Libbie for bringing it to my attention.

They are America’s new forgotten men.

Oh, we gave them our best years — now they’ve paid us back,
By making us yesterday’s men

‘Twas Joey the weasel that gave us the wire,
They were closing our factory down
Though we didn’t believe him and we called him a liar,
The redundancy letters came round

As we read them in silence, I choked back a tear,
It was hard to believe after twenty-odd years

Chorus:
Farewell my companions, my friends and my workmates
Farewell to the paydays, the pints and the craic
Oh, we gave them our best years now they’ve paid us back,
By making us yesterday’s men, sure as hell,
By making us yesterday’s men

So we said our goodbyes by the factory gates,
One cold Friday evening last year
And I saw it all there in the eyes of my mates,
The anger, the sadness, the fear

Like our fathers before us we worked there with pride,
Now we fought back the bitterness burning inside

Chorus

Ah now Jimmy, said she, give the kids a few bob,
After all, sure it is Friday night
But how could I tell her I was out of a job,
From now on things were going to be tight

How well I remember it cut like a knife,
I was never a day on the dole in my life

Chorus

The machines now are silent, the workbenches bare,
And there’s dust on the factory floor
They’ve boarded the windows and have chained up the gates,
And have padlocked the factory door

Now I’m on the scrap-heap, and I’m thirty-nine,
Just one of the hundreds, shot down in my prime

Chorus (twice)