The YuckyMen's names did not appear on the flight manifests.
Huh.
"Mom, this is Frank Jones. You believe me, don't you?"
"Frankie, where are you? What's the matter?"
"Mom, this is Frank Jones. You believe me, don't you?"
(Actual, paraphrased, from-memory recollection of one of the famed "cell-phone" calls from one of the hijacked flights. ...Who speaks in such a fashion?)
Huh.
But that's just kookie talk...
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9-12, of course, I use metaphorically. This information may not have come to light for a week or more. Still faster than those lazy journalists who think they're the cream of the investigative crop when they unleash their mighty letter-openers on the manila envelopes that they find on their desks. "Now that's journalism, Sonny!"
You understand that your dereliction has shepherded this mess, right? You deserve a job why? It's fun watching you go out of business.
More picture games, please. Newspapers are ideally suited to picture games because I can't write on the screen of my computer.
