As a quick follow-up to yesterday’s New York Post lovefest, my prediction for the back page headline did not come to fruition. However, just to further demonstrate how the editors of that distinguished literary institution are playing Cribbage while everyone else is playing Dice, here is what they came up with:DOOM BUGGYI honestly don’t even know why other papers even try to come up with puns anymore. They’ll never be as good as the Post. And when all else fails, the Post can just run something like “MAN BUTCHERS TWO IN EAST SIDE RAMPAGE: KITCHEN KNIFE FIEND SHOT BY COPS.”I’ve seen Spiderman, so I have a general idea of how these things work, but I would really like to read a profile of a typical day for a tabloid headliner. I imagine there’s probably a hunchback who lives in a cave beneath the subway line, smokes cigars and rejects modern technology, and whose real identity has been lost. When a news story breaks, a section editor will reluctantly trudge down the secret passageways and, cautiously, through a crack under the door, brief the headliner on what transpired. He then waits in perfect silence–sometimes minutes, sometimes hours–before the answer comes, slowly, every syllable enunciated with a cold, compassionless vigor.At least, that’s how it works at the Maroon.