OUT, OUT, DAMN HACKING SCANDAL

Keith Rupert Murdoch, we barely knew ye! Knew ye to be a ruthless media monopolist, sure, but the sort whose people alleqedly pay off cops, shake down politicians, and hack into dead girls' voice mail? The kind whose company doles out three-quarters of a billion dollars to quiet suits charging unethical corporate behavior? For the 16 years you hovered at the top of the New Establishment list, we believed you were better than that—a mogul of the old school who led with his guts and whose positive contributions to our culture (The Simpsons) were as bountiful as his sins (Fox & Friends). But lately, having learned more than we ever dared to dream about the $41 billion global empire you built on the back of the old man's Adelaide broadsheet, we don't know what to think. It's like one minute you're the world's most infamous micro-manager, controlling every facet of its second-largest media conglomerate; the next you're Mr. Magoo, struggling to stay conscious before a parliamentary committee on the "most humble day of [your] life." It's early days, with much more sure to come as investigators on both sides of the pond plumb the depths of the swamp in search of something approximating rock bottom, but it doesn't look good: at press time, the scandal had laid waste to the careers of London's two top cops, your most trusted lieutenants, Rebekah Brooks and Les Hinton, and nearly 200 News of the World jobbers and the fish wrap that employed them. Just remember, when push comes to shove, it's best to stand near Wendi.

CHRISTOPHER TENNANT