In the journalism racket, there's an age-old phenomenon known as a "tip." Someone out there in readerland calls or e-mails, "tipping" us off to an allegedly hot story. "Hey, What's So Funny," one of these "tips" might begin. "My brother Karl can swallow sixteen used AAA batteries in under a minute, and he only shits blood for two days afterwards. You ought to come on out here to Brighton and write about it." This is what is known as a "bad tip." But as a journalist, it's my job, nay, my sacred duty, to track down each and every one of these tips -- or is it to just put the tip in? I forget. The point is, I waste a lot of my precious time pursuing whatever hot lead a couple of meth fiends in the suburbs decide to send in. That's how journalism works. Ask Woodward and Bernstein: Those guys played just the... More >>>