Long have we yearned for the right measure of praise for the Economist, our favorite magazine in the universe. After all, they combine airtight prose with ruthless cold sense and snarkily captured pics: everything we aspire to be and will never, ever be. They also make covers like this, for which we love them and would willingly massage all of their black-socked feet:
Someone has beaten us to it. If that's the price to pay for being well-informed, then too fucking bad. SIR--this rules. Thank you, Orson Swindle, Atlanta, GA USA.