Come on Kurt, We've Published Your Sophomoric Letters

"Postmarks,"
    Twenty-five years of The Austin Chronicle and what do you have to show for it ["An Austin Chronicle," Sept. 8]? No more Coach Cotton, no more "Straight Dope," and too much "Page Two." Oh you're progressive all right; progressive like the speed of falling whale shit before it hits rock bottom and comes to a cold, dead stop. Your little island of blue (Gilligan's Island) in a sea of red has been sold down the river and is the laughing stock of the state. Tell me again, just what is it you're celebrating? Gridlock? Redistricting due to overcrowding? (Boy, that little plan to pack Austin full of people via Smart Growth sure backfired, huh?) City of ideas?! (See laughing stock reference.) Austin, where men may be men and the sheep sleep with one eye open. I wasn't here for the first issue of the Chronicle, the one that the ink-stained wretch Louis Black recalls as a disaster, but it'd be hard-pressed to be worse than any other weekly/weakly fish wrap.