Although we can’t seem to shake the nasty habit of writing in the royal we, occasionally one of our editors decides to shake off the cloak of anonymity to write a short, pithy statement long, rambling diatribe about a topic of their choice. Today, Debbie Newman is that editor.

While curmudgeonly gossip Cindy Adams typically uses her column as a mouthpiece for lavishing praise on her yappy Yorkshire terriers, she occasionally likes to switch things up by delivering an impassioned old-person rant about the degeneration of society.

Take, for instance, Sunday's column, in which Granny Adams (bless her heart!) seemingly lumps foreigners, immigrants, diplomats and terrorists into the single all-encompassing category of "Them." She then criticizes them for failing to possess "Social Security cards…subscriptions to Reader's Digest and CDs of Kate Smith singing 'God Bless America'" (we're listening to it now, on repeat!) and launches into a perspicacious discourse xenophobic tirade on the indignities of waiting in line behind "some jerk in an ill-fitting suit…from some fourth-rate country so small it's standing in line to dare shake its fist at the United States."

And it turns out ol' Cindy's just getting warmed up.

They screw up traffic so we who live here have been late for every appointment. They park in our parking spots, pay no taxes, are immune from all illegalities, live free, eat free, smoke free, are partied and feted and lauded and stay - on the arm - in the best, greatest, thrillingest, most exciting city in the whole world with the sole job of then peeing on us.

And our cops protect them? Our city guards them? Our officials bow to them? Our citizens place second to them? Our TV gives them prime time? Our universities give their madmen a platform? What the hell for? How is this possible? Can you remotely imagine that working in reverse?

How about we find a way to keep them out of here forever. Or at least out of New York. Or at least out of Manhattan. Or at least out of Midtown. Or at least off the street where my hairdresser is.

Like Cindy, we seem to be experiencing somewhat of a sensory overload, and while we're tempted to respond in kind (i.e. with a borderline racist manifesto) we'll content ourselves by merely listing our immediate reactions numerically, in a calm and reasonable fashion.

1) OMG! This. Is. Awesome.
2) Wait, so if Hillary Clinton is the new Al Gore, does that make Cindy Adams the next Pat Buchanan??
3) Oh, calm down, lady. Columbia University's been giving madmen a platform to speak for years.
4) Yes, it's totally Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's fault that you're always late for appointments.
5) Apparently, the ominous (and ubiquitous) term "Them" now applies predominantly to foreign dignitaries with rumored nuclear capabilities? Who knew "they" were multiplying like rabbits, infiltrating our city streets and holding up the Slurpee line at the local 7-11??
6) Point of order: "Thrillingest" is not a word.
7) Conclusion: Cindy Adams is willing to tolerate madmen and their armed details ("straight out of a Bruce Willis B-movie") so long as it doesn't interfere with her weekly dye jobs.

Anyhow, we'd love to stick around and chat some more, but, if you'll excuse us, we actually have a doctor's appointment in Midtown. And, no thanks to that life-ruiner Ahmadinejad, we're already running a few minutes late.