It would have seemed unthinkable some years ago, but Newsweek will not be a print magazine after December 31.

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I'm always peeing myself at the Standard Hotel, especially on their Tuesday night rooftop parties filled with tourists and weirdies.

(Or I should say tourists and other weirdies.)

But I never imagined that the hotel would use the image of a woman actually peeing--on a lovely shag throw carpet--in their new ad campaign.

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They've run articles about the Russian punk group Pussy Riot without putting asterisks in the name or changing it in any way.

But in reviewing the play Cock, the paper of record called it Cockfight Play and explained that the real title was unprintable.

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The British dailies are generally scum-sucking, low-level, trash-scouring rags that wouldn't be fit to stuff up a Prince's mistress as a tampon.

And that's what I love about them.

But they were suddenly oh so tasteful when those bare-bum photos of Prince Harry emerged from a Vegas game of "strip billiards," where the balls were clearly rolling into side pockets (though, as you'll recall, he was cupping the family jewels when the camera was aimed at him, ever the gentleman).

You see, an edict had come down from the royal family's lawyers that the British press should stay mum on this recreational horror, as the way to deal with a royal being human and having a good time is to simply block it out from the public's view and pretend it never happened!

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Telling people about their bad press is a no-no, especially if you couch it in an "I'm so concerned for you" backdrop of fake-compassion.

At least the one time I alerted someone to a bit of bad publicity, I did it without any disingenuous charm whatsoever.

I was just flat out spiteful.

This was in the 1980s, when Spy magazine was roasting every power player in town--a fact that drove people crazy (especially when they weren't mentioned at all).

One of the mag's most popular monthly features was the "Separated at Birth" column, which posted adjacent photos of lookalikes--say, Mick Jagger and Don Knotts or "humorist Calvin Trillin and nonhumorist Lee Harvey Oswald."

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I knew WBAI was a non-commercial free speech radio station that does great stuff, but I had no idea how slipshod it's run!

A guy begged me to be on his show yesterday, and though the topic--drug laws--was not exactly up my alley, I said I could do it and gave him my number to call.

But he never did!

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Helen Gurley Brown, who taught "mouseburgers" how to become "Cosmo girls," has died.

She was the original Carrie Bradshaw, a lady intent on telling the single gal how to get everything out of life--including lots of meaningful sex with desirable men.

(Well, people just didn't talk about same-sex stuff back then.)

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Our piping hot alternative weekly publication nabbed no fewer than four AltWeekly awards, so I have to congratulate the whole organization--bravo, bravo--and applaud the nominees....

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It's here!

A new magazine for teens who don't want to have sex, preferring to spend their time looking down on government help for the poor while reminiscing about Reagan.

Here are the articles:

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You may have noticed that there's no way to go to Wikipedia today and do all your convenient research.

That's because they've yanked the site for 24 hours in protest over the possible passing of SOPA, the Stop Online Piracy Act.

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