Dear Time.

You will always be remembered for darkening OJ Simpson's mugshot on cover, because he wasn't black enough for you to demonize. Your brand stank goes way back.

You were among the first in the JonBenet Ramsey media race to the bottom of the gutter, focusing incessantly on the blond, white beauty queen like you were Donald Trump at a teen beauty pageant.

You are a sycophantic beacon of everything that is wrong with journalism, and the quality of your coverage has given rise to the worst proliferation of unadulterated shit masquerading as news since Gutenberg democratized printing.

Especially now, your breathless gushing over Ivanka Trump like she's a worthy celebrity rather than a thieving, power-hungry, greedy fashion designer trading on her father's racist ascent, whilst perpetuating the misogynistic alt-right narrative about Hillary Clinton's trustworthiness, has revealed you to be an obsequious pawn in a political power play you are supposed to be holding to account, not being played like a cheap, pathetic, useless, out-of-tune-and-touch fiddle.

Your lack of integrity, gumption, leadership and vision has produced an America confused and deluded enough to think that a dangerously unprepared, megalomaniacal, narcissistic, serial sexual predator in a silkworm shit wig and caked in orange make-up is the paragon of masculinity. To sacrifice their every conviction to get behind a pouting brat that is the one and only bitch in the contest against the formidable woman who decisively won the popular vote.

You ingratiatingly elevated a whining, entitled, stubby-fingered, tiny-handed, insecure, paranoid little national embarrassment (who you are now tripping over yourself to normalize), by elevating him to the point that voters were tricked into believing he has their backs covered, rather than warning them to watch their backs for twisting knives.

Your decades’ long commodification of the "news" unequivocally and violently killed Diana Spencer and clumsily eschewed investigative reporting for a toxic sludge of cult celebrity worship and eavesdropping culled from the hacked phones of grieving parents of dead children. You wallow in filth, competing for eyeballs and ad revenue from the worst of liars and hucksters that you foolishly assume you're better than.

The preponderance of fake news isn't a result of anything particularly remarkable or creative. The reason your brand of journalism is so easy to imitate is because it isn't journalism at all -- it's the equivalent of transcribed press releases you've been hoodwinked into thinking are credible sources, with your meaningless understanding of what the First Amendment represents, nor the degree to which you're willing puppets of your corporate overlords.

Your sensationalist trash and click bait has made Trump's fascist instincts to demonize you easier than selling Second Amendment jingoism to the NRA.

So you’ve dubbed President-Elect Pussygrab as Person of the Year. You should take your cover and attendant Monday morning quarterbacking and sell it as toilet paper for which it appears far more suited. Or better yet, go stalk out the next monstrosity to foist on the world. Apparently there's a narcissistic, attention-craving bubble dweller in a psyche ward somewhere in California looking for more attention, and who has threatened to run for President too. And thanks to the likes of you, he might actually stand a chance.

In short, Time Magazine, there are fewer entities less credible to decide who the Person of the Year is. That responsibility ought to go to a Journalistic Entity of the Year, for which you don't even qualify, let alone deserve to win.