It is not every day that a man gets to jettison the ethical and aesthetic standards of a lifetime. Until now, the guiding principle of my journalistic career has been so rock-bottom firm, so bristling with integrity, that it could be etched on my tombstone: HE NEVER WROTE ABOUT DONALD TRUMP.
Like most moral strictures that are actually obeyed (the classic example: Do not worship a golden calf), this one never impinged on my life-style. It's not as if I toil for a New York City tabloid and have to beg some hard-boiled city editor, "Please, I'll do anything -- Madonna,...
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