Pitchforked off

See, Pitchfork. I used to read them as a matter of course - useful and verbose information on music news, kind of NME crossed with the Wire - until I got so frustrated with their odious digitally precise degree of anal fanboy dissection ['6.3 out of 10' I fucking ask you] and occasional preposterous know-it-all politically naive posturing ['Dude, are you being ironic?' 'I don't even know any more,' Simpsons quote of the day for Macca...] that I did the online equivalent of hurling the magazine across the room with a robust 'Gah!', which is to hit the 'x' button with more than the requisite amount of forefinger force. 'That showed them,' I hissed.

Time is a great healer of annoyances, and I recently meandered back into their ambit for some reason. I was enjoying this article on transmedia stories, and then I got to the following sentence:

'"Battlestar Galactica", a show about killer robots, makes thoughtful critiques of the war on terror, and tricks us into sympathizing with the Iraqi insurgents. '

I don't dispute the 'war on terror' reading, but 'tricks us into sympathizing with the Iraqi insurgents'??? I underline my query with repetitious question marks in a manner comparable to Jupiter Jones at his most precocious. It's this sort of glib speculative criticism/ideological indoctrination thinly masked by ironised distantiation that again caused left mouse button damage as I departed Pitchfork's pages with alacrity.

AND their RSS feed keeps sending me the dismal news that Alice Coltrane has left this dimension. I'd make some clever Egyptological allusion, would it not consign me to the folder marked 'arch twat' - go and drift through 'Journey in Satchidananda' by way of tribute instead.