This 2018 notification on my mobile phone:
New Yorker writers offer anal!
Hmm. Generous offer. I mean WOW!!
But nobody, not even journalists, would think that offering anal was a reasonable requirement for employment.
I can only assume that these were desperate times for the New Yorker, suffering falling subscriptions related to a boycott by supporters of Mr Kavanaugh, and that loyal staff were obviously prepared to make any sacrifice to save the paper.
I can only assume that these were desperate times for the New Yorker, suffering falling subscriptions related to a boycott by supporters of Mr Kavanaugh, and that loyal staff were obviously prepared to make any sacrifice to save the paper.
On the other hand, if the New Yorker proof reader simply didn't take into account how his headline would look on a mobile phone, "analysis" still presents some difficulties.
The dictionary defines "Lysis" as "a process of disintegration".
And "Anal" is not just an item number on the Fee Schedule of a Kings Cross hooker, but the adjective applied to the sphincter at the distal extremity of the gastrointestinal tract, the vital gatekeeper that keeps us in the game when we are under pressure.
So it is self-evident that "a process of disintegration" of the anal sphincter is not only going to fuck up your social life, but lead to some pretty bloody expensive laundry bills.
And if there is one thing that is really going to leave you watching replays of Indian soapies on TV on your own on a Saturday night, it's the fear of crapping yourself in public.
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